Early burn, stone wall redo, resilience

I burned the garden last weekend. With the mild winter, I thought the plants were waking far, far too early, so I burned before too much growth emerged. I usually do this early to late March. This was the earliest burn ever.

This post feels like self-flagellation. I thought several times about whether or not to show some of these photos. But here they are, in all their unpleasantness, the garden in half-burned disarray.

In another week or two the view will be much better. Empty, at least. The plants that didn't burn I'll chop down next weekend.

We also finished much of the work reconstructing the bed for the new pool; the way forward seems clear.

First, we rebuilt the low stone wall around the pool area, making it rectangular rather than curved. It now acts as a visual extension of the existing stone wall around the base of the house, relating the new pool surroundings to the house--using visually connecting rectangles as shown below. The paver path on the left is temporary; I just threw them down so I could walk across the mud. That's work for another day.

Another view below, showing how the pool area links to the house and its argillite stone chimney.

Details below show how the two stone wall segments look together ...

And three more views of the rectangular structure holding the pool ...

From a distance, the pool area almost disappears. When closely planted, as I intend, it will be private, almost invisible. This view is from a partially burned center area of the garden. Yes, ugly.

Below is an existing path. I may use something similar for the approach to the pool area. I want it to be narrow, so visitors enter one at a time. But this is only one option.

I burned this area too. Miscanthus giganteus (left) does not burn even when extremely dry. Some of the smaller Miscanthus behind burned incompletely. Too much moisture.

My preference would be to have waited another month or two, so I'd have some garden left to see. But spring seemed to be coming much too early.

I jumped the gun. I'd hoped for cold weather and I got it. It's 9 degrees tonight.

I think I should have waited to burn ... but the garden is resilient.

The garden is naked

A week after burning and cutting, the garden is naked, the dance has begun. The curvature of the stone walls and the paths of gravel and concrete make a metaphor of motion -- swirls and circles, curves in unexpected places, points of rest and turnings, almost all visible from the house.

The photos don't capture the geometry completely enough. It takes a wide look around to get the motion of the paths. It's like the movement of water -- literally -- because the paths imitate the movement of water over the surface of the land, marking its direction of flow down the gentle slope to the Lockatong Creek.

What structure the garden has is visible now. By midsummer, it will be mostly invisible. So I will enjoy it for the next few weeks as the perennial vegetation emerges. It's best on these late afternoons when the sun is low and the trees cast long shadows across the flatness, providing a subtle interplay with the dancing movement of the paths.

Clearer definition of the long pond would help bring the scene to life. Cleaning it it out would be a good start. I wonder if I can summon the energy to put on waders and stumble around the rocky bottom tomorrow. It's not a pleasant task -- cutting the dead plants below water level, then heaving the heavy wet mass out onto the water's edge. A direct participation in the experience of water, so to speak. Certainly the least enjoyable part of caring for this garden.

The path starts here, just inside the gate by the house, then winds down to a long stone wall, where the other paths branch off into the main garden field.

On the far side looking back into the setting sun, three Japanese Fan Tail willows, Salix sachalinensis 'Sekka', catch the light. I give these a heavy annual pruning to keep them looking like small trees.

This is their moment for only now do they show their vase-like form. Later in the season, they become background to the perennials.

It's hard to remember the curved area paved in concrete squares will become a secret bower in July when it will almost be hidden by the large perennial plantings.

If I had planned it at this time of year rather than when the garden was fully grown, I probably would have paid more attention to shaping the paths, especially the paved area on the right. It wasn't intended as a curve reflecting the opposite curve, only as an internal sitting area.

Such imperfections may be part of the nature of this garden. A misstep (never could dance!). Something to think about.

Burning the wet prairie

We've had such a mild winter - almost no winter at all - that I was concerned my annual burning of the grassy prairie garden at Federal Twist would damage early emerging plants. In past years, burning could be done as late as the end of March. Not this year.

Grasses on the bank need to be burned before new growth emerges.

All it requires is a methodical approach, burning only one plant or group of plants at a time, a running hose nearby, proper clothing to give protection from flying ash, and stable, hard-soled shoes to allow nimble movement and a convenient method for stomping out small flames.

The same bank in flame.

Apply fire to the base of a grass using a small propane torch and in a few seconds the flames leap high and the temperature shoots up to well over a thousand degrees. That's just a guess, really, but at times I need to stand back at least 15 or 20 feet to avoid being burned. The heat is enormous and could quickly cause serious injury or worse.

Here you can see the hot gasses throwing flame into the air. You dare not let this touch you or your clothing. Fortunately, it's over in a few seconds. I definitely do not recommend the inexperienced try to do this.

It's the quickest way to clear the garden of old growth for the coming year. I finished the one acre main garden in less than two hours, then the front in about thirty minutes.

After the burning, the garden is essentially gone for a few weeks. At first it's a blackened field of debris. Now some heavy rain would be a blessing to wash the ashes into the ground.

This weekend I'll get help to cut the remaining standing remnants with a weed trimmer ...

... clean up the fallen tree limbs and branches ...

... then wait for spring to come.

That's about it for major maintenance in 2012.

Oh, there's coppicing of the willows to be done before the end of the month.