I planted the flower that Stacia gave me as a gift and planted my other new plants along the drainage pathway: bleeding heart, astilbe, and hostas. I moved the other plant from the other side of my garden. Coral Bells
Absolutely—here it is rewritten in your voice, clean and blog-ready, like a snapshot you could actually use while standing outside with your coffee and your shovel 🌿
| Layer | Purpose | Plants | Feeling I’m Creating |
|---|---|---|---|
| Back Row | Height + structure | Bleeding Heart, Astilbe, Anemone, Brunnera | Movement, softness, anchor |
| Mid Layer | Main visual body | Hosta, Heuchera | Fullness, color, texture |
| Front Edge | Softening + spill | Creeping Jenny, Ajuga | Flow, softness, cohesion |
| Details | Personality + surprise | Toad Lily, Foamflower | Curiosity, “lean in” moments |
| Area | What I’m Planting | What I Want It to Feel Like |
|---|---|---|
| Left | Bleeding Heart, Astilbe, Hosta, Heuchera | Dense and established |
| Center | Astilbe, Hostas, Creeping Jenny, Woodruff | Blended and natural |
| Right | Anemone, Brunnera, Heuchera | Filled and balanced |
| Front | Ajuga, Creeping Jenny, Foamflower | Soft edge and finished look |
| Month | Focus | What I’m Doing |
|---|---|---|
| March | Prep | Cleaning, edging, loosening soil, adding compost |
| April | Structure | Planting Hostas, Heuchera, Brunnera, Bleeding Heart |
| May | Fullness | Adding Astilbe, Anemone, Foamflower |
| Phase | What I’m Buying | Why It Matters |
|---|---|---|
| Phase 1 | Bleeding Heart, Astilbe, Heuchera, Brunnera | This builds the bones |
| Phase 2 | Ajuga, Creeping Jenny, Woodruff | This fills the gaps |
| Phase 3 | Extra plants and fun varieties | This adds personality |
| Category | Count |
|---|---|
| Back Row | 8 |
| Mid Layer | 6 |
| Ground Layer | 12 |
| Detail Plants | 4 |
| Total | 30 plants |
| What I Expect | What It Means for Me |
|---|---|
| Year 1 | A little spaced, intentional |
| Year 2 | Full and lush |
| My goal | Let it grow into itself |
(mapping it before I touch the soil)
I’m mapping my space in words first so I can really see it before I plant anything.
This is my height and anchor layer.
I’m planting in loose clusters, not straight lines.
Left side:
2 Astilbe (pink or white)
Center (behind the rocks):
1 Bleeding Heart
(this becomes my emotional centerpiece)
Right side:
2 Japanese Anemone
💡 I want soft plumes and movement here, not anything stiff or formal.
This is my main visual body.
I’m planting in groups of three.
Left-mid:
3 Heuchera (mix of burgundy and lime)
Center (weaving into the rocks):
3 Hostas
(slightly different sizes if possible)
Right-mid (filling that open space):
3 Brunnera
💡 I want these plants to touch the rocks. No gaps. They should feel like they belong there.
This is my softening layer.
Along the entire front border, I’m planting:
Creeping Jenny (to trail over the edge)
Ajuga (for those purple spikes and contrast)
I’m going to alternate them in little drifts instead of straight lines.
This is where I get to add personality.
I’ll tuck in:
1–2 Toad Lilies (something unexpected, near the rocks)
A few Foamflower clusters in the shadier pockets
These are my “lean in closer” plants. The ones you notice when you slow down.
I’m not going for spaced-out individual plants.
I want a woven, layered tapestry.
I want everything to feel like it is gently growing toward each other.
(Indianapolis timing)
This helps me keep it manageable and seasonal.
Goal: Clean and prepare
Clear debris
Define the rock edges
Lightly loosen the soil (not overworking it)
Add compost or garden soil where I’ll be planting
Divide or move any existing perennials if needed
👉 Right now I am setting the stage, not rushing into planting.
Goal: Start planting the structure
I will plant:
Hostas
Heuchera
Brunnera
Bleeding Heart
💡 These can handle cooler temperatures and will start establishing early.
Goal: Add fullness and personality
I will plant:
Astilbe
Japanese Anemone
Foamflower
This is starting to feel less like a project and more like a composition I am stepping into.
This is where I build the backbone of the garden.
Subtotal: 8 plants
These give me height, movement, and seasonal variation.
This is the structure that holds everything together visually.
(3 hostas total = my anchors)
(3 heuchera total = color + texture)
This is where the garden starts to feel full and intentional.
These will spread over time, so this is enough to start.
These are the little moments that make the garden interesting.
Total: 30 plants
I want these to spill gently toward me and soften the edge.
