Bumblebee Blog

According to the bird experts, mourning doves are among the most abundant birds in the U.S. I can certainly vouch for that fact judging from the visitors at my backyard feeding station.

In fact, as part of my count for Project FeederWatch this past weekend, I counted 28 mourning doves at one time! So even though the average number of mourning doves in the FeederWatch program here in Maryland is five, they are, apparently, particularly abundant in my little part of the world.

Mourning Doves

It’s curious how their behaviors have changed since they have become accustomed to all the bird feeders. When I first started feeding and watching the birds, the mourning doves would arrive–usually in pairs–and feast on the ground below the feeders where seed would be spilled or dropped by the other birds. Over time, one of the birds became more bold and learned to land on the feeders-even the smaller feeders–to feast directly from the pickings. Then two birds, then three. After a while, all the mourning doves were eating directly from the feeders. Although they still feed from the ground when they are in large numbers, the feeders are often filled with mourning doves.

Did you know the whistling sound they make when they fly is actually from their wings?

Did you know that mourning doves are monogamous and form strong bonds as pairs? (More than you can say for many humans, eh?)

Did you know that the male mourning dove will escort his mate to potential nest sites for her to choose a location. (Real estate is, apparently, her decision.)

Did you know that more than 45 million mourning doves are killed by hunters each year, including in Wisconsin, where the mourning dove is also the official symbol of peace? (Wisconsin seems a bit confused.)

Robin

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That was the headline today in the Project FeederWatch e-newsletter. I feel like I am on the edge of this breaking news story!

It was just in December that I saw a gross of Evening Grosbeaks at my hopper/platform feeder.

Evening Grosbeaks at the Backyard Hopper/Platform Feeder

Project FeederWatch, which I posted about just a couple of days ago, noted that since the project began the data indicated that the Evening Grosbeak population had declined dramatically. But this year, more and more people are reporting seeing flocks of this beautiful and special bird.

I think that this finding underlines a couple of key points. First, conservation works. I will give credit to the vast movement of bird watchers who fill their feeders regularly and provide alternative housing for our avian friends. This makes a difference in their ability to find the resources they need to thrive. And second, the data points of average, ordinary people all over the U.S. helps researchers understand how our bird populations are changing. This data is another key indicator or the environmental condition and how it impacts wildlife.

Okay. Nuff of that. I also just think it’s cool that I actually SAW a bunch of Evening Grosbeaks and then read this story.

Project FeederWatch offers loads of fascinating information. For example, the top 25 birds reported at feeders in Maryland in the 2006-2007 season was:

You can find the top birds at your feeders and learn more about how they measure by visiting their data page here.

Happy bird watching!

Robin

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I have no idea why I want to raise chickens so badly.

Ever since I saw chickens the first time at the county fair, I have longed for chickens. They’re beautiful!

Yes, I could conceivably be rewarded with fresh, organic eggs from my very own free-range chickens. And yes, I think they will be fascinating—even amusing—to watch. But the desire goes beyond my culinary and entertainment needs. It’s something deeper, more visceral, than that.

Hey, I think I’m a farm girl! I’m gonna git me some overalls and a straw hat!

People keep looking at me as if I’ve grown antlers when I tell them I’m planning a chicken coop. They are absolutely incredulous when I tell them we’re hiring an architect to design said coop. I can hardly wait to see the architect’s reaction when we tell him we want him to design A CHICKEN COOP!

To be fair, it’s not JUST a chicken coop. It’s a combination garden shed and chicken coop. I want clerestory windows. And a cupola. And window boxes. I want it to merge seamlessly with my Colonial theme garden. And I want it to be beautiful!

I want what Martha has—a Palais de Poulet!

My husband is, amazingly, on board with this little fantasy. He has even found the builder and put his detail-oriented mind to work combing through all the chicken books I’ve collected to put together an initial design for the architect’s input. I have contributed bunches of sketches and photographs of my dream garden shed/chicken coop.

Harry’s Chicken Palace Plan

The idea is that one side will be the chicken palace while the other side will be my garden shed. They will be connected with a door so that I can store the chicken supplies on the garden side and access them easily.

