What with the cool temperatures and sporadic rain, I can stop complaining about aphids and move on to grousing about powdery mildew on those new roses. At first, I thought a couple of them just weren’t getting enough sun, but now I realize it’s the weather. This too shall pass, but at the moment those curling leaves and that suspicious white film creeping over the leaves is enough to curdle my insides. The back garden’s mature roses, however, WOW! Take a look: (That’s a variegated leaf weigela behind the rose)

Been busy with the camera over the last week with the irises up and blooming, the roses succumbing to a combination of aphids and caterpillars despite my best efforts to flush them away with blasts from the garden hose and my Godzilla-like gloved hand swiping at them, and the peach tree already heavy with pea-sized peaches on every branch. Have been running star jasmine vines through wires strategically attached to the fences, and the weeding, of course, never ends.

Here are the first Joseph’s Coat climbing roses in bloom. This is the established one climbing the back fence… pruning it back extra hard over the winter has resulted in the most incredible lushness this spring, and the established roses have NONE of the aphid problems of the tender new plants in the front bed.

This new tall bearded iris, called “Anything Goes” is a gorgeous raspberry color, all veiny (and vain, too, perhaps) and deliciously scented. My sister, who is in San Francisco this week on business, spent an afternoon here with me in the garden this weekend, and declared that the purple bearded irises smell just like root beer. We put some new yellow irises up in the front bed, called “Banana Frappe” but they are not yet in bloom so their debut portrait will have to wait for the next post.

The water in the fountain grew increasingly nasty-looking over the last couple of weeks, murky and an inviting breeding pool for mosquitoes, so I sought advice. Hence, I poured a couple of capfuls of Listerine into the water this afternoon, having been assured that it would do the trick. Has anyone else heard of this remedy? Now I wonder if people listening to the fountain’s lovely trickle will feel the sudden urge to gargle or brush their teeth?

I’m also just about to pick the first batch of rhubarb. The leaves are the size of elephant ears (Okay, maybe a pygmy elephant) and I’m glad I resisted my urge to pick the stalks a week ago because they really shot up and are now thick, crimson, and juicy-looking.

Finally, I am so pleased with the way the shade bed turned out. The corydalis really pops against the bleeding heart and the various shades of green. To my amazement, the hellebores in that bed are still vibrant compared to those planted in the beds that get a little more sun during the day. I guess they really do prefer deep shade!

And of course the bleeding hearts themselves are so delicate and airy. Even though there are so many more blooming riches ahead in summer, I still think spring is my favorite season of all:

No sooner do I go out of town for a week (to visit my parents on the cold, rainy East Coast) than spring makes herself at home for real in my garden. And what a thrill to return home to find trees leafed out, progress all around among the new plantings, and the titular series of firsts awaiting my arrival.

I guess it was inevitable, with this frenzy of spring activity. Spent a good part of Saturday amending the last raised bed, now that the thornless blackberries have been consigned to the green waste bin (I know, I know, I loved them but no one else in the family would eat them… wouldn’t know a good blackberry if it jumped up out of the bowl and bit them on the nose. Plus, to my eternal annoyance, there were evidently two different kinds of plants, one of which produced sweet, plump and gorgeous berries the size of a giant thumb. These plants, of course, were far less prolific than the ones that produced the sour, seed-loaded tiny berries that disintegrated into a sticky mess when picked and were always crawling with ants.).

Once my strong, agreeable, he-man husband (who might someday actually read these posts, you never know) finished uprooting, shoveling, turning, and raking the soil, I got busy planting artichokes. Three so far, and if I can find two more there just might be room for them. I found the standard green globe variety at our local nursery, and perhaps will be lucky enough to find some of the purple ones if I venture a little farther afield. Anyone know of nurseries anywhere in the East Bay carrying more esoteric artichoke varieties?

That last tomato I planted, by the way, is a Hillbilly, from W. Virginia originally. Yellow fruit with red streaks. Sweet tomato-y flavor. Did very well last summer, so all I ask is more of the same.

The dogwood blossoms seem to have gotten pinker, and our rhody is in bloom. It is ancient and exceptionally leggy. I might get brave when it goes dormant again, and lop off the tops to see if it produces some new growth down near the bottom of the shrub.

Found lemon-scented geraniums at the nursery, and planted them near the patio table so the citronella fragrance might help keep the bugs away.

Also found the variegated leaf pelargonium I love, and potted those up this weekend as well. The flowers aren’t much to look at, but with these leaves they don’t have to be:

Nothing makes me happier in the spring than a pot of primroses and pansies by the front door.

Unless, of course, it’s the fact that the new dogwood is in bloom for the first time.

Or, perhaps, it is seeing the delicate white blossoms on our ancient Bartlett pear tree that over the years has provided the fruit for many a tart and jar of jam or pear butter.

Maybe it’s the satisfaction of prepping the vegetable garden for another summer. Turning the soil and adding amendments is labor-intensive and progresses much more quickly when I bribe my husband with promises to plant his favorite squash and tomatoes (well, I like them too, so it’s really a win-win proposition!). It’s a thrill to see those pristine raised beds all ready to go. This year, I couldn’t resist NINE different kinds of tomatoes (Brandywine, Watermelon Beefsteak, Pineapple, Black Krim, Green Zebra, Black Pineapple, Costoluto Genovese, a paste variety, and one other I can’t think of right now). I must be crazy.