This is a perfect first-year density, not an instant full garden.
If I wanted it to look full immediately, I would double this list, but that would be:
What I am choosing instead is to let it grow into itself.
If 30 plants feels like too much, I can scale back and still keep the structure:
That becomes my minimum viable garden (16 plants).
Bleeding Heart → 1 (your focal point)
Astilbe → 2–3 (back row, soft height)
Heuchera (Coral Bells) → 3 (front/mid color)
Brunnera → 2–3 (right side filler)
💡 These are your bones. Everything else builds around them.
Ajuga → 4–6 small plants
Creeping Jenny → 2–3
Sweet Woodruff → 2–3
💡 These are what make your garden feel full instead of spaced out.
These are your:
"ooh I like that color" plants
texture variation
future expansion pieces
Bleeding Heart
Astilbe
Heuchera
Brunnera
👉 Plant these first → step back → observe
Ajuga
Creeping Jenny
Sweet Woodruff
👉 Fill the gaps after you see the structure
Extra heuchera / astilbe
fun varieties
Every few years, when the clumps get crowded, I need to divide my Dutch iris. Late summer to early fall—August or September—is the best time here in Indianapolis, after the foliage has fully died back. I let the leaves yellow naturally so the bulbs can pull their energy back in. Then I lift the clumps gently with a garden fork, separate the bulbs and any offsets, and throw out anything shriveled, mushy, or rotted. I can either replant them right away about four inches deep or store them somewhere cool and dry until I'm ready.
Gladiolus are a little different because the mother corm dies after blooming. I’m supposed to divide them every year, usually after the first frost in late October or early November, when the foliage browns. When I dig them up, I cut the foliage down to about an inch. I’ll find the dried-up mother corm to toss, the new corm or two that I'll replant, and smaller cormlets I can keep growing. The healthy corms need to cure for about a week in a cool, dry spot before I store them in paper or mesh bags or in something like peat moss or sawdust, at around 40–50°F in the dark. Then I plant them again in the spring, after the frost danger has passed.
Even though the general advice says gladiolus won’t survive winters in Zone 6, mine come back every other year. That tells me my conditions must be helping them overwinter. They might be deeper in the ground than most people plant them, or maybe leaves and mulch are protecting them. It’s also possible that new cormlets are maturing and coming up in place of the old ones. I could also have a hardier strain, or maybe they’re tucked into a warmer microclimate without me even realizing it.
Because they’ve returned in my yard, I feel better about planting them in the fall—especially in the same spots where I’ve seen them survive. To give them the best chance, I’ll plant them six to eight inches deep, mulch with leaves after the ground freezes, and avoid spots that get too wet.
The “rules” may say one thing, but my garden keeps showing me what actually works. My Dutch iris will go on their usual fall schedule. And even though most people in my zone dig up gladiolus for winter, mine have already proven they can handle being left in the ground—at least in certain areas. I’m going to work with the conditions I already know are successful and trust the evidence I’ve seen with my own eyes.
Goal: Awaken and replant
🌱 Emerge:
Daffodils, alliums, Dutch iris, and day lilies begin to stir.
🌤️ Tasks:
🌸 Optional companions:
Pansies, violas, and snapdragons — cool-hardy color while bulbs grow.
Early spring whispers, begin again gently. Everything wants light, warmth, and room to breathe.
✿ ✿ ✿
Goal: Growth and color
🌺 Blooming:
Irises, lilies, alliums, and early day lilies show off.
🌿 Tasks:
☀️ Tip:
Leave lily and bulb foliage in place until fully yellow — it feeds the bulbs for next year.
This is the season of abundance — each morning a surprise of color and sound.
✿ ✿ ✿
Goal: Maintain and enjoy
🌺 Blooming:
Day lilies, Cannas, gladiolus, and coneflowers take over.
🌿 Tasks:
The garden hums with life — bees, birds, and Peanut watching from the shade. This is the heart of the year.
✿ ✿ ✿
Goal: Transition and prepare for rest
🌸 Blooming:
Late day lilies, mums, asters.
🌿 Tasks:
Each act of clearing is also an act of promise. What is tucked beneath the soil now will rise again.
✿ ✿ ✿
Goal: Rest and reflect
🌾 Garden:
Sleeping under mulch and snow.
🪴 Indoors:
Check stored bulbs (Cannas, gladiolus) every few weeks.
🌷 Plan:
Sketch layouts, order seeds, write garden reflections.
In stillness, roots strengthen. Rest happens alongside the garden, trusting the cycle to begin again.
✿ ✿ ✿
Summer:
Cannas thrive in heat and moisture, filling space with bold leaves and blooms.
