FAST GROWING GROUND COVER FOR SHADE : FAST GROWING GROUND

Fast Growing Ground Cover For Shade : Wedding Canopy Tent.

Fast Growing Ground Cover For Shade


fast growing ground cover for shade
    fast growing
  • aggressive: tending to spread quickly; "an aggressive tumor"
    ground cover
  • Groundcover refers to any plant that grows over an area of ground, used to provide protection from erosion and drought, and to improve its aesthetic appearance (by concealing bare earth).
  • Low-growing, spreading plants that help to stop weeds from growing
  • groundcover: small plants other than saplings growing on a forest floor
  • groundcover: low-growing plants planted in deep shade or on a steep slope where turf is difficult to grow
    shade
  • Cover, moderate, or exclude the light of
  • Darken or color (an illustration or diagram) with parallel pencil lines or a block of color
  • shadow: cast a shadow over
  • relative darkness caused by light rays being intercepted by an opaque body; "it is much cooler in the shade"; "there's too much shadiness to take good photographs"
  • Screen from direct light
  • represent the effect of shade or shadow on
fast growing ground cover for shade - Staked Star
Staked Star Jasmine Five Gallon
Staked Star Jasmine Five Gallon
Definitely a winner on various uses in the landscape. Makes a great vine, twining to about 12 to 15 tall. Its ability to take full sun or part shade makes it a great choice for screening in patios, porches, or carports. Take away the support and it makes a fabulous ground cover. Blooms in the spring with very fragrant, star like white flowers. Consider it to cover fences or equipment near pools as it is pretty clean, not dropping a whole lot of plant debris. Overall a very tough, worthwhile plant in any yard. Hardy to the low 20's or upper teens.

