Like the flashiest cars in the parking lot, the biggest, brightest flowers in the garden seem to garner the most attention. We are captivated by gorgeous camellia blossoms, some larger than a hand, as well as richly colored and fragrant tea roses.
It’s not just plants that are suffering because of the drought. Birds, bees, and other small creatures are also facing the winter with a handicap.
Spring typically finds the big box stores and nurseries absolutely stuffed with new plants. Shelves, tables, even sidewalks are loaded with dazzling specimens, each one more intriguing than the last. There is a plant sale almost every weekend.
I will remember the summer of 2016 as the summer this gardener almost hung up her dirty tennis shoes and threw away that last pair of holey gloves.
The Auburn grad is known as a man of many hats: editor-at-large for Southern Living, gardener, landscape designer, interior designer, author.
As the hot weather winds down, many of our summer-blooming perennials have lost their sparkle, their places taken by the brave annuals that have managed to survive this miserable season.
In the midst of brick walls and concrete alleys, nestled off downtown Anniston’s main street, a small paradise flourishes. The area surrounding the rear entrance of Miller’s Office Furniture — site of "The Big Chair" — is home to 338 containers of annuals, perennials, shrubs and trees.
It is July, which means the grass is crisp and the gardener is frazzled. Recently planted flowers are simply hanging on, waiting for a cool breeze or a summer shower.
Since the early days of spring, the curb markets and big box stores have been bursting with displays of annuals so numerous that making a choice seems almost overwhelming. Temptation lurks.
Like many gardeners, I have a love/hate relationship with summer. On the love side (making the summer’s heat almost worth the bother): Ken Easterling’s Chilton County peaches, weekly farmers’ markets, fresh blueberries, homegrown tomatoes and the huge variety of plants that come into their o…
My garden overflows with hundreds of plants, some commonly grown by many gardeners, such as gardenias, but others less common, such as plumbago, zenobia or acanthus.
Each morning, I wander in the garden scouting for the latest plant to break its winter dormancy, inevitably discovering a lily pushing up through the pine straw, a flower unfurling its bloom or a fern emerging from its winter rest.
For her floral business Kathryn Anne Weddings, designer Kathryn Bowen likes to include something from her own garden in every single wedding.
To enjoy the sunny days of spring, I have been spending time each afternoon settled in a lounge chair as a spectator to the world around me. I am especially fascinated by the behavior of the birds. Since these feathered friends provide me so much pleasure, I want to make sure my yard is a welcoming, safe habitat.
I rarely meet an unlovable plant. But there is one tree that has no place in my garden or anyone else’s garden: the callery pear, which most of us recognize as the cultivar ‘Bradford Pear.’
Most gardeners ooh and aah over gorgeous blooms — lusty red camellias, sweetly scented roses, brilliant yellow trumpeted daffodils, bright blue hydrangeas, blinding white gardenias, multi-hued day lilies. I love and grow them all.
For the most part, gardeners are wonderful optimists. They grin and bear freezing winters and scorching summers. Insects and diseases are dispatched with speed and care. But when garden problems sport fur, scales and a tail, the most cheerful gardener can be defeated.
Ohatchee native Amy Nunnelly is a true country girl, having spent most of her life in East Alabama, fishing, riding ATVs and swimming in the family’s backyard creek.
Jenks Farmer, a self-described plantsman and South Carolina native, has spent his career making Mother Nature beautiful.
We choose what we think is the perfect plant … but that plant, like many humans, has a secret that may not be apparent at the first moment of infatuation.