Good thymes

Anyone who ever read Edward Eager's "thyme" travel stories as a child appreciates all the magical possibilities of this herb. I still wonder, like the characters in Eager's books, if I crush the scented leaves of creeping thyme (Thymus serpyllum Coccineus), will I find myself transformed into a baby crawling on all fours?  And a sniff of orange thyme takes me where? To a fruit farm in California or Florida? What delicious adventures are hinted by pink lemonade thyme, coconut thyme, or lime thyme?

Carefully stewarding my youthful sense of wonder, I remain open to the possibility of a flight of fantasy from my workaday world.  So my garden always has space for thyme.  Right now, a blooming carpet of creeping thyme is cascading over the front stone wall. Around the back, common thyme (Thymus vulgaris)  has settled in next to a bed of mint. (I like pretty shiny sparkly things just enough to enjoy that time trip.)

And a little clump of lemon thyme (Thymus x citriodorus) is flourishing in an herb pot. 

I'm not big on garden ornaments, but how wonderful would be a sundial with some cryptic horological inscription--"Heed also the shadows which inform the light" or my personal motto, "Festina lente"--to convey oneself back to a leisurely childhood afternoon of reading fantasy books on the lawn. Or maybe a sundial reading "Knowledge is the sun of youth's bright day." 

So the season starts

Mid-March, and it's difficult to reconcile the sheet of ice still slicking the backyard with the maroon ticker counting down to a final frost date at right. However, lengthening days, bulbs nosing up through the dirt, and sights of (sadly not my) witch hazel in bloom signal the start of the season.

I celebrated getting back to composting with a past-their-prime bouquet of daffodils.



And last--or nearly last--plant orders were placed. A holiday gift certificate to White Flower Farm went to two dahlias (Dahlia Karma Choc and American Dawn--what are gift certificates for but heedless splurging? ) and three Thymus serpyllum Coccineus. This pink-flowering creeping thyme grows happily along the the edge of the front retaining wall. In the winter, its green leaves change to a deep shade of purple. So more, I say! Let's start the season!

Step by step

In between the seasonal garden variety activities of dead-heading, staking, and weeding, larger landscaping tasks loom. Laying the French drain along the back and sides of the house necessitated removal and (months and months later) the reconstruction of a stone retaining wall along the front. We had the adjacent front steps and driveway retaining walls rebuilt several years ago.



With all that stonework finished, an opportunity is now presented to rethink the plantings around the front steps. At present, narrow beds of white-flowering periwinkle Vinca minor "Alba" line the front walk. Short alliums--yellow Allium moly "Jeannine" and pink Allium osttrowskianum--are planted throughout.



Pink-flowering Thymus serpyllum Coccineus happily rings the dry, infertile areas edging the wall.



In order to postpone serious decision-making until the summer heat passes, I have followed the cheap-and-dirty route of softwood cuttings. I clipped lengths of the nearby periwinkle, dusted the trimmed stems with a rooting hormone, and slipped each cutting deep into a hole. Lots of rain recently may just give these slips a chance of survival.



These little sprigs of green don't quite look like a ground cover, but they're better than a drab expanse of mulch or a patch of mud. And in the time that they buy me, I can start to build up the beds flanking the front stairs, step by step. The first step is periwinkle . . . then what? I'll be treading slowly!