I can finally move my riding mower into more appropriate quarters, hang my tools on cleverly designed pegs, have a garden potting bench and even some bins for bulk supplies. I am all a-tingle just thinking about it.

Now I’m thinking about chicken names. Of course, I have to wait and see what kind of personalities they have. It would be cruel to mis-name a chicken, right?

How about politician names? Dick Cheney and George Bush? Nah. Not enough women’s names—yet.

So how about Hollywood names? Lucy and Ethel? Marilyn Monroe? Betty Davis? Paris Hilton? Would you name a chicken Paris Hilton?

Help me out here!

Robin

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I have finally found the perfect wildlife conservation project—and all I have to do is sit in my favorite chaise and count birds.

It’s for the Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s Project FeederWatch.

Okay, I also have to enter some data into the Project FeederWatch database, but that’s a cinch. Oh. And I have to be able to identify the birds that visit the back yard. Sometimes easy. Sometimes difficult.

Downy woodpecker

Still, it’s the perfect activity for my new slow and simple lifestyle.

If you’re interested, it’s really quite, uh, simple.

First, you choose where you’re going to count your birds. I have big picture windows that are pretty much the wall of the back of my house, so I just sit in my favorite chair. You also need to have bird feeders (hence the name FeederWatch), but you need to outline an area around the feeders that will be a part of your count territory.

Second, you choose your count days. Select two consecutive days to count for at least some portion of the day. I count for about an hour and a half at a time. After that the dogs have to go outside potty or I need a glass of tea or something (like I need to go potty because of all the tea I drank).

Bluejay - The contraption behind him is my new birdcam. Stay tuned to see if I get it working.

Record the maximum number of birds of each species that you see at ONE TIME. You don’t have to keep track of who is coming and going. You just give maximum numbers for who’s there at one time. For example, my species maximum for this morning’s 1.5 hour count was:

American tree sparrow – 2
Brown-headed cowbirds - 8
Cardinals – 2
Chickadee – 1
Dark-eyed juncos – 9
Downy woodpeckers – 1
Goldfinches – 3
Mourning doves – 15
Purple finches – 10
Red-bellied woodpeckers – 1
Red-breasted nuthatches – 3
Red-winged blackbird – 1
Tufted titmouse – 1
White-breasted nuthatch - 1

Then, you report your counts. You can do that online or by sending in paper reports.

My birdwatching station

Aside from the slow and simple nature of the activity, I have found that participating in Project FeederWatch means that I pay even more attention to my backyard visitors. For example, I noticed that not all the nuthatches that visit are red-breasted nuthatches. I discovered that some are white-breasted nuthatches. And because I was watching closely I noticed the return of the brown-headed cowbirds this morning.

I also noticed that those deer are nibbling away at the new pussywillow that I planted last spring. Stoopid deer. At least I have the deer killer.

I find counting birds for Project FeederWatch quite a fine way to spend part of a morning. I’m helping the birds. I’m learning to observe nature and identify birds. I get to swear my pajamas and drink coffee or tea while I’m doing it. And I don’t even have to work up a sweat. (That comes later—at the gym. Can’t get out of that.)

By the way, here’s my birdwatching station for Project FeederWatch.

Sweet!

Robin

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After weeks to backbreaking labor that included hacking clay boulders the size of small cars into pebbles, hauling and digging in tons of leaf mulch and moistening and kneading bags and bags of peat moss into something workable, The Big Dig had left its marks on me.

In fact, I was now habitually admiring the raised, hard calluses on my hands at odd times. Fortunately, the hard labor also resulted in something that reasonably resembled garden soil.

The Early Garden - 2002

Since I had spent what must have amounted to dozens, if not hundreds, of quality hoeing hours ruminating on the new garden, I had a very clear idea of the garden layout—six rectangle beds surrounded by a 3’ border, with mulched pathways.

It was a happy day when I marched outside with a measuring tape, pencil, paper, ball of twine and some stakes. After some basic measuring of dimensions, I realized that our garden wasn’t even close to being the rectangle that I had originally described to our farmer friend with the disking machine. It was more like a trapezoid—a lopsided rectangle.

I realized I had no choice but to even things up with—oh my God—more digging. I did what any sensible woman would do in those circumstances. I cried.

