Aliens erupted from the soil in my back yard this morning, and thankfully, I was there to see them. The rising sun illuminated about four-dozen orange, claw-like forms poking up out of the ground. Lobsters from outer space were emerging, and they must not have bathed since they left the home planet because their odor was foul.

These smelly claws weren’t really extraterrestrials, of course, but another variety of stinkhorn fungus. Pseudocolus fusiformis is commonly called stinky squid, and if I’m ever in an elevator with Mother Nature, I’ll have to ask, “How on earth did this one come about?”

By tonight they were gone. Had I not gone out this morning, had I been in my kitchen drinking coffee and reading my email as usual, I would have missed this weird, odoriferous eruption.

True, we can’t be everywhere at all times. But frankly, most of us spend a great deal of time on familiar, habitual behaviors. If we want to see something new, we have to do something new.

Someday we'll have computers that emit smells so when we're looking at photos of roses, we'll also be sniffing their perfume and when reading about the ocean we'll inhale the briny, salt air. If you're looking at a webpage about stinky squid fungi, you'll want to turn that smell software off.

Like other stinkhorns, this one attracts flies and beetles because it smells like rotting meat. Those insects get spores on their legs that they spread as they travel, making sure that others who have disturbed woodland areas, or bark mulch, will enjoy an alien eruption too.

My friend Wendy used to joke that we should all “move one husband to the left.” I remember this today as I decide if I want to continue with a daily Report From Poison Ivy Acres, or if I want a change of view. It may not be possible to totally alter who and where we are, but a transformation of perspective is absolutely doable.

So if I wanted a change of focus to look at these posts with a slightly different lens what would I do? I’m thinking that a step to the left (you know I’m not one who would ever dream of moving right, right?) will be just enough variation to keep Whole Life Gardening fresh.

Yes, I’m still starting in the garden, and since everything is still connected to everything else, I intend to address all of our landscapes. I’ll just do it from a slightly different point of view.

It’s good to shake things up now and then…not, perhaps, by moving one spouse to the left, but enough so that we’re constantly learning and willing to change.

Confirmed gardeners are famous for finding ways to grow things that aren't hardy where they live. We plant figs in pots and haul them into the garage for the winter, and see where we can push the limits with tender plants put in warm spots on our properties. We're willing to move slightly to the left and think, "There might be a way to grow that..." This serves us well in other areas of life. When we fail, we're usually philosophical about it, but when we're successful, the harvest is delicious.

I’ve done numerous consultations where the homeowners are trying to landscape so that guests will come to the front door, not the kitchen door. Often, despite new paths and plantings, this is not something they’ll be successful at. The kitchen door is closer to where everyone parks cars, and it’s homey. Perhaps we should pay more attention to the landscapes in this area, and focus less on what’s growing around the front entrance.

Kitchens are where our everyday lives are centered. We’re nourished here. The door in and out of a kitchen exhales us to the outside world and inhales us, ideally, back to a place of comfort and safety. It is most appropriate then, to have a garden outside the kitchen door: a place of growth and beauty we can see from the heart of the home.

This is my official last post in my “year of conscious cultivation” and blogging daily. Yes, I’ll try to continue posting every day, but this first year of being dedicated to writing a daily Report From Poison Ivy Acres ends tonight. After a rather stressful day when I wasn’t feeling top notch, I decided to take my camera out to the garden to find a topic that is suitable for summing up this project.

I walked out of the kitchen with faith that I would find my subject, looked at the garden in front of me, and thought, “The view out the kitchen door.” Somehow this sums up this blog: moving from the place of comfort and safety out into the world, and using the garden as the middle ground between the two.

We spend our lives building our metaphorical kitchens…those places that nurture our hearts and souls. We fill them with family, God, friends, work, healing and play. Then we move from that place that feeds us spiritually, emotionally and physically, out into the world, and a garden is the ideal passageway for that journey.

Looking out my kitchen door I see the grape arbor and fragrance garden. The driveway is to the right...

and the lake is to the left. I see the bench where I never sit, and the bird feeder that handles more air traffic than O'Hare. I see the Simply Beautiful "Red Head" Coleus, thriving here in the full sun garden. I see some weeds and dried stalks that need pulling, and spaces that need more plants. I see a garden that needs work but is also perfect just as it is.

