Open Gardens at Cronk’s Rocky Woodland in Wellesley

May 5, 2022 by Bob Brown Leave a Comment

The Wellesley Conservation Land Trust invites you to join your neighbors for Open Gardens at Cronk’s Rocky Woodland

Saturday, May 7, 2-4pm

20 Crown Ridge R., Wellesley

Come enjoy the spring flowers among music, and explore the moss-covered Hansel and Gretel cottage. Learn how you can help Cronk’s continue as the wildflower garden that Gertrude Cronk established in the 1930s for all our neighborhoods to enjoy.

Plant a beautiful tree in your beautiful Wellesley yard

April 30, 2022 by Deborah Brown 3 Comments

The Natural Resources Commission is accepting requests from homeowners who would like to have a town tree planted on their property. Many types of trees are available; they’re planted by the Public Works Park & Tree Division and cared for by homeowners. The NRC and DPW plant roughly 300 trees and shrubs in town each year. Email the NRC to be put on the tree request list.

The 150+ year old Black Oak, known as the Station Oak ,at the Wellesley Square post office.

Planting new trees make the planet more resilient to climate change, increase habitat for wildlife, and add beauty to the town.

Community service volunteers needed

The Park & Tree Division is looking for individuals who like to work outdoors to help with invasive plant removal, weed trimming, pruning, planting, watering and more.

It must be spring—daffodil hill is in bloom at Wellesley College

April 6, 2022 by Deborah Brown Leave a Comment

Daffodil Hill on the campus of Wellesley College has put forth another glorious daffodil display, as it has each spring since 2013. Thousands of bulbs were planted back in fall 2012, and the cheerful yellow blooms are always just what’s needed at this time of year.

Here’s a 2013 throwback pic of Daffodil Hill’s first big show:

Wellesley College Daffodil Hill, 2013. Photo courtesy of Penny Darcey

Got fun or interesting Wellesley photos you’d like to share? Please send to [email protected]

An hour in my Wellesley garden—Rack and Ruin Garden gone, but not forgotten

December 7, 2021 by Deborah Brown 1 Comment

Many years ago, when I needed a way to monitor outdoor playdates without seeming to monitor outdoor playdates, I had an enormous garden bed dug in a sunny spot on the river. I’m not sure what brought on my need to supersize. They say “go big or go home,” but I was already home. Who was I competing with? Container gardening would have achieved the same goal of keeping everyone safe, with less effort on my part. Some people have to learn the hard way that cultivating a sanctuary needn’t mean using Eden as a template.

Rack and Ruin Garden, Wellesley — Rack and Ruin Garden putting on a show.

During quiet times on the river I’d keep to the kitchen and make soup, answer emails, and daydream, watching the Charles come round the corner, flow past the house, and head toward the bridge.

But when school let out and a bunch of boys took over our piece of paradise, I had one job— to ensure the kids didn’t hop into the kayaks unsupervised and Huck Finn it the heck to Boston Harbor. Or go swimming in the river. Or throw every ball from the garage into the river. Or attempt a dash for the other side on deceitful ice that looked solid but was windbreaker-thin, just a light layer over the active flow and tricky currents of a wintertime Charles.

The garden became part project, a place where I could do something productive and maybe even bring forth beauty, and part hidey-hole where the boys would forget all about me as I weeded and pruned. As long as the shenanigans stayed safe enough, I kept silent, tacitly encouraging feral behavior. Every now and then I had to foil a plot and would pop up suddenly to either redirect the action, or go full freak out. My reaction all depended on whether crimes against safety leaned toward misdemeanor or threatened to tip into mayhem.

In the beginning, I pretentiously referred to the garden as The Perennial Border. For a while that name was even accurate. I spent hours out there trying to achieve drifts of color á la Piet Oldoff. Sometimes there were weeks upon weeks of succession blooming, and I’d carry great armfuls of flowers into the house and to neighborhood potlucks.

Over the years, the boys spent less time in the yard and more time out in the wider world. As they got older, after-school activities kept them away from home past dusk most days. Early-release Wednesdays, once a weekly hump day of freedom when every elementary student in town burst out of the double doors at noon, ended when the kids stepped up to middle school. My surveillance services were still required, but not so much in the yard anymore.

