The term “forest bathing” appears in popular media a lot these days. A recent Washington Post article refers to it as yoga, 30 years ago. If it is new to you, however, you are not alone.
An elderly farmer once told me, "In 90 years of living, I've learned one thing. Change is the only constant." The fall of 2017 would make him smile. Everywhere I look, people are exploring new ideas in land care--and some of them are as old as the hills. If even some of these trends take hold, our individual and commercial landscapes will be notably different in the near future.
Two voices speak loudly these days about landscaping, and they are in opposition. One proclaims the need for neatness along main streets. The other defends the need for midtown bird and insect habitats, which may not have the clean lines of a conventional lawn and landscape.
For most people, the words “grass” and “lawn” go together like mac and cheese. Yet in the month of August, it’s easy to see that some grasses are anything but lawn-like. Low-growing purple love grass offers luminescent splashes of color along roadsides. The airy tops of switchgrass decorate wet fields and woodland edges. American beach grass reduces beach erosion.
Very, very few seeds are produced commercially in the Northeast today. Until the early part of the 20th century, almost all seed was locally produced, harvested, and planted—and thus, regionally adapted to some degree. The mainstream seed industry today, however, emphasizes plants that can deliver a one-size-fits-all performance across a broad geography.
Much land care 'education'—for homeowners and landscape pros alike—comes from trial and error. Another big source is word-of-mouth, which results in myths. And, of course, product manufacturers offer their own spins on how to get things done.
I have been a fan of rain barrels for many years. (I own eight of them and wouldn't be without them.) I have also written about these handy devices on several occasions, most recently this week in the community papers for ZipO6/TheDay.
The mild winter gives way to a spring calendar--but, gardeners, not so fast! For some ideas on what to do--and not do--in the March landscape, please read on:
It was February 25 when I put five milk jugs outdoors for my first experiment with milk jug growing. On March 30 that year, there was plenty of germination. By the end of April, I was harvesting spinach.
Do trees live in families? Do they defend one another? Do trees “feel” a loss when one of their community disappears? What if a tree “remembers” the climatic conditions of its seedling days, but experiences a changed climate as it reaches the century mark?