I first noticed our plight when I looked out the bus's side window and found myself eye-to-eye with a gopher. Immediately, two possibilities flashed into my mind. One, I had just discovered the world's tallest gopher. Or two, the window was just inches from the ground.

"Oh God, the bus has slid into the ditch!" a fellow writer bellowed. Aw nuts, I thought. Not only will this probably ruin the rest of the garden tour, but now I'll never be famous for finding that gopher.

I and a passel of other garden writers attending the Garden Writers Association(GWA) symposium in Raleigh, North Carolina, had boarded the bus at the crack of dawn to tour several gardens that featured "sustainable agriculture" -- which, to my dismay, meant no industrial pig farms (Has prejudice against gargantuan waste lagoons reared its ugly head here? Hey, pigs gotta poop too!) The tour organizers weren't exactly clear about where we were going. They just said "down east."

Why all the secrecy? I figured it's because the Air Force moved that alien spacecraft that crashed near Roswell, New Mexico in 1947 to down east North Carolina and doesn't want anyone to know.

Heck, all they have to do is hide it in a waste lagoon. Who's gonna find it?

So anyway, we ride for well over an hour to a place where, as U2 says, the streets have no names, and pull up to the driveway of A.J. Bullard. Mr. Bullard grows all sorts of weird, exotic fruits like Chinese dates, Japanese raisins, Cornelian cherry, and other things you might consume if you were really, really hungry.

Now before I continue our thrilling tale, you must understand two things. One, our tour bus is roughly the size and weight of the Carnival Glory. Two, the driveway is unpaved, elevated, roughly 12 inches wider than the bus, and has 3-foot deep drainage ditches on each side. What an exciting experience we're about to have.

But no! Like that airline pilot who manged to safely crash-land his plane on the Hudson River, our driver makes it all the way up the drive to the parking area. We tour the farm, take pictures of some very strange plants, and then pile back in the bus to leave. We're behind schedule and need to step on it.

Unfortunately, that's exactly what our driver does. He attempts to negotiate a curve, and misses by six inches, and suddenly we all get that sinking feeling. And I'm eye-to-eye with that gopher.

The bus is listing to its side at roughly the same angle as the Titanic 20 minutes after it hit the iceberg. Fortunately for us, we aren't surrounded by 38-degree water, so we all jump out. Then the fun begins. All of the Northerners who've never seen fire ants immediately find the nearest mound and stand on it. A hopping good time for all!

Where are we? I have no idea. I only know there is no food, no drink, no bathrooms, no taxis, no shelter, and no traffic on the road that brought us here. There is, however, a chicken coop containing 5-6 very tasty-looking chickens. But they're on to us and scoot inside to safety whenever we approach. 

  Ummmm........tasty chickens. Come to Uncle Grumpy. Would like you like some Japanese raisins?

We hear there might be rescue bus on its way and, like the boats that heard the Titanic's mayday, it's gonna take way too much time. Then blessed are we! A huge honkin' tow truck owned by Oliver's Body Shop comes barreling down the driveway towards the bus. As soon as we read the address on the door, we know we're in good hands.

I mean, how can you not believe in a man from Thunder Swamp?

For the next two hours, the bus driver, a local farmer, and the Man from Thunder Swamp labor mightily to rescue the bus without flipping it completely on its side. As one attempt after another fails, I swear I can hear the faint strains of "Dueling Banjos" in the distance. At least, my name isn't Bobby.

In the meantime, former Southern Living colleague Lois Trigg Chaplin (below left) is having a good old time. She's an entomologist, see, and the thought of having to bed down in a cornfield for the night doesn't bother her at all. Why, that just means she'll be so much closer to those friendly, fascinating bugs and spiders! "If I could talk to the nematodes," she'd sing wistfully, "and they could talk to me!"