Every gardener knows that a garden is never finished. Some areas of the landscape are often further along than others, however, and each day, month and year brings new challenges and delights.

It’s tempting to look at those parts of the garden where it’s all come together well, and think, “Well, that’s done.” It isn’t. Everything is constantly growing and changing.

It’s also easy to see those unfinished or problematic sections and focus on the work that needs to be done and the troubles involved.

Our lives are like our landscapes: a combination of process and progress. Our challenge is to appreciate them as such… a whole life that’s growing.

The plants are tiny, and more varieties are needed here...not to mention some serious soil amendment with composted manure....

There is work to be done here too, although this part of the garden is pretty well filled... until something dies, anyway.

I did a consultation the other day where there was an old cherry tree in the back of the garden. The main trunk of this tree leaned at a 45-degree angle, and several large branches randomly twisted and turned. This funky tree had so much character that was the focal point of the garden.

Contrast this to how most home-landscapers treat young trees. After a storm I’ll get calls and emails from readers/listeners who want to know how to pull their wind-blown trees up straight again. I’ve seen plants that have been staked in four directions to hold them perfectly vertical, and those that are chained to buildings or propped up with lumber.

If we are so busy working to make sure a plant remains perfectly vertical, how will our trees have any character in the future?

In our lives we also try to keep everything erect. Yet, like that focal point in my client’s garden, it’s often life’s unexpected stresses and storms that take us down the convoluted paths that create a rich journey.

Some would want to stake and prune this Albizia julibrissin 'Summer Chocolate' so that it's more in balance. I'm just letting it grow.

Most of us don’t design our gardens around the rising or setting sun. These beams of light might illuminate our plants in beautiful and interesting ways, but their positions change from week to week and season to season. In years gone by more attention was paid to where sunlight and moonbeams fell, and this was used as a way to mark sacred celebrations and the passing of time.

It might be interesting to design a garden around where a shaft of light falls each month. A plant with variegated foliage might be placed here, where the setting sun falls at the end of July, and another plant with golden foliage would be planted where the day’s end light hits in August.

There are more ideas to explore than any of us have time for, and so many ways to plant our gardens that we should never be jaded or bored.

If we ever find that our life’s landscapes are looking like “the same old same old,” perhaps that’s the time to begin planting, and marking time, in a completely new way.

Tonight this Persicaria 'Golden Arrow' was lit so beautifully by the setting sun.

I think that most gardeners could tell you about a plant that they wish they’d never placed in their gardens. If you’ve grown gardens in more than one location, you will be able to list plants that you were careful not to take from the old property onto the new.

My perennial bed in the mid-Hudson Valley was infested with Aegopodium podgraria, or Bishop’s weed, that came in with a daylily that my friend Janet gave me. I battled that invasive perennial the entire ten year’s that I gardened in Spencertown, and when we moved to Massachusetts I refused to bring any plants that might carry a seed from that pest.

In my first Cape Cod garden I made the mistake of growing Adenophora liliifolia (lady bells) from seed. Two years later I visited a property that was overrun with this plant, and so I decided to get rid of the small patch in my back terraces. Think again, naive one. After ten years of digging, weeding, smothering and spraying, this plant appeared every spring, summer and fall. We sold the property three years ago and I’m sure it’s completely taken over by now.

Fast forward to Poison Ivy Acres where I vowed to be oh-so-careful with my plant selection. Think again, over-confident one. I planted plugs of the native Eupatorium perfoliatum (boneset) last spring, thinking that it would be a late-flowering, two-foot perennial on the edge of the rain garden and as a fill-in plant elsewhere.

It has filled in. And seeded, clearly intending to fill the entire property and beyond. This plant is billed as growing two to four feet high and mine has grown well over four feet. Thinking that it might be shorter if transplanted to less rich soil, I had my husband dig some out of the fragrance garden and transplant it to a rather dry, poor-soil area where I have other native plants growing. Despite moving these plants in July, during a heat wave, they have thrived and are now close to five feet tall.

