March 16, 2021
In the 3 weeks since the Big Freeze, there’s been much gnashing of teeth and grim side-eye given to the cold-toasted garden. There’s been escape. But mostly there’s been a slow acceptance of the changed garden and daily efforts at cutting it all back, removing plants that obviously didn’t survive, and closely examining others for signs of life — tiny springs of green poking up at the roots, green “skin” under the bark when scratched with a thumbnail, still-firm centers of partly melted agaves and aloes.
One thing that surprised me is how long it can take some plants to show the impact of an extreme weather event. I’d thought ‘Sparkler’ sedge (center, above) pulled through with minimal damage, since it was still green well after the melt occurred. But by two weeks post-freeze, every ‘Sparkler’ had mostly turned brown, although pale green remains on some lower stems. I’m curious to see if they can come back from the roots. If not I’ll have to pull them.
‘Alphonse Karr’ bamboo remains in the iffy category. After a week bowed over with snow and ice, it popped back up looking green and OK. But I knew better, and sure enough, it soon went brown. It’s now shedding golden leaves everywhere and driving my husband nuts as he gets the pool cleaned up, but I don’t want to give up on it just yet. For at least another month, I’ll watch for any signs of life.
Aside from pruning back woody perennials — always a big job in late winter, compounded by a factor of 10 this year thanks to live oaks that dropped their leaves early in response to the freeze — I’ve been removing mushy, slimy, and kind of disgusting, actually, piles of melted agaves, aloes, and mangaves. This ‘Opal’ variegated American agave never had a chance in an elevated container. I’ve already replaced it.
With trepidation I watched a trio of soap aloes (covered with a sheet during the freeze), which have survived at least 10 winters along a south-facing wall, get mushy. But the centers of two of them tenaciously remained green and firm. Amazing!
I removed the squishy “arms” and left the centers. They should recover.
The third one had gone squishy all the way to the center, so I pulled it out and replaced it with a small one from a pot that I’d protected. It’ll grow fast.
Three cheers for whale’s tongue agave (as if I didn’t adore them already) for largely surviving the Deep Freeze with little damage. I have to remove a big one that bleached out in the back garden, but my other three look great. Not so much, however, the large ‘Old Mexico’ prickly pear, which dominated this bed. It went completely to mush. I cut off all the oozing pads (so heavy!), leaving a dinosaur bone-like “stump.” I’ve seen people walking by doing double-takes at this strange sight. Will it come back from the roots? We’ll have to wait and see.
In the midst of all this sorry cleanup, I treated myself to little bouquets of store-bought flowers and eucalyptus leaves that I placed throughout the house.
My woodworking sister-in-law made this wooden vase with glass insert for me. Isn’t it pretty?
And I busied myself with setting up my cactus/succulent table on the deck. These babies rode out the freeze inside the house, which got pretty cold during 3 days with no heat, but not as cold as outside! Early March is not out of the realm of possibility for a late freeze in central Texas, but I threw caution to the wind and set them up anyway. I needed order and something pretty to look at.
By last weekend, Mother Nature decided to break from the brown, and redbuds, plums, and ornamental pears began blooming all around town. My Japanese maple unfurled tender new leaves. And I’m enjoying the chartreuse flowers of gopher plant (Euphorbia rigida ‘Winter Blush’).
There’s still much brown…
But signs of renewal are here. Mexican plum, spiderwort, gopher plant, redbud are blooming in my garden. It’s not a lot, but it’s a start. And woody perennials like Mexican honeysuckle (the brown stems) are coming back from the roots. It got up to 86 F yesterday and will do so again today, and rain is expected. The heat and rain will make the survivors leap, I think.
Right now it’s all about the small details. I am grateful for each one.
The garden teaches resiliency and faith in spring’s renewal. It’s coming. Hang in there, my fellow Texas gardeners.
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