About three hours have now passed. I'm amazed that no one has made a dash for the bushes to relieve themselves. Garden writers have the most elastic bladders known to mankind. We pass the time trading our most awful travel experiences, like the time someone got thrown up on in during a 6-hour, excruciatingly hot bus ride in Sri Lanka and the vehicle was so crowded she couldn't even wipe off her face. No one here has thrown up yet, but for all I know, we could be in Sri Lanka. 

Then, the unbelievable happens. With one mighty yank and a great deal of prayer, the Thunder Swamp truck pulls our bus back onto the driveway, obliterating the road in the process.

We'll be going back to Raleigh right away, won't we? Well, no. You see, the concrete blocks the held in the edge of the dirt driveway were in turn held in place by iron stakes. The bus ran over the iron stakes and now has a flat tire. Of course. Did we expect anything else?

In its current condition, the bus can't travel on the highway. It can, however, limp along on the back roads to the local Wal-Mart, where we can wait for a relief bus and also tour its wonderful garden center and make use of its sparkling restrooms!

It's now about 2:30 PM and I have one desire in mind -- 24 ounces of liquid happiness. I buy a giant can of Bud. Then Alaska's Jeff Lowenfels (above) emerges from the store with a jar of Mt. Olive pickles. We pass it all around as Jeff tells me that Mt. Olive, where this Wal-Mart is located, is North Carolina's pickle capital. I did not know that. I am ashamed. I reach into the communal pickle jar for my third kosher dill, secure in the knowledge that no pathogen, not even Iranian president Mahmoud Rosenblatt, can survive in pickle brine. 

Finally, the rescue bus arrives. It is apparent as we board that many of us will survive this day. Taking my seat, I can't help but reflect on two bits of irony that that likely went unnoticed by most of our contingent. The first is a caution from Thunder Swamp's truck:

Hmmm...not much use hearing that after the disaster, is there? Kinda like saying, "If only I'd have put wings on the plane before we took off, this whole mess could have been avoided."

The second is the bus company logo printed prominently on the door:

  I'll take you there, all right. After that, you're on your own.

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Southern Living Has a New Look!

The October 2009 issue of Southern Living marks a milestone for the magazine. It has been totally redesigned for more visual impact and easier-to-find info. We've also added many new regular features, such as "Gardening 101," which is aimed at helping beginning gardeners. October's topic: "Rooting Roses." Click here to see a video featuring our Editor-in-Chief, Eleanor Griffin, and other staff members telling you about the changes. The Grump appears for about 6 seconds, but they're a really good 6 seconds.

The Grump is interested in your reaction to the changes, so feel free to email me and tell me and tell me what you think. All opinions, pro and con, are welcome. I seek only to learn and improve for you.

This is the story of an onion that will bring you to tears, but not for the reason you probably think. It's called an allium, a bonafide member of the onion family, that you'll crave for your garden, not for your plate. Each spring, it explodes in fireworks of blooms, rivaling anything you'd blast into the sky onFourth of July and accidentally set fire to your neighbor's lawn.

So why do so few people plant it?

Grumpy guesses it's either because they can't slice it for burgers or they find it so beautiful, they surmise it must be a pain-in-the-tush to grow. Neither is true. Most alliums are easier to grow than those big, gaudy tulips that disappoint you every year. They thrive from the Upper South (Zone 6) to the Coastal South (Zone 9A). They come back year after year and those stinking deer and voles won't touch them.

Although some alliums bloom in summer, most bloom in spring. Of the spring-bloomers, three types make up the lion's share of what Grumpians plant every year -- Allium aflatuenense, A. giganteum, and A. 'Globemaster' (pictured above and right). They're all about the same purple color, but the blooms vary in size. The first sports rounded blooms the size of tennis balls; the second, the size of softballs; and the third, the size of Mars (not really -- more like volleyballs). The blooms stand tall on sturdy stems from 2 to 5 feet tall and make spectabulous cut flowers. 

But hey -- what if you one of those weirdo people who just can't stand the color purple? Then complain to Oprah Winfrey, not the Grump.