The Perennial Border suffered from neglect, and not the benign kind. To thrive, gardens need their gardener. Without tending, Japanese knotweed will get wind of the situation and send a party of underground rhizome troops to colonize newly untended territory. Norway maple seedlings will parachute in on a mission to send up saplings. Soon, all the delicate pretties of The Perennial Garden, with their tea-party gentility and well-behaved habits, were crowded out by brash interlopers. The newcomers swaggered about the garden, busting straight into the middle of long-established plant friend groups. After only a few seasons, the garden got away from me and was beyond repair.

I renamed it the Rack and Ruin Garden, and planned its removal. Nobody wanted to believe that I really couldn’t take care of the garden anymore. One son cleared out a small corner over the summer and planted a few things, but lost interest. My husband refused to learn how to use a scythe and hack down the wild mess. Passing neighbors would ask gentle questions about the state of the garden. They’d ignore the weeds and instead heap praise on the phlox that somehow thrived and bloomed like crazy through all that disorder. With kind eyes, they complimented my “meadow.” I knew full well that If my property were part of a fancy neighborhood association, the Rack and Ruin Garden would have been a quarterly meeting agenda item. But down here we’re River Rats, and River Rats have a live-and-let-live philosophy toward yard maintenance.

Eventually, I found a landscaper willing to tackle the project, and the garden has been eradicated, the area smoothed over. For awhile every time I glanced over at that part of the yard, it hurt like a breakup, and I mourned the time we spent together, the garden and me, all for naught in the end. The garden was the one that got away, the one I emotionally checked out on, the one who deserved better.

This should be the end of it, but here’s the crazy thing. The Rack and Ruin Garden is haunting me. I was first suspicious when the grass planted over the garden came in a different color green from the surrounding blades. Looking out from my office, I could see the rectangular outline—coffin-shaped, actually—where the garden once was. That’s creepy. Then, one morning I woke up to a disturbing scene. Deep gashes had been carved into the former garden, the mark of tire tracks from a heavy vehicle that looked like it had been pulled down, down, ever deeper, into the soft soil. Maybe the vehicle made it out. Or maybe, wheels spinning, it was sucked below the surface of the former Rack and Ruin Garden, never to be seen again. Also creepy.

Haunted garden, Wellesley — One morning I woke up to this mess—tire tracks sunk deep into the former Rack and Ruin Garden.

The garden has found a way to keep me under its power. Now I have to fix this mess, find a garden exorcist to deal with the haunting situation (they don’t come cheap, I’m told), and hope nobody comes poking around asking questions about a lost vehicle last seen headed down my street.

Think twice before you try to take out a garden. In my experience, they don’t go quietly.

Rack and Ruin Garden, still racked, still ruined

The truth about the Rack and Ruin Garden

An hour in my Wellesley garden after 9″ of rain

Massachusetts Horticultural Society digs deep to pass out prestigious awards

November 11, 2021 by Deborah Brown Leave a Comment

The Massachusetts Horticultural Society at a swanky event at The Gardens at Elm Bank bestowed its annual honorary medals to about a dozen plant-world luminaries, including two with long-time Wellesley connections. Former Mass Hort president Kathy Macdonald was awarded a gold medal for her role in setting current president James Hearsum up for success. Macdonald during her 2011-2018 tenure not only stabilized the organization’s finances, she oversaw a capital campaign that resulted in an overhaul of the Olmsted Brothers’ designed Italianate Garden, which included restoring the fountain, among other important projects.

Mass Hort, Wellesley — Former Mass Hort president, and 2021 gold medal honoree Kathy Macdonald, and her husband Kevin Macdonald, arrive at the event.

Macdonald has lived in Wellesley for decades and is perhaps most infamous for one year planting bulbs into the frozen late-December ground in her own garden. Come spring, they bloomed. So you see, the gold medal was well deserved given Macdonald’s lifetime accomplishments of setting new standards for future growth, no matter the medium.