Right now the boneset is in full bloom and very pretty. It makes a great cut flower for bouquets, and no insect or disease bothers it. Clearly, this Eupatorium is perfect for the right location…but right now it thinks that the ideal growing conditions are to be found in the perennial beds, gravel garden, rain garden and between the cracks of the patio pavers.

I will need to cut this year’s plants down this weekend before they too go to seed.

No matter how much we plan our gardens and our lives, something is bound to surprise us, and we find ourselves saying, “Oops…my bad.”

Here is one patch of boneset Eupatorium, the white flowers echoing the variegated foliage of the red-twigged dogwood on the left, and the white birdhouse beyond. Perfect, right? No so much. This entire area is filled with tiny boneset seedlings from last year. I have work to do...

As I walked around Poison Ivy Acres with my camera this morning, I noticed that the Asclepias tuberosa is still covered with aphids. These orange Aphis nerii are sometimes called oleander aphids, but in my yard they are asclepias aphids through and through.

I grow four types of milkweed here, and I know for a fact that these aphids are on three of them. What am I doing about it? Other than watching other bugs that are feeding on these Aphis nerii, I’m doing nothing.

Like many insects and diseases in the landscape, these little aphids are very host-specific. I’m not worried that they’ll spread to my other plants. This is something I’m always reminding GardenLine listeners because their natural reaction is to want to “spray something before it spreads.”

As I write this tonight I’m tired, and feeling a bit discouraged about all I didn’t get done today. I recognize this as a “host-specific” situation as well: it’s easier to feel unhappy and pessimistic at the end of the day when the body and brain are weary.

Some situations need to be addressed and remedied as quickly as possible. Others, however, are associated with particular situations, and once we know the circumstances that cause the problem, we can better know if we should treat or leave well enough alone.

Aphids are one of the easiest insects to get rid of. I could spray these with insecticidal soap, a hard jet of water from the hose, or squash them with my bare fingers. But why bother? They are only on the asclepias seed pods, and I do see other insects feeding on them. In the grand scheme of things, these aphids aren't a problem.

There are as many different styles of gardens are there are gardeners, and thankfully, there is no one right way. Some want a landscape that they can keep “under control” (which usually means not too large) while others want plantings they can pretty much ignore.

Many desire plants that are likely to return year after year…dependability is important to these folks. Those that become fascinated with gardening often enjoy taking risks, and trying fussy or marginally hardy plants. As an out-of-control plant person, it’s no surprise that I fall into the last camp.

One of the nicest qualities humans have is their desire to learn, and see what they can grow.

Here is one of my "Could I grow..." plants. This is the Chicago Hardy Fig, and this year it has figs on it! I bought this five years ago from Logees; it stayed in a pot for two years, and when we moved to Poison Ivy Acres I planted it on this south-facing part of the front garden. I have given it NO protection the past two winters. Since we had a mild winter last year, several stems made it through and these have figs on them that are about the size of a grape right now. I'm anxious to see if these ripen, and I'm also looking forward to seeing what the plant will do with some protection through the cold season. Nothing ventured...

As you regular readers know, this is the end of our third summer on Poison Ivy Acres. All of the gardens here are new (and frankly, I think they look pretty damn awesome) so the main plantings have been put in the ground and now it’s a matter of tweaking.  And filling in.

Putting in the first round of perennials, shrubs and trees is a first step, and after these are planted a layer of mulch is perfect for amending soil, holding in moisture and keeping weeds at bay for awhile. As those first plants grow and fill in, less mulch is necessary of course, but until they reach a more mature width, either a layer of woodchips or bark mulch is helpful.

Planting an understory of low, weed-smothering plants is, I think, the next step in so many of my gardens. I’ve already got Sedum, Geranium macrorrhizum, Epimedium and Prunella vulgaris that are getting established in a couple of areas, and I’m looking for others low-growing plants that will fill in but not take over.

Groundcovers aside, I’m thinking that we often move from the more spectacular and sexy first to the dependable and utilitarian. In and out of the garden, the former are likely to what we’re drawn to first, but the latter are what we come to appreciate long term.

I love the Panicum 'Ruby Ribbons' and the 'Raspberry' hardy hibiscus, and have placed other perennials in the area, but there is still far too much mulch here.