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Nurturing a nation of gardeners

Irene Virag | GARDENING

June 22, 2008

At twilight, in the sultry haze of a Southern heat spell, the gardens glistened. I strolled through them quickly, admiring the purple clematis scrambling over a brick wall and knew that I would come back to admire the boxwoods. I looked at the vast meadow sloping down to the Potomac. In the fading light I could still see the bluebird boxes and the purple coneflowers and wild bee balm and the palest pink penstemon. Birds sang to the evening and I thought that all I needed was a white parasol and a hoop skirt - although I never could understand how those antebellum belles dealt with those things, especially in the heat - and I could imagine I was waiting for a beau named Beau to carry me off to a ball. To me, even the name of the place resonated with a certain romance - River Farm.

Of course, no Beau was anywhere in sight but my husband was actually wearing a tie. And except for the fact that I did the driving, he had carried me off to the American Horticultural Society headquarters in Alexandria, Va., where the organization named me a "Great American Gardener'' and awarded me the B.Y. Morrison Award for inspirational and effective garden writing. I don't exactly see myself as a "great American gardener" but I do draw my inspiration from my garden and from fellow gardeners like all of you. It was a select company, including other winners being honored for their work in horticultural fields such as scientific research and education and landscape architecture and urban beautification and philanthropic endeavors. I wanted to thank you - my readers - for having a hand in whatever I've achieved.

And I wanted to tell you about River Farm, in case you're ever in Alexandria. It's down the road from Mount Vernon and at one point, it was the northernmost of George Washington's five farms. Our first president - who was no slouch as a gardener - never lived there but rented it to other farmers and later gave its lease as a wedding present to a niece and her husband. A magnificent Osage-orange tree in the shade garden north of the main house is believed to have grown from seedlings of the Lewis and Clark Expedition. It was Thomas Jefferson's gift to the Washington family. That's what I call living history.

The American Horticultural Society acquired the property in 1971 with the help of Enid Annenberg Haupt, whose philanthropy also made possible the renovation of the great glass conservatory at The New York Botanical Garden that is now named for her.

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I returned to River Farm the day after the awards banquet. The five-acre André M. Bluemel Meadow - still a work in progress - was as romantic in the morning light as it was at twilight. I'd love to see it again in late summer, when the asters and New York ironweed and sunflowers and native grasses, like little bluestem and prairie dropseed, come into their own. But before I even wandered down by the meadow, if not the actual riverside, I was inspired in a more practical vein by a demonstration garden set up to illustrate a joint program between the United Nations and AHS called The Growing Connection, which brings together American middle-school kids and students from countries such as Ghana, Mexico, Nicaragua and the Dominican Republic. The youngsters exchange information about the food crops growing and how via e-mails, snail mail and online phone calls.

The demonstration garden features EarthBoxes. In case you don't know about them, EarthBoxes are rectangular plastic containers that reduce work and save space. Each box has its own water reservoir, and also comes with potting mix and black plastic mulch. You fill the reservoir through a tube so plants get what they need without hoses, sprinklers and the like. I've always advocated replacing the chemical fertilizer strip with dry granulated organic feed - and I'm happy to report that the manufacturer's product list now includes an organic fertilizer.

The demonstration boxes were thriving despite the heat. One contained an herb garden of chives, purple ruffles basil, golden sage, rosemary, parsley and peppermint chocolate mint. Others nurtured everything from lentils and edamame and oats to wheat and flax and okra. Not to mention several kinds of tomatoes - some already big enough to be caged.

Throughout River Farm, the gardens sparkled with color. Liriope and mondo grass edged a small labyrinth. A stone statue of Pan seemed at home among emerald green arborvitaes and blue salvia and boxwoods.

Ah, the boxwoods - a favorite of Southern gardeners since the plants were introduced to the New World in 1652. I think about bordering the vegetable quadrants in my front-yard garden with boxwoods and found several cultivars to ponder - especially bright green low-growing Morris dwarf. And I liked the look of glencoe, which grows in a curved line along a brick wall, as well as an allée of Justin Brouwers, and tall, dark and handsome green mountain, which stood sentry at either end of long borders.

I was charmed by a "fairy tale garden" with a kid-size maze of orange and pink zinnias and an alphabet border where colorful letters correspond to plants and garden creatures - L for lamb's ears, P for pansies and onward.

Elsewhere, magnolias were still in bloom with creamy flowers the size of china tea cups and white hydrangeas and pink Gaura and a galaxy of heucheras - licorice, pink gem, crème de menthe and crème brûlée. And summer wave ninebark, a graceful golden bronze shrub that showed me what I have to look forward to when the baby in my test garden gets moved to sunnier digs in the fall.

The American Horticultural Society states its mission as "making America a nation of gardeners, a land of gardens." I second that.