Last year's freak snow storm in late October unexpectedly crushed the garden. I've decided to track the progress of autumn, not knowing what will happen over the next few weeks. As time passes, as many plants decline, the garden becomes a garden of light.*
 |
| The tall feathery light catchers at top center are Salix koriyanagi 'Rubikins' which I cut to the ground each spring. |
The plants become less important, merely visual armatures for light to work on, transforming the dissolution and effects of entropy into a kind of beauty.
 |
| Panicum 'Shenandoah' front, Miscanthus gracillimus back. |
I think this is a cultural and historical phenomenon; it wasn't always so. We learn to see this as beauty (though some don't).
 |
| Miscanthus giganteus, Rudbeckia maxima seed heads. |
 |
| Rudbeckia maxima scaffolding, self-seeded Silphium laciniatum behind. |
 |
| Looking down the bank toward the pond, with candles of Sanguisorba canadensis brightening the shade. |
 |
| Miscanthus having a party. |
 |
| White asters coming into bloom. The blue haze is Panicum 'Dallas Blues'. |
 |
| Also Panicum 'Dallas Blues', a nice complement to the dried wine stain of Joe Pye Weed. |
 |
| Filipendula, a splendid plant for structure, texture and color (except in bloom). |
* Credit where credit is due. Anne Wareham called my attention to this with the remark, "We garden with light."