I’m probably way too late, but threw a couple handfuls of sugar snap peas into the ground last week just in case they might still sprout. Even if I get no peas because the weather heats up too fast, we’ll eat the shoots! That’s rhubarb in the foreground of the photo below, a division of which was gifted to me by my friend Sandy, who has since moved away. I have a fantastic recipe for a rhubarb-citrus chutney that I’d be happy to share. It sounds kind of gross, but the rhubarb flavor is completely masked by the other ingredients and acts more as texture. It’s delicious over pork tenderloin or with cheese. Really.

Wow! Has it really been over a week since my last post? Too much happening in the garden to sit myself down at the computer to update. Last week, as further research for an article I’m writing, I toured the Ruth Bancroft Garden with their delightful media liaison person. Talk about hidden treasure… this wonderful garden is tucked away in plain sight, smack-dab in the middle of suburban Walnut Creek.

With cacti that bear a startling resemblance to characters from a Dr. Seuss book, and agaves like props from “Little Shop of Horrors” – complete with flower stalks that appear to be gigantic mutant asparagus erupting from their centers – this public garden is understandably a hit on the elementary school field trip circuit. It’s quite amazing, and you should go there. Soon.

In my own back yard, this crazy warm weather (80 degrees two days last week) resulted in visible growth in all sectors of the garden. The blue of the corydalis, coupled with its speckled leaves, add lovely notes of color and texture to the shade bed, especially now that the pink bleeding heart is just starting to bloom. Those fragile looking one-year old roses from the Heirloom mail-order company have at least tripled in size. The clematis have tiny leaves and flower buds sprouting on them. I transplanted some of last year’s given-up-for-dead geraniums, and those are leafing out. Yes, they’re stinky, but the shot of brilliant red flowers in mid-summer is just what the back patio craves. The flowering plum trees are blooming and leafing out, a gorgeous shiny claret color.

Eternally delightful are the hellebores. This deep burgundy one thrills me… the blooms seem never to fade, and they last for months. No sign yet of flowers on the daphne, but I’m ever hopeful. Besides, if we missed the flowers this year we’ll surely see them next year. Did I mention the dogwood is about to bloom? I’ll have photos of it in the next few days. Here are some other things coloring up the garden… primroses, which do fine until the sun gets too hot for them, and then splat! They wilt in the blink of an eye.

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Progress in the new garden this week. Doesn’t hurt to have temps in the seventies and clear skies when one is putting tender new plants into the ground. Everything under the pergola lights up beautifully at night, as shown above. Most of the potted plants have been connected to the drip system, and by next week the remaining ones will be done. How great not to see all those spaghetti-like tubes running along the ground and up the sides of the pots (these were inserted up from the bottom of the empty pots, which were then filled with soil so the tubing rests on top, looping helpfully around the plants.) No more hand-watering these pots:

Decided to train two jasmine plants to grow up through and around my antique iron tuteurs that we brought along from back East, so those will appear on a future post (the jasmine plants are still tied to their wood stakes and have to be wrapped around the tuteurs before they reach the photogenic stage.)

Organized a staging area in the vegetable garden; the tomato cages are lined up with obsessive neatness by size, empty terra cotta pots are stacked and ready to fill, the wheel barrow rests up-ended against the garage wall in case we get a last downpour before spring really kicks in. Hand tools now hang by hooks right outside the back door along with an assortment of ratty straw hats at the ready.

Lots of prepping to do in the vegetable garden: I hauled ten 50-pound sacks of soil amendment (Bumper Crop, if inquiring minds want to know) back there from the trunk of the car… and will I ever feel it tomorrow! So much for the benefits of my weight-lifting at the gym. Have to rake the beds, inspect the drip system tubing, add compost. Etc. Etc.

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I sprayed the peach tree yesterday, warding off the dreaded Peach Leaf Curl with a foul-smelling liquid the color of battery acid. Only with difficulty could I reach high enough with the hose to spray the topmost branches, reminding me of its first season four years ago.

That spring, with a mixture of skepticism and hope I planted what looked like a dead stick into the ground. Watching those first peaches develop, swell, and ripen after the show of delicate pink blossoms was a small miracle of spring.

Meanwhile, the pergola is done. Table and chairs, potted plants, and the aforementioned fountain nearby. We had lunch out there the other day… I can’t wait until the roses and clematis are climbing up the columns and over the trellis, but that is probably a couple of years away.

A second coral bark maple has been planted inside the new front gate, where its brilliant color plays off both the front door and a second coral bark maple planted outside the fence. Moving those boulders was no simple task but they frame the tree so nicely, it was worth the effort.

These trees were chosen specifically to fulfill our quest for fall color. While in spring and summer the leaves are deep green and burgundy, in the fall they form a haze of brilliant reds, orange, and gold.

Speaking of fruit trees, the new plum trees are just breaking bud. Told by the nursery plantsman that the Satsuma plum we wanted requires a pollinizer, we opted to bring home a Santa Rosa plum as well (the ideal pollinizer for Satsumas) and plant the two trees in a single hole. A little weird but not unheard-of, and evidently it works. My friend Debby makes the most divine jam with her Satsuma plums… for now I can only aspire to such jam-making greatness.