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Creating a garden from scratch on the cheap in Cape Agulhas.doc
Creating a garden from scratch on the cheap in Cape Agulhas.doc
Creating a Garden from Scratch on the Cheap in Cape Agulhas, The Southernmost Tip of Africa For those of you who know me well, you will understand I cannot live in a place for longer than a few weeks without feeling the need to garden. Even when Graham and I have been in the bush camping in order to get the proverbial perfect photo or sketch for our paintings, I end up with a collection of “wonderful finds” carefully arranged in a corner of our camp and insist on carting them home for my garden. In fact, I have become rather suspicious of my family over the years, as when I suggest a walk, they seem to insist on finding out exactly where I intend going…just in case it is in the direction of a large piece of driftwood, unusually shaped rock or something equally fascinating that they would be enlisted on hauling back in the direction of home grounds. They have also gained the ability to look the other way when I see a plant that I do not possess, as I have a slight tendency to nip off a small piece and pop it in my pocket, bag and sometimes even my bra. In fact one of their favourite stories they enjoy retelling with great mirth is when we were having tea in Meikles Hotel and I saw a lush green creeper growing in a large pot which was cascading over a cleverly wrought frame in the lobby. As I had noticed that the plant had numerous babies nestling up closely to the mother plant just crying out to come home with me, I decided that I just had to adopt one of them and take it with me in my handbag…Kerry and Taryn looked at their Dad and whispered, “Oh no, guess what The Mother is thinking of doing…” They had read my mind well. My hand had already darted into the pot and salvaged the biggest baby plant I could find and with a quick flick of wrist it was in my bag in an instant. Pretending to not know me in the slightest, my family had fallen back behind me in a close-knit group as I walked innocently out the lobby, totally unaware that my newly acquired plant was not as small as I had thought and there was a long and healthy vine undulating slowly over the carpet out of my bag like an exotic leafy tail behind me. The doorman smiled and stopped me saying, “Oh Madam, it appears you have something falling out of your handbag,” and with that he most courteously rolled up my plant and helped me to carefully tuck it into the cavernous depths of my bag. Thinking of how absolutely charming and polite the smiling doorman had been, I happily walked towards our car. Looking around for my family I saw them standing on the hotel steps doubled up with laughter and pointing at me…I wondered what on earth was so funny. Now that those of you who do not know me so well have some insight on my passion for plants, I shall now proceed to tell you of my wonderful day spent gardening this Wednesday: Chris-Jon, the local gardener was highly recommended to me last week by the lady who runs a popular Bed and Breakfast establishment across the road from our house. She said, “Hire Chris-Jon to work for you once a week. He’s not clever and does not ask too many questions, does not always turn up at work drunk and I think is younger than he looks. Besides, he has a bicycle, so you do not have to fetch and carry him to and from his house on the other side of town.” I thought he sounded like an ideal candidate for my employ, so arranged to interview him that evening. At five thirty Chris-Jon banged loudly on my front door shouting, “Missus, Missus…I am here!” The thing I noticed when I first set eyes on Chris-Jon was that he had no front teeth and a great deal of exposed pink gums on show as he smiled at me over the open stable door. He also had a rasping cough that didn’t sound too healthy, but he seemed willing and very keen to work for me, on the condition that I pay him in cash, provide early morning sandwiches and coffee, lunch and coffee and definitely not to forget he liked to have afternoon coffee at three o’clock. As this is more or less the norm in South Africa, I agreed to his conditions of employment. Promising he would be at my house by 8 am Wednesdays, he clambered onto his bicycle and wobbled off into the wind as it was a blustery day. I watched him disappear down the road and wondered how such a skinny little guy with a possible touch of T.B. and large exposed gums with a gap in them where his front teeth should have been lodged was going to cope with what I had in mind for my newly planned garden. As promised, Chris-Jon arrived on this last Wednesday. Later than 8 am, as he explained his bicycle had a puncture on his way to work. Disregarding his excuse, I set him to work digging a new flower bed. Grateful that he had arrived, as the last gardener had run away saying I gave him too much work digging holes. He just liked to mow, weed the lawn and drink coffee by the gallon. Much to my surprise, Chris-Jon completed his task in good time and then asked me, “En nou…die blomme Missus…where are they?” I told him
The Lorax -- taken along a ridgeline of the columbia river gorge
The Lorax -- taken along a ridgeline of the columbia river gorge
At the far end of town, where the Grickle-grass grows and the wind smells slow-and-sour when it blows and no birds ever sing excepting old crows... is the Street of the Lifted Lorax. And deep in the Grickle-grass, some people say, if you look deep enough you can still see, today, where the Lorax once stood, just as long as it could before somebody lifted the Lorax away. What WAS the Lorax? And why was it there? And why was it lifted and taken somewhere from the far end of town where the Grickle-grass grows? The old Once-ler still lives here. Ask him. HE knows. You wont see the Once-ler. Dont knock at his door. He stays in his Lerkim on top of his store. He lurks in his Lerkim, cold under the roof, where he makes his own clothes out of miff-muffered moof. And on special dank midnights in August, he peeks out of the shutters and sometimes he speaks and tells how the Lorax was lifted away. He'll tell you, perhaps... if you're willing to pay. On the end of a rope he lets down a tin pail and you have to toss in fifteen cents and a nail and the shell of a great-great-great grandfather snail. He pulls up the pail, makes a most careful count to see if you've paid him the proper amount. Then he hides what you pay him away in his Snuvv, his secret strange hole in his gruvvulous glove. Then he grunts, "I will call you by Whisper-ma-Phone, for the secrets I tell are for your ears alone." "SLUPP!" Down slupps the Whisper-ma-Phone to your ear and the Once-ler's whispers are not very clear, since they have to come down through a snergelly hose, and he sounds as if he had smallish bees up his nose. "Now I'll tell you," he says, with his teeth sounding gray, "how the Lorax got lifted and taken away... It all started back... such a long, long time back... Way back in the days when the grass was still green and the pond was still wet and the clouds were still clean and the song of the Swomee-Swans rand out into space... one morning, I came to this glorious place. And I first saw the trees! The Truffula Trees! The bright-colored tufts of the Truffula trees! Mile after mile in the fresh morning breeze. And, under the trees, I saw Brown Bar-ba-loots frisking about in their Bar-ba-loot suits as they played in the shade and ate Truffula Fruits. From the rippulous pond came the comfortable sound of the Humming-Fish humming while splashing around. But those TREES! Those TREES! THOSE TRUFFULA TREES! All my life I've been searching for trees such as these. The touch of their tufts was much softer than silk And they had the sweet smell Of fresh butterfly milk. I felt a great leaping of joy in my heart. I knew just what I'd do! I unloaded my cart. In no time at all, I had built a small shop. Then I chopped down a Truffula Tree with one chop. And with great skillful skill and with great speedy speed, I took the soft tuft. And I knitted a Thneed! The instant I'd finished, I heard a GA-ZUMP! I looked. I saw something pop out of the stump of the tree I'd chopped down. It was sort of a man. Describe him?...That's hard. I don't know if I can. He was shortish. And oldish. And brownish. And mossy. And he spoke with a voice that was sharpish and bossy. "Mister!" he said with a sawdusty sneeze, "I am the Lorax. I speak for the trees. I speak for the trees, for the trees have no tongues. And I'm asking you, sir, at the top of my lungs"-- he was very upset as he shouted and puffed-- "What's that THING you've made out of my Truffula tuft?" "Look, Lorax," I said. "There's no call for alarm. I chopped just one tree. I am doing no harm. I'm being quite useful. This thing is a Thneed. A Thneed's a Fine-Something-That-All-People-Need! It's a shirt. It's a sock. It's a glove. It's a hat. But it has OTHER uses. Yes, far beyond that. You can use it for carpets. For pillows! For sheets! Or curtains! Or covers for bicycle seats!" The Lorax said, "Sir! You are crazy with greed. There is no one on earth who would buy that fool Thneed!" But the very next minute I proved he was wrong. For, just at that minute, a chap came along, and he thought that the Thneed I had knitted was great. He happily bought it for three ninEty-eight I laughed at the Lorax, "You poor stupid guy! You never can tell what some people will buy." "I repeat," cried the Lorax, "I speak for the trees!" "I'm busy," I told him. "Shut up, if you please." I rushed 'cross the room, and in no time at all, built a radio-phone. I put in a quick call. I called all my brothers and uncles and aunts and I said, "Listen here! Here's a wonderful chance for the whole Once-ler Family to get mighty rich! Get over here fast! Take the road to North Nitch. Turn left at Weehawken. Sharp right at South Stitch." And, in no time at all, in the factory i built, the whole Once-ler Family was working full tilt. We were all knitting

fast growing ground cover for shade
fast growing ground cover for shade
Growing Up Fast
Growing Up Fast tells the life stories of Shayla, Jessica, Amy, Colleen, Liz, and Sheri--six teen mothers whom Joanna Lipper first met in 1999 when they were enrolled at the Teen Parent Program in Pittsfield, Massachusetts. Less than a decade older than these teen parents, she was able to blend into the fabric of their lives and make a short documentary film about them. Over the course of the next four years she continued to earn their trust as they shared with her the daily reality of their lives and their experiences growing up in the economically depressed post-industrial landscape of Pittsfield, Massachusetts.

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