The Early Garden - 2002

I measured, stretched and staked twine and then measured again. I could hear my mother’s voice from my sewing lessons days: “Measure twice, cut once.” (Yes, smy mother made me take sewing lessons—and typing classes. A whole year! Man, can I type.)

The final dimensions would be about 30’ x 40’. It took a whole extra day of digging to even out the lines.

When the digging was finally behind me—at least for now—I headed off to the garden center in Sparky, my 1983 Ford F100 pickup truck, and purchased 30 bags of Virginia Fines wood mulch. It was the happiest work yet to spread the mulch on the paths I had outlined in twine. The result actually started to look like a garden—even if we didn’t yet have any plants.

By the time all this work was done, it was well into the first week of May. I had no seeds started and no idea what would go where in my garden. I did have asparagus crowns, which I dutifully planted along one short border. Another trip in Sparky to the garden center loaded me up with tomatoes, cucumbers, Brussels sprouts, squash, peppers melons, Swiss chard and more. Yet another trip to a local herb farm ensured I had a good supply of herbs and the start of the perennial beds.

Planting was a happy event. But it became clear very quickly that something was missing—a fence.

More trips with Sparky to Lowe’s. Unfortunately, my options were not good. I couldn’t afford the fence of my dreams, so purchased materials for a 4’ green wire fence and a makeshift gate from a section of wire. I spent another weekend pounding 6′ stakes into hard ground and wrestling wire into them with stubborn little clips that only Mr. Rubrik could figure out. It wasn’t magazine material, but it was a start.

We had a bountiful harvest all summer long. Since there was no way we could eat all the vegetables, I would load up my car whenever I ran errands and drop bags of produce off to friends, my son’s teachers, the copy shop lady, the wine shop man. I was a regular Meals on Wheels!

If you read Bumblebee Blog much at all, you probably already know by now that subsequent years meant the installation of the fence of my dreams, a wooden picket fence with arbor gate. I also added raised beds made from 4” x 4” cedar boards and a 5’ wooden garden bench, where I could meditate—or pass out.

In my memory, the garden that first year was the most prolific ever. Everything was beautifully green and luscious. There were no pests. The rain was just right—not too much and not too little. The vegetables all tasted divine and were picture perfect.

If my first crops had failed I’m not sure I could have worked up the psychic energy to try again. Since then, I have come to believe that all new gardeners work under some charm. Initial gardening success is God’s way of ensuring that fledgling gardeners actually come back to give it a go the next year and look forward year after year to exploring what else nature can produce with a little help.

Birthing a garden is not for the faint of heart. But the rewards are indescribable.

Robin

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I don’t know about you, but all I can think about is flowers, vegetables, seeds and soil.

I have a bad, bad case of garden deprivation.

Sure, I could go outside and do some cleaning, clearing and general tidying–not to mention some overdue leaf raking. But, heck. It’s 20 degrees outside! And I’m a wimp! I’d rather stay inside and play with my houseplants. Even when I’m outside with my little extortionist, I can hardly move from one spot.

I am having some green satisfaction. My seed orders are coming in. I managed to get the boards cut for my indoor lettuce boxes like those featured in the February/March issue of Organic Gardening magazine. I have a big Excel file going with a month-by-month, blow-by-blow “to do” list of all the things I need to remember to do in the garden. I have roped my husband into working on the logiics of the chicken coop Taj Mahal we’re building. And I’m also planning some early spring fieldtrips to get even more ideas.

One of my Phalaenopsis orchids. I wish they all looked this good right now!

The U.S. Botanic Garden is hosting the annual Orchid Show February 2 through April 13. This year’s theme is “An Alphabet Garden of Orchids” with–you guessed it–26 displays of several hundred orchids. This would be a wonderful day trip if only they had a tea room or sandwich shop. As it is, there’s nowhere convenient to eat and parking is horrid. I plan to park and lunch at Union Station and take a cab to and fro. If you’re in the D.C. area and want to get together for the event, let me know! We’ll do a blogger’s lunch and enjoy the rainforest and orchids. I can smell the soil and fresh plants now!

