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So, come on with us. The season is far from over and we want to hear how your tomatoes are coming along, if you’re taking your beans to the fair, how you Endless Summer is blooming and how you’re dealing with aphids, powdery mildew and the neighbor who always snitches a handful of your raspberries.  We’re at startribune.com/greengirls.  

I’ve got a big ol’ pot of impatiens by the front door. When they’re dry, they communicate very clearly: They wilt. I water.  

I was riding my bike the other day, when I noticed a whole bunch of dried leaves in the gutter. It took me a minute to realize that IT’S NOT FALL YET. It’s too early to have dried leaves in the gutter. They’re supposed to be green and on the trees. The trees are telling us something we may have overlooked: it’s really dry.

In the metro area, so far we’ve had the 6th driest summer and the 15th coolest summer since 1871. The lower temps were a good thing. They’ve kept the soil from heating up and the plants from drying out so quickly. But they may have masked the problem a bit, especially for trees.  When it’s cool, I don’t think about watering as much as I do when it’s hot. And, even when it’s hot,  I hardly ever think about watering my trees. Maybe that’s because my trees aren’t as demonstrative as my impatiens. Many trees don’t even show signs of drought stress until they’re in a bad way.  Losing leaves in early August means that at least some trees are in a bad way. 

So (you know what I’m going to say) do water your trees, even mature ones. Unless we get some rain, set a sprinkler under the drip line and run it for about a half hour a week. Or snake a soaker hose under your tree. Or water with a regular hose. Just water. At least every once in a while.

 I’m not a natural born waterer. I have to be reminded. I’m glad my impatiens live up to their name, get tired of waiting for me and just demand water. Wish my other plants were as pushy.

How do you water? Do you have a watering schedule? Or do you wait to water until you think your plants need it? How do your plants tell you they’re thirsty? 

You can take the greengirl out of the garden, but you can’t take the garden out of the greengirl.

Our honeymoon was no exception. I was scoping out the plants the minute our plain landed in Maui. “Hey, is that a sugar cane fields Do you think these palm trees native? Can creeping charlie survive here?”

Since I started gardening, I’ve changed how I travel. I still adore a kitschy tourist trap, but I also have this irresistible urge to explore local microclimates and their unique flora and fauna. Maui has many, including a desolate volcanic crater 10,000 feet above sea level.

If you can imagine a trip to paradise with a detour through Mars, you can imagine Maui’s Mt. Haleakala.

On the slopes lives a unique plant, the Silversword. This gorgeous silver pompom can live over 50 years, but flowers only once in its life and dies soon after it blooms. The one below was almost three feet in diameter. (Note: You can see a receipt stuck in its leaves for scale.)

It is absolutely striking to see its silver leaves against the red and black volcanic rock, but don’t look for this plant at Bachman’s anytime soon. In the 1920’s, silverswords were on the brink of extinction. Now the plant is strictly monitored and protected by the U.S. government. Through conservation efforts, the silversword has been reclassified as a threatened species. You can read more about it here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haleakala_Silversword

Silverswords are members of the Asteraceae family. If you are growing asters or sunflowers in your garden, you are growing a relative of this beauty. Take a peak at the flower in bloom and you’ll instantly recognize the petal formation: http://gohawaii.about.com/od/hawaiianflowersandtrees/ig/Silversword-Photos/silversword_022.htm.

So how far would you travel to see a rare plant? Does you inner plant nerd come out on vacations, too?

Today’s guest post comes from JudyBusy in south Minneapolis:

I grew up on a farm, so spent a great deal of time weeding and eating. I can still taste the earthiness of a carrot pulled, wiped on my shorts and eaten in the midst of the garden. My dad planted sweet corn with a small tractor and planter, and in August the chore of gathering ears and shucking them fell to us kids. Nothing says summer like blanching hundreds of ears, cutting off the kernels and stuffing them into freezer bags — in a Minnesota August, when we did not need the extra humidity.

But man, that little taste of summer is heaven in the middle of January.

Sometimes I think I had no choice but to garden, having come from countless generations of farmers, knowing that food comes from the earth, intimate with rain and early frosts.

So, I garden in a small city lot, growing mostly flowers, but herbs and vegetables as well. I grow stuff that I can’t get elsewhere, or just for the beauty of them in the garden. I grow sorrel, a vigorous herb that is the first to come in spring, along with better known chives. If we get that early frost, it shrugs and sends up new shoots. I always write in my garden journal when we have the first sorrel, served over scrambled eggs laced with Parmesan cheese. It’s tart, a little lemony, and the French make a soup of it, although I think you’d need about a half dozen plants to get enough leaves.
I’ve grown okra, which is very pretty, cousin of hibiscus that it is. The one I grew had pretty yellow flowers, and tucked inside was a burgundy set of pistils and stamens that had been made of velvet.

I always grow eggplant, even though they are easily found. They are so firm, so plump, so ready when picked. We cut them in circles, fry in olive oil, sponge off, and layer them with chopped garlic, balsamic vinegar, basil, and salt and pepper. Along with a sort of salad called panzanella, it’s the perfect supper. The name means “little swamp” in Italian. It’s a mess of baguette pieces, tomato, cucumber, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, garlic, basil and capers, maybe a little shallot.

I love talking to other gardeners about what they grow, seeing the anticipation on their faces and as they describe the perfect potato recipe, or the best salsa they’ve ever had—who knew serranos could get that hot! The varieties of vegetables are swapped back and forth, with “Have you ever….” stories: “Oh, and then there was the time we spiked vodka with habanero chilies and served it in orange juice….”

So what is your favorite eating and gardening memory?