Heidi Kost-Gross, who only recently left the town for greener pastures after 50+ years in Wellesley, was also celebrated for her contributions to excellence in horticulture for the public good. The gold medal honoree and former Mass Hort Board of Trustees and Overseers member was also deeply dedicated to the Mass Hort library. As a Chair to the Library Committee, Gross put to work her Radcliffe certificate in landscape design and landscape history to benefit the organization.

But to work with Gross to plant 10,000 daffodil bulbs along the 4-mile stretch of the Boston Marathon course that runs through Wellesley is to truly understand her organizational skills, as well as her deep level of compassion. Lining the race course with daffs was a project of hope after the tragic Marathon bombing of April 15, 2013. That fall, Gross rallied the troops, rolled up her sleeves, and got down in the dirt with volunteer groups from all over Wellesley to plant for the future. Come spring 2014, runners sprinted past a moving display of yellow flowers that flowed from Hopkinton to Boston. Not that we’re biased, but Wellesley’s display was the most beautiful.

Congratulations to Kathy Macdonald, Heidi Kost-Gross, and all those honored by the Board of Trustees of the Massachusetts Horticultural Society.

An hour in my Wellesley garden—praying mantis at work

October 8, 2021 by Deborah Brown 3 Comments

While weeding the garage border, I came across my friend the praying mantis perched on a pristine hibiscus leaf. In late summer we hung out together, back when he was young and irresponsible. That phase didn’t last long. All too soon the prehistoric-looking insect realized my Wellesley garden is a lot of work. The mantis-in-residence these days keeps our relationship strictly business, given the effort it takes in keeping the hibiscus Japanese-beetle free, and the hum of mosquitoes down to a murmur. No longer does he hop on my shoulder and garden right along with me. Parallel garden play is as much engagement as his adult self will tolerate. I prune a little here, weed a little there. He prays his camouflage skills will allow him to get on with his duties unnoticed. During garden inspection, I pretend I don’t see the mantis at work among the goldenrod. It’s really none of my business how he spends his garden time, anyway. I should concern myself with my own hour in my Wellesley garden.

Wellesley praying mantis, all grown up. He is looking well but isn’t as friendly as when he first moved into the garage border. Since he’s been on the job, the hibiscus (not pictured) has seen great improvement. The praying mantis seems to have a taste for Japanese beetles, which have disappeared from my garden since he’s been on the job.

Wellesley garden, praying mantis — The praying mantis in his younger days.

The garage border goldenrod has passed its prime, yellow blooms giving way to plumes of brown fluff. There’s something still beautiful about the goldenrod, so I decide not to cut it down just yet. In taking a hard look at the garage border, I’ve decided to later move the goldenrod from the spot it volunteered for, hiding behind the Rose of Sharon, to a better spot (to me, anyway) in front of the massive, 8-ft. tall joe pye weed. Although many gardeners sniff at the sight of goldenrod in a perennial border, I don’t mind the wild weed, as long as it behaves and stays in its allotted patch. The goldenrod says it doesn’t mind life in the perennial border, as long as I don’t get all bossy pants and mess with its freedom.

These are the kind of arguments that crop up when I take an untamed rambler like goldenrod and try to exert control. The goldenrod wants to colonize large, sunny spaces. It eyes the vast and (to the goldenrod) useless expanse of lawn that is the volleyball/badminton net area, the spot that barely got used all summer, the goldenrod points out. Also, the goldenrod suggests the too-divine peonies look lonely and bored, like they could use a little wildflower fun in their lives. Which is what all the wild ones say as they try to get next to the peonies. Sorry, goldenrod, no fraternizing with my high horticulture success stories. You either swallowwort, knotweed, and garlic mustard. Those bad boys of the plant world all creep along the edges of the yard with the same old story. They just want to talk to the peonies for a little bit. Get to know them. Show them a little fun. Like an overprotective parent, first I uproot the interlopers. Then I shake them hard, smother them in plastic, bring them to a second location (the RDF), and wash my hands of the matter. If that sounds more like murder than overprotective parenting, I can only hope word gets round and has a deterrent effect on my enemies.