In March I’m heading to Philadelphia for the Philadelphia Flower Show, arguably the biggest and best flower show in the U.S. James Dodson wrote about the show and the obsessed gardeners who participate in Beautiful Madness. I plan to head up for a couple of days to tour and sit in on some of the workshops before the men in my life join me for a college visit to Villanova and some general R&R. Who’s going? Raise your hand!

So tell me, what are you doing to get your garden fix when it’s cold outside?

Robin

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Wonder where I’ve been?

Well, between that wretched cold, business travel and generally trying to keep my head above water, I have been the victim of extortion.

See this sweet little dog? She may look innocent. She’s not. She’s my extortionist.

The Extortionist, Sarah

Here’s how she operates:

She scratches at the door to go outside. I figure, “Sarah needs to go potty.”

I take her outside–in the freezing cold. She sniffs. She observes the beautiful sky. She wanders around and scratches at the ground.

Nothing. Nada.

We go back inside. A short while later she scratches at the door.

“You didn’t do anything last time.” More scratching. “You’re gonna poop on my floor if I don’t take you outside, aren’t you?”

Innocent look. (See above photo.)

More scratching at door.

We go outside. She sniffs some more. Looks around. Wanders around.

Repeat this scene about 20 times during an eight-hour period, each time with Little Miss Innocent threatening to poop on my hardwood floors.

See what I have to put up with around here? It’s a wonder I get anything done in the wintertime.

Robin

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Filed in: The Little Darlings (Dogs)

In this part of Maryland , near the bay, the soil is hardpan clay.

Despite the fact that clay soil is chock full of good nutrients, the ground is so mean and unyielding that planting in unimproved soil requires a man with a strong back and pickax or industrial-strength equipment. I learned this the hard way.

After years as career-vagabonds our family moved into our newly built home in August 2000 to set down permanent roots. Since it was too late in the year to do much in the way of productive gardening (and we were still swallowing hard and clipping coupons after the expenses of building a house on 20+ acres) I spent a full winter devoted to reading gardening books, seed catalogs and surfing the Internet.

I had big ideas and set some basic priorities.

1. First plant things that are going to take a long time to grow, such as trees and bushes. These will also help to define the structure of the garden.

2. Focus on the hardscaping that will make up the rest of the “bones” of the long-term garden.

The problem with both of these priorities is—you guessed it—money. So, we started out a bit at a time.

Right after we moved in I was considering planting a few trees myself so I optimistically experimented with a shovel in my new clay soil.

I located a promising looking spot and wedged the shovel into a promising looking crack. Taking a deep breath I heaved onto the shovel with all my weight.

“Well, that didn’t work.”

So, I wiggled the shovel deeper into the crack and jumped onto the shovel with BOTH feet. After a few tries at this two-footed digging approach my body was vibrating from the impact. On the last try I toppled over, having lost my balance.

Defeated, I put up the shovel and yielded the job to two strong men from a local nursery. I had them plant two unimpressive 8’ Zelkovas in the back yard between where the deck and Colonial garden would eventually be. And, because I love the romance of a magnolia in bloom, I had them plant a southern magnolia in front of the house.

Our garden budget for the year was spent.

As the summer of 2001 rolled in I couldn’t wait to get started on the garden. It was a huge task and my experience with the soil told me I would need help. So early that April I enlisted my husband, his pickax and my son.

Finally, with help, surely I can get this done in no time, right?

We all marched outside, positive attitudes in place, shiny brand new tools in hand and started hacking away at the hardpan clay. Harry whaled away at the soil with the pickax. I chopped the boulders with a shovel. Ben hoed the boulders into grapefruit-sized chunks. Each sized-person designated to the appropriate task.

It was slow…very slow…going. Excruciating.

We toiled at this for two full weekends. I sang all the working-outside, hard toil work songs I could think of…”Old Man River,” “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,” “Bye-and-Bye,” “Late Comes the Day.”

Four days came and went before we admitted defeat. You can’t call us easy quitters.

In desperation, we consulted a local farmer who was advising us on our new hayfield. He knew just what to do to get the garden prepared, he told me. After consulting with me on the basic dimensions he told me he would be back in a couple of days to upturn the soil with his disking machine.