Oh -- wait a minute. We're talking actual colors here, not movies. Well, fortunately, you can find alliums that are various shades of pink, rose, red, blue, and yellow. White too. Of course, not all are the size of Mars or even Kanye West's ego. 

Here is one I like -- Allium stipatatum 'White Giant.' This late spring bloomer stands 36 to 48 inches tall and produces blossoms 6 to 8 inches wide. Each little floret making up the ball has a tiny black eye (probably from an argument with Kanye West).

Time to Plant

Now is the time to get these bulbs into the ground. Look for them at your local garden or home center. If you can't find them, two excellent mail-order sources are Van Engelen (who generously donated these photos) and John Scheepers.

Plant the bulbs 6 to 8 inches deep and 8 to 10 inches apart in fertile, well-drained soil. Give them full sun. Combining them with later-blooming perennials helps hide the foliage that often starts to die back before blooming finishes.

Don't cut down the spent flowers of these mega-bloomers! Let the flowers dry on the stems for several weeks until they turn brown. The star-shaped seedheads look like sparklers and are perfect for dried flower arrangements.

In addition to being the object of constant adulation, one of the Grump's foremost pleasures is touring the South's most beautiful gardens. And if you love fall color as much as I do, there is one garden in Kentucky you must see before you die -- Bernheim Arboretum & Research Forest.

This special place near the town of Clermont encompasses 14,000 acres. It was the gift to Kentucky (and the rest of us) by whiskey baron Isaac W. Bernheim, who made his fortune producing I.W. Harper whiskey. Just making good whiskey would have been a sufficient life's legacy for the Grump, but Bernheim wanted to leave a living legacy that would, in his words, "further the love for the beautiful in nature."

The photos you see here (like the sugar maple above) are mine.To see much better ones taken by Southern Living photographer Ralphie Anderson (aka the "brain eater'), pick up a copy of the October 2009 issue of Southern Living and turn to "Magnificent Fire of a Southern Fall." You'll also read some typically inspiring prose by me.

The Arboretum is a great place to walk, hike, bike, or tour by car. You won't find a better venue from which to admire the sculptural grace of mature trees in a natural setting. Notable collections include maples, dogwoods, magnolias, conifers, cypresses, hollies, beeches, and buckeyes. You'll also find a slew of other fine trees perfect for the home garden, like this here Japanese zelkova (Zelkova serrata):

Unenlightened gardeners (of which, thankfully, you are not one) often equate fall color with only colorful leaves. To the Grump, this overlooks a sensational source of fall color -- namely, colorful fruits and berries, which last a lot longer than leaves. One of Bernheim's finest collections is crabapples. Take a gander at this red-fruited one.

Or what about this yellow crab below? I think this one was developed at Bernheim. I'm urging them to name and propagate it. Who wouldn't want this gem in their yard?

Bernheim is not just about trees. There's an elaborate trail system that takes you through prairie gardens and wildflower meadows that teem with native plants and animals. I shot the photo below on a cold and frosty October morning. How I suffer for you, my readers!

Before you leave, be sure to check out the ultra-cool Visitor's Center (below), the first certified Platinum LEED building in Kentucky. Built largely of recycled materials, it captures solar energy, purifies wastewater, and uses geothermal heating and cooling. Notice the way it fits into the landscape. My only suggestion -- add a pair of McDonald's arches.

Got any favorite spots for enjoying fall color or know someone with a magnificent fall garden? Tell Grumpy about it! For more info about Bernheim, visit www.bernheim.org or call (502) 955-8512.

(Note to Bernheim Executive Director Mark Wourms: You know where to send the bourbon.) 

Feeling guilty about killing a plant? Play this video and feel better right away!

Yep, it's me! That's actually the way I look and sound. Now you know why my wife puts in her ear plugs and watches Netflix on her computer as soon as I walk in the door.

This video was actually shot as part of a bigger video to introduce Southern Living's new look that begins with the October issue. I'll post a link to that at the end of this. For that video, I talked for about an hour and they cut me to about 5 seconds. I guess that's all of me America can take.

