sprinklers

Part of starting the new garden was drawing up plans for the various beds. It occurs to me now this is analogous to plotting a novel. After all, garden beds and borders are also called “plots.” But writers know that the finished work doesn’t always turn out as plotted.

Plan for Old Front Perennial and Shrub Bed from 1994 — Optimistic plan for a front garden perennial bed, from 1994

As I introduced plants into my new garden, inevitably I became aware of some realities I would have to cope with.

Tree Roots and Shade

In 1992, when I came to this garden, the previous owners had lopped the two Norway maples on the western edge of the back yard, the area I was to turn into my dream garden. Whether intentionally or not, this was a crude form of pollarding. The idea is to turn a large tree into a smaller, round-headed one. The treatment has to be repeated regularly to maintain the shape and size, like the trimming given to topiaries. I had no intention of doing that. I didn’t like the ugly stubs many of the branches had been reduced to. I remember the two of us climbing ladders and even into the trees themselves (we were in our 30s, remember) to saw off the stubs and allow the trees to resume their natural shapes. Which they certainly did.

What I didn’t realize was that as the trees grew, their root zones would expand too, as would the amount of shade cast by their crowns. The first few years, I actually had a vegetable garden, growing cucumbers, tomatoes, beans, and even corn (to the delight of the local raccoons). Eventually, this gave way to peas, lettuce, spinach, and scarlet runner beans. Finally, I gave up on vegetables, which need good soil, adequate moisture, and lots of sunlight. Now I grow both tomatoes and garlic in big pots in one of the few areas that gets enough sun, namely the driveway.

Plan for Vegetable and Herb Patch from 1994 — Laughably naïve plan for the vegetable and herb garden, from 1994.

The soil here is a thin, sandy loam, probably acidic, although I’ve never had it tested. With generous additions of compost, manure, and fertilizers, it can be enriched, and the drainage is excellent. The real problem is that when I stick a spade into the dirt almost anywhere in the back garden, I encounter a spongy mat of maple feeding roots 10 to 20 cm (6-8 inches) thick. Under that is a complex network of woody roots, ranging in diameter from 1 to 3 cm and thicker. With large trees on two sides of the space, there really is no root-free zone in the whole back garden. Dry shade is the least hospitable condition for garden plants.

Many perennials will not tolerate these conditions, as I discovered when I introduced them to my carefully planned beds in the 1990s. Either they swiftly died or refused to grow to their full potential and bloom. There are bearded irises and daylilies that have never bloomed. Hostas and delphiniums perform satisfactorily only when grown in pots.

Delphiniums in June 2010. Note that they’re growing in pots.

Then there were the Himalayan blue poppies (Meconopsis). Even under good conditions (“… an evenly cool temperature and shaded conditions, in somewhat acid soil which remains reliably moist”) they are not easy plants. I actually managed to grow plants from seed several times and had them bloom in different spots in the garden, but failed to carry them into the following year. Shaded conditions provided by Norway maples aren’t appreciated by these poppies, and the soil wasn’t “reliably moist.” Even when it was, in pots and tubs, something went wrong. Eventually I gave up on blue poppies. (For now.)

Soup can stuffed with labels from deceased plants — Soup can stuffed with labels from plants that didn’t make it. Note two blue poppy (*Meconopsis*) labels.

Over the years I’ve discovered which plants will grow happily in dry shade. Hellebores are the stars of the show, along with bergenias, periwinkle, lamb’s ears, rose campion, and toadflax. The last two are quasi-weeds, but I’ve learned how to work with them to minimize their weedy qualities and take advantage of their toughness. Periwinkle (Vinca) and ivy love it here. Both must be brutally restrained or they would run rampant. Shrub roses do fairly well, and asters bring the season to a satisfying conclusion.

The Need for Watering

People call Canada’s west coast the “wet coast,” because of frequent rain in the winter. In the winter. Summers, which are the main growing season, are often sunny and dry. The normal rainfall from May to August in my area is about 70 mm (fewer than 3 inches). Months with no rain at all are not uncommon. Moisture-retentive soils can support most plants without much supplementary watering. But well-drained soils full of maple roots won’t do that. Watering is a necessity, especially now that summers are getting warmer and drier.