Autumn:
As Cannas die back, dig them up and immediately plant lilies in their place.
Winter:
Lilies root quietly beneath the surface, resting.
Spring:
Lilies rise as the Cannas sleep.
✿ ✿ ✿
My garden and I move in harmony — one season giving to the next, one bloom making way for another. There is beauty in every turning.
In Indianapolis (Zone 6a/6b), you’ll likely dig the Cannas after the first frost, usually late October to early November.
That’s still okay for planting lilies as long as the ground isn’t frozen.
Lilies actually prefer to be planted in fall — it allows them to root lightly before winter.
✅ Ideal window: within a week or two after you dig up the Cannas, before consistent temps below 25°F.
After removing the Cannas, shake out old roots and loosen the soil about 8 inches deep.
Mix in some compost or leaf mold to replenish nutrients (Cannas are heavy feeders).
Make sure the soil drains well—lilies dislike soggy winter conditions.
Plant lily bulbs about 6 inches deep (measure from the top of the bulb to soil surface).
Space 8–12 inches apart.
Pointy end up, roots down.
Water well once to settle the soil.
Then cover the area with 2–3 inches of mulch or shredded leaves for winter insulation.
Don’t worry if frost hits soon after—you’re just protecting the bulbs so they can rest quietly until spring.
When the mulch thaws and the soil warms, remove the top layer so the shoots can emerge freely.
You’ll see your lilies coming up right where the Cannas danced all summer—a graceful handoff between seasons.
This kind of succession planting creates a beautiful rhythm: bold tropicals giving way to elegant spring blooms. It’s also efficient—no empty beds, just transformation.
Affirmation:
My garden moves in a circle of giving—what I clear away makes room for new life.
Theme: Rest, observe, and dream.
Goal: Let the garden sleep while you nurture quiet inspiration.
🕯️ Step outside on mild days to simply look at the garden—notice how the shapes of bare branches and seed heads hold their own kind of beauty.
❄️ Brush snow gently off evergreens after heavy storms to prevent bending.
🪴 Check stored canna and gladiolus bulbs monthly—discard any that are soft or moldy.
💭 Write in your journal about what the garden taught you this year. Which plants thrived? Which surprised you? Which tested your patience?
☕ Make warm tea and sketch next year’s dreams—new beds, color palettes, or a reimagined sunny corner.
Goal: Dream and plan.
📖 Flip through garden journals, notes, and photos from the year.
🌷 Browse seed catalogs or online bulb collections (Dutch iris, daffodils, day lilies… your favorites). Circle ideas that excite you.
✍️ Write down 3–5 “hopes” for next season rather than goals—gentle intentions, not chores.
🕊️ Reflect on what you want your garden to feel like next year: wilder? calmer? brighter?
🪴 If you have indoor plants, give them attention—dust leaves, rotate them, talk to them.
Goal: Begin to awaken, softly.
🌤️ On warm days, walk the garden paths. Feel the ground still cold but hinting at life.
🌱 Start early seeds indoors if you like—onions, snapdragons, or coleus.
✂️ Clean and sharpen pruners, organize pots, check tools.
🧺 Sort through stored bulbs again, ensuring they remain firm and dry.
🎨 Create something inspired by winter’s stillness—a painting, a poem, a card. Let the muted tones of the season guide you.
Even in stillness, I am growing. The roots of next season’s beauty are forming quietly beneath the surface.
Goal: Tidy, plan, and enjoy the late blooms.
✅ Deadhead spent flowers (especially day lilies and irises) to tidy up beds.
✅ Divide and transplant perennials like day lilies, hostas, and irises while the soil is still warm.
✅ Check for areas that now get more sunlight after limb trimming—plan new plantings accordingly.
✅ Start planning bulb combinations for spring:
Daffodils, alliums, Dutch iris, gladiolus, day lilies, etc.
✅ Remove fading annuals and replace with cool-weather plants (mums, pansies, ornamental kale).
✅ Lightly trim back leggy growth but save heavy pruning for late fall or early spring.
Goal: Transition from growing to resting.
✅ Dig up tender bulbs and rhizomes after the first frost:
Canna lilies: Wait for frost to blacken leaves, then dig, dry, and store indoors.
Gladiolus: Dig when leaves yellow; cure in a warm, dry place for a week before storing.
✅ Plant spring bulbs like tulips, daffodils, and alliums (before ground freezes).
✅ Continue weeding—Creeping Charlie and other invaders are easier to spot now.
✅ Rake leaves and use them as mulch or compost—your beds will thank you in spring.
✅ Cut back perennials as they die back naturally, leaving seed heads for birds if you like.
✅ Move any potted plants you want to overwinter indoors before temps drop below 40°F.