Yippee! Finally, the solution. The answer to my prayers. In just two days I would have wonderfully turned soil and could start planting! I was giddy with excitement.

Two days later I returned home from some errands to discover that a bomb had exploded in our back yard. Well, not a bomb. But it looked like a bomb had exploded in our back yard.

HUMONGOUS clods of earth were everywhere. I’m talking BOULDERS of clay the size of bowling balls…armchairs…SPORTSCARS!

It was a complete disaster. This wasn’t the neatly tilled soil I had envisioned!! This looked more like a war zone.

Knowing the attitudes and aptitudes of the men in my house, I again asked around. A friend the gym where I work out insisted that his dad and crew were the men for the jobs.

“They’re professionals. They do this type of stuff all the time.”

So they came a’callin’ to see about my little garden problem.

There were three of them. They walked around. They mumbled, as only older Maryland men can mumble with a wad a chew in their mouthes. They shook their heads.

The dad told me he’d be in touch about what do to.

Well, you guessed it. I never heard from them again. My friend at the gym only told me his dad had laughed and laughed and laughed. Said he wouldn’t touch that project for a goldmine.

So again, Harry, Ben and I trudged back outside with our hoes. The trek wasn’t nearly so optimistic this time because we were already quite familiar with the unpleasant task in store.

Why didn’t we use a tiller? Two reasons:

1. I was in the throes of reading Barbara Damrosch’s Garden Primer in which she claims NEVER to use machinery to dig beds. The only acceptable method is double-digging. I figured if Barbara can do it, so can we. I am no wimp.

2. The tiller probably wouldn’t work anyway with all the hardpan boulders.

So again, we set to hacking up clay boulders with our hoes. Just for fun, once we had the soil in nice baseball sized chunks, I ordered up about 10 tons of leaf mulch. And bought 10 blocks of peat moss.

I spent parts of every single day loading up the wheelbarrow and spreading the leaf mulch, working it slowly in with a hoe. And other parts of other days hosing down and gently kneading the peat moss into something that could be worked into the soil.

Harry and Ben had long since abandoned this enterprise.

All of the sweaty, dirty work, alone, reminded me of the early days when Harry was at sea and I was home alone with a small child. We lived in Florida, where the summer heat was hideous. I decided one summer when Harry was gone, in a fit of pique, that I could do the lawn better than the service that had been caring for the lawn for several years. After work, while Ben was still in day care, I would rush to mow the lawn. When I got to the edges of the pond where we lived, a fairly steep slope that required considerable effort, I was exhausted and almost always dissolved into weepy tears that mixed with the sweat. I don’t know, even now, if it was sadness, loneliness, exhaustion or frustration–maybe all of these–but that same feeling was revisited when working in 10 tons of leaf much into my new garden. Perhaps working the soil works the soul?

To be continued…

On another note:

I am feeling somewhat better. I finally gave in and raided the medicine cabinet for all the cold medicine I could find. I am afraid of what’s in it, but that nasty green stuff that you swill out of a little cup allows you to sleep, at least. I even made it to the gym today and got some work done. Tomorrow will be a better day.

Robin

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No, this isn’t yet another story about my poo-obsessed brother. I have a rotten, nasty cold.

Despite the recent claims of Cold Ease, Zicam and other cold-ameliorating medicines, my cold is not less severe or lengthy. I…Feel…Like…Crap.

I dutifully got my flu shot. But what I really needed was a cold shot. No such thing. Stupid scientists.

So this is just a friendly reminder to protect yourself, along with the tips you’ve heard before:

