A rocky outcrop across from Camosun College’s Dunlop House entrance has been covered by a sprawling evergreen for ages.
photo by SVSeekins
Each year, the Juniper grows a little bit more & covers even more of the knoll. We often pass by on our morning walks. Over time, memories of what grew alongside those shrubs fade. This winter, there is a welcome flashback.
photo by SVSeekins
A branch has died back, allowing the winter sun to warm the ground beneath. When we walked by on the morning of December 29, this swath of snowdrops was there — already in bloom! I’m delighted & so impressed that these galanthus survived all those years of overgrowth. Had they continued to bloom annually despite the darkness underneath the Juniper foliage?
photo by SVSeekins
Most articles about growing snowdrops explain that these bulbs prefer partial to moderate shade. I’ve yet to find any that mention dense coverage.
Now, I’m curious to see which other types of bulbs bloom here through the spring. What’s next to come? Crocus? Glory of Snow? If we’re really lucky — perhaps our native Shooting Star or Fawn Lily … ❤️
The first fall Kniphofia bloom opened in early September. A lonely orange ember floating above a mass of strappy green leaves. I was delighted to see it as so many voluptuous summer colours had faded in the sunshine. I was NOT ready for the show to be over.
photo by SVSeekins
To start with, it was the native asters that I was more pleased about. They were putting on more of a show this year — even the deer hadn’t sheered them back too much. But it’s nice to have a variety of colours in the garden as so much was brown from seasonal drought.
To my delight, several more Torch Lily blooms quickly followed. Our own little fireworks display!
photo by SVSeekins
I’d traded some of our May-blooming Kniphofia for this unusual fall-blooming type. Fortunately for us, it likes its new home.
By October, the asters were finishing, & the Red Hot Pokers became the star, enhanced by the fall colours of the forsythia in the background.
Even through November, they practically glowed in the autumn sunshine. (And stood tall against the occasional storm).
photo by SVSeekins
Through these months, the hummingbirds were either feeding on the kniphofia nectar or resting amongst the blooms & red fruit of the strawberry tree. They were around so much, there’s a good chance they took up residence, but I couldn’t find a nest. Perhaps they just roost at this time of year?
photo by SVSeekins
By December, the trees had shed all their leaves & most of the garden looked forlorn. Honestly, the Kniphofia looked worse for wear, too, but some of the blooms held on. I couldn’t help but admire their tenaciousness — after all, they were 3 months in! A public garden would have staff get in there to tidy things up right away. My hands were busy raking leaves & clearing ditches before the next dump of rain… besides, I wanted to see just how long the spikes of colour could last.
photo by SVSeekins
At the very end of December, one lonely torch smiled at me from outside the window as I drank my morning coffee inside our cozy home.
Then, one chilly morning in early January — after 4 months of constant blooming — the show was over. Sort of.
The last stem had bent under the weight of its torch. The elements had taken their toll. The flame continued — but now it was upside down!
photo by SVSeekins
OK, I know it’s a stretch, but I cheered it on even though I had to admit it was finished. The Red Hot Poker had toughed it out where others had died off.
Four months of colour is fabulous for any perennial — in any season. But through the entire autumn? That is extra special.
The sound of the early traffic splashing along a wet road woke me. Now, looking through the kitchen window, I wonder if it’s still raining. I gaze out at the white sky, unsure if I need an umbrella for our morning walk.
Then I notice the base of our apple tree.
photo by SVSeekins
Because the creeping buttercup in our lawn is determined to invade this little bed of Primula Wanda, I keep a sharp edging along its border. Today it looks less like a wee ditch & more like a moat.
photo by SVSeekins
The moat is brimming. Last night’s deluge has filled the water table & it’s saturated right up to the surface. Roots must be swimming in wet! Are the worms drowning?
The Royal Horticultural Society says these primulas prefer moist but well-drained conditions. Fortunately, we live on a slope & the excess moisture in the soil will slowly drain away as the rain eases.
photo by SVSeekins
But this winter flooding is what makes conditions on the southern tip of Vancouver Island so different from most. We have a Winter Wet & Summer Dry climate.
Of our 35 inches of annual rainfall, only 5 inches arrive in our prime growing season (May through September — 5 inches in 5 months!). We get more than that in November alone (6 inches). Our summers are dry & our winters are wet. Very wet.
Who else gets the bulk of their moisture in winter?
The Mediterranean basin
Central Chile
The western cape of South Africa
Micro-climates on the southern edge of Australia
It makes sense that the Cyclamen & Tulips from the Mediterranean do well here. Likewise for Australia’s grevillea & Chile’s Monkey Puzzle trees, and my favourite South African import: Red Hot Pokers.
I don my rain gear & head outside. Who would have thought we’re so different from the Marine West Coast Climate of the rest of our Pacific Northwest? No worries, I can appreciate our own little niche in the world.
Garden Variety Life 