Diary of My Country Life-October 10th, 2026

The original source of this blog: https://www.lotusandmichael.com/blogs/diary-of-my-country-life

10/10/2026 Saturday 45-72F Cloudy 

My Autumn planting is finally done: After removing two azaleas and a cherry tree from my front flower bed, I spaced out the plants so each one could have a bigger territory. This Thursday my last two tree peonies arrived, and I planted them. Besides, since tree peonies don’t like hot summer sun, I transplanted a companion plant, a lavender or a catmint, for each one so their feet can be shaded in summer. I am very satisfied with the look of my front flower bed now. 

I also did some pruning to my mock orange, elderberry, calycanthus, mume, and butterfly bush; all is in some sort of arching, irregular, shrubby tree form. 

I didn’t really realize the importance of tree form until the last two years. At the early stage of being a home gardener, I bought and planted a plant basically based on what I fancied it to be rather than its true situation. Some plants, like camellias and my Japanese dwarf maple “Kiyohemi” hold their shapes well and demand minimum pruning. Especially Kiyohemi-it grows only about three feet high but spreads to six to eight feet wide. In this case, very likely to lose its shape. But this little guy so far conducts itself very well; even its twigs are strong to support the tremendous number of leaves. While on the contrary, mock orange and calycanthus are hard to maintain. Their branches are soft, always arching. Sometimes a sucker sticks straight from the root ball for six or seven feet but unfortunately bends either downward or sidewards. On windy days, those flimsy, long branches are dangling around like lost souls. Once before I had four mock oranges; just because of the willful forms plus deer’s regular visit to them, I dug up three and only one remains in my garden for their citrus like, fragrant flowers.  

Now I try to layer up the branches by cutting them short, then directing the new ones. Not much progress has been made; I feel like a lot of their energies have been wasted by my pruning.  

“They why not just leave them alone and see how they go?” My husband suggests. 

“They will go nowhere and look messy.” Looking at them, I let out a sigh. 

I love their flowers, but don’t love the way they grow; they are not discreet ladies but happy wild country girls. Either get rid of them and save the troubles or keep them and do the best I can. To own a fragrant garden and have diversity, I choose the latter.  

These “free-form” plants are not the worst. After all they grow happily in this zone; however, there are also plants which just can’t adapt to the climate, such as osmanthus. 

My hometown grows a special cultivar of osmanthus, which has golden flowers and a high fragrance. When I lived in Shanghai, starting from late September till early November, the air was always scented with osmanthus’ sweet fragrance. In 2023 I went back to Shanghai during the flower season; all the parks and the streets near my sister’s home were planted with osmanthus so every morning before I was fully awake, I already could smell the flowers.  

There are four signature flowers in Shanghai: Yulan magnolia denudata in spring; white mechelia in summer, osmanthus in fall; wintersweet in winter. Due to the meaning of osmanthus, I planted in total four osmanthus plants in my garden, and two died. Even the two survivors suffered a lot during last winter and this early spring; till now they haven’t shown any sign of flowers. It will be an empty year. I can force them to grow in my garden, but I can’t force them to bloom if they are unhappy. Sometimes success can be achieved easily if everything is right; sometimes it can be ten times harder. Finding the right thing for the right environment is very lucky; otherwise, resilience, persistence, and capabilities are must-haves. 

The more I see my plants, the more amazed I feel about them. Yesterday my saffron bloomed with their first three flowers. About two weeks ago when the temperature began to drop, I wondered about them and counted the days. Then all of a sudden their little pale green tips started to peep out of the soil. Every day they grew a bit, slowly but surprisingly. Now two weeks later they have already bloomed. I collected their threads; each flower has three so in total nine, thinking: How could these little bulbs know the season? They were buried in the soil, dark and lonely. They couldn’t speak, nor talk, nor think. But they could find the right time and know when to show up. If it was because of the cooler temperature, then why didn’t they sprout in spring when the weather was similar? What wakes them up? Their mysterious instinct? 

It seems that instinct works better for plants and animals than for us. When night falls, plants fold their flowers and animals go to rest, we are still awake and sometimes sleepless; plants sprout in spring and go dormant in winter, animals shed their fur then grow it back; we all year long can just wear a shirt staying indoors. Plants and animals tend to avoid, or adjust themselves to suit the potential risks, while we, or part of us, embrace the challenges; plants and animals live in Nature, while we always dream of living beyond Nature, and being the captain.  

I suppose it’s because we consider ourselves supreme—like it says in the army—rank has its privileges😂.