In a good summer, I don’t start serious watering until the end of June and stop in early September. In especially dry years, watering begins in May and continues through September. I refuse to water in October. In fact, by late August, I’m fed up with the whole hose, sprinkler, and watering can scene. I sometimes imagine how wonderful it must be to garden in places with summer rain. My biggest garden expense is water.

The obvious fix is: just don’t do it. Stop watering (or don’t even start). English gardener Beth Chatto, in her book The Dry Garden, says: “I don’t really hold with watering,” and goes on to declare that with the exception of new plants, she doesn’t water the garden in periods of drought. I tell myself I should do the same. The plants that cope with drought will survive and those that can’t will die. By late August I think I might do that someday, but in spring, when soil moisture has been restored by winter rains, everything looks lush and wonderful and I want to keep it that way. So when the dry days come, I turn on the tap.

Another fix is an irrigation system. You hire dudes to install underground pipes and sprinklers or emitters. You can even do it yourself (my idea of a nightmare!) Then you install a timer that turns the water on and off. Instant lushness.

Except it’s cheating. The whole point of gardening is to develop a relationship with the plants and the elements that sustain them, i.e., soil and water. Besides which, I don’t like the idea of underground pipes that might leak, become plugged, or be punctured by digging tools. Not to mention guys with size 12 boots stomping around and digging trenches.

So I lay out soaker hoses in early spring, before plants have much top growth. Once I have to start irrigating, I make up a schedule that ensures every area gets enough water to sustain life for a week or two. Some areas are watered by one of two sprinklers for two hours every ten days. The sprinklers deliver about 10 or 11 mm of water, which is less than half an inch. I smile at the advice to give plantings an inch of water every week. Not here! Pots and newly-planted things are watered by hand, meaning my hands pouring water from a can. It works, but it’s repetitive and feels like an endless burden at times. Even the pond needs to be topped up once a week at the height of the summer. While the hose is running to do that, I fill and refill my 7-litre watering can and run around to the dozen or so pots in the immediate area. I tell myself it’s a form of weight-lifting.

It has taken me a while to accept the constraints of dry shade and create a garden that matched my expectations, in part by adjusting those expectations. More in Part 3.

Continued from Part 1.

Here on southern Vancouver Island, fall has been cancelled and summer continues.

Our normal temperatures for early October are a low of 8C and a high of 16C (46 to 61F). The past week has seen highs topping out in the low 20s (low 70sF), and this trend is forecast to continue for at least the next week. This after above average warmth in August and September.

And it hasn’t rained since early July.

On the plus side, these dry, windless, not-too-warm days are great for gardening and other outdoor activities. On the minus side is the giant water bill I’m anticipating later in the year, and the continuing drudgery of hauling watering cans and hoses around. Ironically, our routine summer watering restrictions ended on September 30th, which means we can now water whenever it pleases us, for as long as we want (keeping the bill in mind, of course).

More seriously, the long rainless period has adversely affected entire ecosystems. Salmon are dying in dried-up rivers. Forest trees, already stressed by the “heat dome” of June 2021, are struggling. These are quiet disasters, unlike intense and dramatic ones like floods and fires. But the effects are potentially dire. Fewer salmon means fewer killer whales and fewer bears.

Returning to the garden, it is true that with shorter days and cooler nights, plants are preparing for dormancy. It’s not like May, when everything is making new growth and setting buds. Plants don’t need as much water now, but they usually enter dormancy with several good soaking rains. So I’ve kept up my watering program, hoping to send the little green dudes into their off-season in at least a dampish state.

Because of last winter’s copious rain and a cool, wet spring, I didn’t start using my soaker hoses until late July. I expected to stop watering before the end of September. I was wrong. Moreover, I have discovered something about soaker hoses, which I use to irrigate several perennial beds. They’re fine for normal summers, in which the rainless period lasts for two months or less. But when the garden dries out completely, soakers simply don’t have the reach of sprinklers. So even though they’re a less responsible irrigation tool, I’ve been relying on sprinklers for this late-season watering binge.

Despite the abnormal warmth and dryness, there are the usual signals of the turning year. Heavier dews and occasional foggy mornings. Winter birds—juncos, northern flickers, spotted towhees and others—are back, bopping around the garden and foraging. Hardy cyclamen are in bloom.