Goal: Protect, store, and reflect.
✅ Cover garden beds with mulch or shredded leaves to insulate roots.
✅ Store canna and gladiolus bulbs in a cool, dark, dry spot (40–50°F).
✅ Clean and oil garden tools before storing.
✅ Make notes in your garden journal about what worked, what didn’t, and what to try next.
✅ Sketch or plan next year’s garden while sipping tea and letting your soil rest.
💚 Keep observing the small changes—how the garden softens into rest, how the air smells different, how Peanut watches the leaves fall.
🎨 This is also a lovely time to paint your garden’s fading colors or make cards inspired by autumn textures.
✨ As you put the garden to bed, think of it as clearing space not just for spring growth—but for your own creative renewal too.
In Indianapolis (USDA Zone 6a/6b), you should dig up your canna lilies after the first light frost, but before a hard freeze. Here’s a simple timeline and guide for you:
Typical timing: Late October to early November in Indianapolis.
Wait until the first light frost has blackened the leaves—this signals the plant to go dormant.
Don’t wait too long after that, or the rhizomes could be damaged by a hard freeze (temps below 25°F).
Cut back the foliage to about 4–6 inches after frost.
Gently dig up the clumps of rhizomes with a garden fork, being careful not to cut into them.
Shake off the soil (don’t wash them) and let them air-dry in a warm, airy spot for 2–3 days.
Store in peat moss, sawdust, or newspaper inside a cardboard box or paper bag.
Keep them in a cool, dark, and dry place—around 40–50°F, like a basement or unheated closet.
In spring, replant after danger of frost—usually mid- to late May in Indianapolis. You can even pot them up indoors in April if you want an early start.
My new bulbs arrived, and I’m so excited to plant them! I think I’ll wait until after October 4 to put them in the ground. For now, they’re tucked safely in a box in the refrigerator, just waiting for their time.
One evening this week, I also need to head over to Dr. Cho’s to trim the lilacs and do a bit more work in his garden. I’m leaning toward Friday night—there’s nothing else going on then. It will be nice to spend some quiet time outside, get the work done, then come home, take a long shower, and settle in with a good movie.
There’s something comforting about this rhythm—gardening, caring for plants, making plans, and then rewarding myself with rest. It feels like a reminder that balance is possible: a little work, a little care for others, and then time to recharge in my own cozy space.
Oh—and I just ordered bulbs: gladiolas, allium drumsticks, and Dutch iris—100 of each! I’ll plant them in patches of 25. Dr. Cho will get four-fifths, and I’ll keep one-fifth. I’ll plant his where weeds tend to take over to help block that out. I still need to decide where mine will go, but I’ve got a month until they arrive.
I woke up with allergies in the night and again this morning. I should probably take a Benadryl, even though it makes me feel like a zombie—but I need my energy for the garden this weekend. The grass in the front and back yards is begging to be mowed, and there are plants that need attention. Maybe I’ll even find time to work on my paintings.
The squirrels are loud this morning, chattering and rustling through the trees. I hope they don’t leave a surprise on me again! The birds are noisy too, their songs mixing with the rustle of leaves and the soft hum of the wind. I love how slowing down makes me notice these details. I used to walk in Broad Ripple, moving quickly past everything, but for the last couple of years I’ve stayed in the park with Chewy. I see the trees’ bark textures, the way the light hits each branch, and even notice familiar faces. The park feels alive and intimate now, not just a path I pass through.
Gardening feels different this year, too. The recent limb trimming has opened the backyard, letting sunlight spill into areas that were once shaded. The patch by the gate now basks in morning sun, and I think I might finally grow something there. The creeping Charlie is still making its rounds, but I feel like I’m gaining the upper hand. I remember battling clover years ago—now it’s gone. Gardens come in waves; patience is key.
I picked up some baby onions at Walmart and plan to plant more whenever I move other plants around. I’m imagining a spring bulb bed: Dutch iris with deep violet petals, day lilies opening in soft gold, gladiolus in striking pinks and reds. Perhaps I’ll order some for myself and some for Dr. Cho. Later in the season, daffodils will trumpet cheerful yellow among the green, alliums will rise like little fireworks, and iris will add elegant purples and blues.
I can almost see the ultimate bulb garden: daffodils, alliums, Dutch iris, iris, gladiolus, and day lilies all blooming together in waves of color and texture. It’s ambitious, but I think I can make it happen. Gardening isn’t just work—it’s a way to watch life unfold slowly. Each sprout, bloom, and fallen leaf reminds me to notice, to nurture, and to find beauty in patience.
I really like the pretty white flowers of the onions I planted last year. They turned out to be such a lovely addition to the garden that I ...