Wellesley garden, daisies, goldenrod — This is why I keep the goldenrod around—it looks nice behind the daisies.

To prove I don’t hang around exclusively with questionable elements, I’ve planted a real perennial in the garage border, an echinacea called Cheyenne Spirit. The idea is that the newcomer will bloom next summer in harmony with the taller daisies located behind it. Of course, the challenge will be to keep the daisies from encroaching on Cheyenne Spirit’s space. Daisies are exuberant and tend to immediately become overfamiliar with border buddies (just ask the rudbeckia), but daisies are so cheerful and hardworking that it’s hard to stay mad for long. If I’ve played my cards right, the daisies, Cheynenne Spirit, and the rudbeckia will bloom at the same time next summer, a triumph of companion planting. Although people seem happiest coupled off, plants usually thrive best in a ménage à trois situation, in which a few are encouraged to bloom at once.

With the addition of Cheyenne Spirit, I moved the finicky echinacea Merlot from its starring role in the front of the border to an off-Broadway location somewhere in mid-town. This way Merlot can put on a late-spring show, but when it becomes unhappy and pouts, as it always does, emerging stars willing to perform can take the spotlight. Merlot can then reflect in obscurity on its behavior for the rest of the growing season and plot its next-year comeback.

Wellesley garden, Merlot echinacea — Echinacea Merlot in a good mood.

An hour in the garden is never enough. At the 50-minute mark my phone notification sounds. I’m afraid our time is just about up for today. Even though there’s so much more to be done, I feel at peace for now. Gardening, like therapy, is never finished. Also like therapy, the results can sometimes be life-affirming and sometimes dubious. My therapist, the praying mantis, suggests I not overthink my time in the garden. The praying mantis says results in the garden are neither good, nor bad. They just are. I’m far from that level of wisdom. But every day I step into the yard is another chance to grow. Whoa. An epiphany. I look to the praying mantis for approval, but he’s vanished, and is not one to approve, or disapprove, anyway. My Wellesley garden is a judgment-free zone.

Beyond my Wellesley garden—a visit to Kennebunkport, Maine

September 23, 2021 by Deborah Brown 5 Comments

All dig-in-the-dirt types need occasional time away from their own gardens, even when the late-summer border on the good side of the yard demands adoration as the asters, hydrangea paniculata, and windflower anemone come into their own. All dig-in-the-dirt types need occasional time away from their own gardens especially when the weedy, ignored side of the yard looks ever-more forlorn and takes on a reproachful attitude whenever the gardener passes by. Part rejuvenation, part garden-chores avoidance technique, visiting other gardens is a must for anyone who so much as plunks in a few daffodil bulbs every fall and calls it quits for the rest of the year.

Kennebunkport, Maine — I’m not sure if the windflower anemone was planted in this spot to match the pink shutters across the street, but I wouldn’t be a bit surprised. This is Kennebunkport, where details matter.

There’s no question that right up until the snow flies, my own garden could benefit from an hour a day of my attention. I really do mean to lavish that kind of care on all the hardworking plants but the thing is, an invitation to visit Kennebunkport landed in my inbox. That happens sometimes and when it does I gas up the Subaru, collect my garden posse, and we all head up to Maine.

We knew we were in for a treat, the opportunity to be welcomed into the very beautiful, very private gardens of a special neighborhood in Kennebunkport, where the summer residents really know how to end the growing season in style. “Pretty soon it will be cold and brown and gray,” reminded one of our garden guides, an octogenarian who specializes in keeping gorgeous color combinations going right into October. “It’s so important to keep everything beautiful as long as possible,” she said as she showed us around her ocean-view property.

We bopped along from garden to garden, sashaying right past “private road” signs. We wandered yards, showing the kind of entitlement that would have gotten us led out in handcuffs if it were high-summer and if we weren’t on the guest list of a long-time Kennebunkport gardener and resident. Besides, as garden-gate crashers, we’re well behaved enough. We don’t stomp around in the perennial beds, or make loud comments about how the asters are clashing with the Montauk daisies. That’s how we get invited back, dontcha know.

Here are some pics as we made our way along the Atlantic coastline.