Meadow moon garden

“No bought potpourri is so pleasant as that made from one’s own garden, for the petals of the flowers one has gathered at home hold the sunshine and memories of summer.”

— Eleanor Sinclair-Rhode

Buoyant with color, meadows swell in fullness as July unfolds. Herbs and hay are ripe for harvest and first cuttings. Summer is here and on the wing, a time to savor the brilliance of the garden’s flush expression.

Butterflies and hummingbirds flutter and dart from bloom to bloom in rapture. Over time, I’ve planted buddleia, Echinacea, bee balm, Veronica, lavender and more to attract them. Swallowtails, mourning cloaks, skippers and painted ladies dip daintily for nectar unfurling their proboscises. I love seeing monarchs, and I keep a few milkweed plants around for their yellow, black and white-striped caterpillars to nibble in hopes of increasing their diminishing ranks. Cabbage whites are not moths, but butterflies, which I discourage with sprinklings of wood ash. In ancient Greece “psyche,” “soul” and “butterfly” were interchangeable. Among others, William Blake believed that butterflies were souls reincarnated.

Speaking of transitions, the prolific wetting by nearly constant rain in June demanded some attention, especially to the mass of hungry slugs devouring many young transplants. I sagged a little, noting daily shrinkages of tender annual seedlings of Cosmos sulphurus and Calendula Solar Flare. I opted to try bottom-trimmed and air-hole-perforated plastic milk jug tents. It worked, allowing a comeback of thrice devastated cucumber seedlings.

My thriving herbs are catnip, chives, parsley and sage. Young basil succumbed and needs replacement. Early herbalists preached the curative effects of merely inhaling the fragrance of an herb garden. Energetics of plants imbuing powers of bravery (thyme), courage (borage), money (burdock), and love (rose), all reinforce our essential symbiosis with the earth. Herbology arises out of the plants brought into the kitchen for use. Foods of the past, like fennel and nettle, are herbs of today.

Arching canes of a rambling red rose bedeck our garden fence with splendor. Daylilies pop, trumpeting from lengthy scapes. I water in mornings as summer dries up the soil. I’ll divide and transplant Irises and poppies this month, pinch and fertilize chrysanthemums for multiple blooms, and cut back spent delphiniums to a foot and a half in hope of a second show. This is the time to side-dress vegetables with nitrogen and to sow summer lettuce and a fall crop of kale and peas. Perennials and biennials can be sown now, too. I pull the flowering weeds first so they don’t go to seed and spread. Then I go after the tallest ones that are just taking over other plants. I pick on the little guys last.

July is the time to order spring flowering bulbs to get the best selection. I fertilize houseplants and start cuttings of coleus and geranium for indoor color later. I’ll prune and pot cuttings of our Spirea Lime Mound after flowering, allowing for new growth to harden off before cold weather. There’s time yet to get in a crop of beans. I like tender yellow wax beans in a salad with basil and tomatoes.

Attuning to plant spirits is particularly eased now, as lush growth holds them in full. With heart and open mind, magical connections can occur. Nature is always speaking. Our happy reward is to listen.