• Avoid people (like me) who are sick. It’s not just because you’ll get sick too. We are really cranky.
• If you are sick, stay the heck home. No one wants to see you. You’re probably cranky.
• Do not share: dishes, towels, silverware, telephones, pencils, cars, subway cars, busses, airplanes…Well, do what you can with this one.
• If you work in an office, use alcohol. No, don’t drink it. (At least before 5 p.m.) Use some cotton puffs and clean your phone, keyboard and other shared work surfaces regularly, particularly if someone else comes near it. I used to do this twice a day in the bacteria- and virus-infested ad agency where I used to work before retreating to my sterile home office. Some of this had to do with some of the creative department staff. (Another story.)
• Manage stress, which lowers your immunity and may make you more susceptible to illness. Maybe you should drink that alcohol earlier than 5 p.m. after all.
• Boost your natural immunity with regular exercise and a healthy diet. I did it and it didn’t work for me, but hey, it might work for you.
• Forget what the germ doom-and-gloom-scientists say about super-bugs developing immunity and use that miracle hand sanitizer about 50 times a day. After all, we’re talking about a COLD here.
• Go ahead and take those immunity-boosting vitamin concoctions that you pour in water and that taste like, well, crap. It can’t hurt.

So, I’ve done my public service hours for the month. Live long (and cold-free) and prosper.

Robin

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Those busy folks over at Gardening Gone Wild are hosting another of their Garden Blogger’s Design Workshops–this time on arbors and pergolas.

These types of garden design features are among my favorites because, for me, gardening isn’t just about the plants, it’s about style, form and flow.

I fret over the outdoor design and arrangement as much as I do inside my home. In fact, the reason that I have been relatively slow to develop all this property is my concern for making sure the design is juuuuusssst right. I have to scratch my head and think really, really hard before I decide what to do.

The other reason I’ve been fairly slow to develop the larger landscape is that my big ideas often have big price tags. Which gets me to the topic of arbors…

The garden gate and arbor serve as an entrance to the Colonial garden. Fence, gate and arbor are from Walpole Woodworkers.

The ideal garden that lives inside my head was inspired by growing up in Virginia, where there are countless beautiful historic homes, most with gardens, and historic meccas such as Colonial Williamsburg. Our Colonial ancestors designed their gardens for beauty as well as function. Gardens were not just places to grow vegetables in tight little rows, but were extended rooms of the house, with paths, seating and tables that created outdoor rooms for family and guests to enjoy. Most often they mixed flowers, vegetables and herbs in a pleasing mix of form and function.

Once Harry and I finally put down permanent roots here in Maryland, I decided on a Colonial kitchen themed garden to try and make my dream garden a reality. The white picket fence provides a well-defined “room” for the garden and also extends the architectural interest of our white house as you approach down the long and winding driveway. But I knew that just a picket fence without some sort of vertical interest would look more like a pool enclosure than a true garden, so we added vertical interest with the arbor and gate. The view through the gate is to a bench at the end, which draws the eye and invites the visitor down the path.

Growing over the arbor on one side is a well-established clematis that blooms in late summer. On the other side is a wisteria that blooms in early spring. By mid-summer, the clematis and wisteria have twined together to cover the arbor gate.

I still worry about whether remove or drastically trim back the wisteria because of its Herculean vines. I haven’t done so yet because they actually are climbing up a white plastic chain that I installed so that the vines would have something to attach to. They twine on the sturdy arbor structure but not on the fence itself. The whack or no-whack decision will come in the spring.

Did I tell you that it takes me a long time to decide what to do in the garden?

Wisteria twines over the arbor. White plastic chains make excellent supports for small vines to cling to–and are soon masked by all the green.

We have added two other permanent vertical points of interest in the garden as well–a tuteur with a henryi clematis and a small Hakuro-Nishiki willow tree that is surrounded by boxwood and, if the squirrels allow, will be filled with purple tulips in the spring. (A nine-month view of the garden can be seen here.) In summertime, the cucumbers climb on bamboo teepees and the tomatoes on Texas Tomato Cages, adding more height to the garden.

Clematis henryi on a tuteur

One of the joys of working in a garden with such a well-defined structure is that it makes maintenance somewhat easier. Because I have raised beds I don’t have to tidy bed edges here. Also, the beds are small enough that I can reach in with my long arms to pull weeds or plant. When I need a rest, the bench is right there and provides a perfect location to plot my next big project.

Future big-ticket projects include extending our back patio into a path that leads to the garden. I plan to border the path with lavender and a wild array of useful herbs. Then there’s the chicken coop, the garden shed, the mosaic tile entryway, the container garden, the outdoor shower.

The list goes on and on and on…

Until it’s all done, I have a nice place to sit and plan my next, very slow, move.

Robin

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