You'll see a number of our other editors all dolled up and talking about the new look and content for their particular sections of Southern Living. Actually, getting made up for this was the most fun part. I mean, I'd almost forgotten how to put on mascara (those Alice Cooper concerts from high school still haunt me).

To prepare for my big moment, I go downstairs to the studio where they'll be filming us and get immediately introduced to this pretty, young makeup artist who's going to make me look presentable. She takes one look at me and asks, "Would you like some bangs?"

I think: "Like with a paddle? OK. I have been rather naughty lately."

But she's talking about my hair. So she puts some goop on it, fiddles around, and all of a sudden, I have bangs. Cool.

Next, she has to work on my face. That's like taming Andy Rooney's eyebrows. "I just need to even out your skin tones," she says.

"I have more than one skin tone?" I think. "It doesn't say that on my driver's license."

So she smears all this flesh-colored slush on my face that I suppose is actually made from real flesh (is that safe?). Then she brushes powder all over my forehead, nose, and cheeks to create the illusion that I'm either alive or dead. Don't know which.

Finally, she turns to my gorgeous blue eyes that take on this strange reddish cast every morning. She carefully traces eyeliner on the edges of my eyelids. "Whatever you do, don't look down," she says as she works. A tarantula must be crawling up my leg. She then  foofs this black stuff up and down on my eyelashes. Satisfied, she announces, "Now your eyes actually show up."

No wonder they called me "Squinty" as a kid.

Now I'm ready for my debut on camera. I sit down on a wooden stool, gaze at the camera, and try not to let on that the lights are searing my retinas. But the director quickly spots this. "Can you take off your glasses?" he asks. "They're reflecting into the camera."

I obsequiously obey.

Ever hear the expression "working blind?" Well, from that moment on, that was me. The camera, the director, and even the set were just a blur. I bet this is how Britney Spears sees the world every day.

So play the video, watch me blinking wildly as I try to focus on not only what I'm talking about, but where-the-hell-I-am. Then click on this link and see how many seconds they gave me on the official Southern Living video: Our New Look. 

You hate voles. You hate moles. You hate gophers too. And with good reason. They chew up your plants and burrow through your lawn. And there isn't much you can do to stop them. Until now. Play this video and you'll understand why that instead of getting mad, it's better to get even.

Did you notice the gleam of joy in Mr. Meyer's eyes as he talked of blowing these little critters into the Great Beyond? Admit it -- many of you feel just like him. Especially if you grow hostas, tulips, vegetables, perennials, and other plants that these stinking critters routinely gulp down without the slightest remorse.

Now the Grump admits this is an extreme solution and he is not recommending it to anyone. So don't blame me if you accidentally blow up your gas lines and your house. Or set fire to the woods or cause a 4.6 earthquake. Or if someone sneaks a video of you blasting away to Homeland Security and the Feds pay you a call. You have to decide just how much you loathe these varmints and to what lengths you'd go to in defense of your darling plants.

Mr. Meyer, you missed your calling. You should have starred in "Apocalypse Now." I can just see you surveying the land and uttering those immortal words: "I love the smell of propane in the morning."

Imagine planting a new flower garden on Monday and on Tuesday the city bans all outside watering. That's the crisis that recently faced author and garden designer Pamela Crawford in Canton, Georgia. She didn't let that stop her though. She developed an ingenious system for storing rainwater and recycled household water. Her flowers are spectacular -- and without a single drop of city water for more than 2 years.

I first met Pamela about 7 years ago in her south Florida garden near West Palm Beach. She had just self-published a ground-breaking book, Best Garden Color for Florida, that revealed to both native Floridians and transplanted Northerners which annuals, perennials, shrubs, and trees would thrive in Florida's heat and humidity. I toured her sensational flower garden, featuring things like 6-feet tall angelwing begonias, and wrote a feature story about it for Southern Living in 2003.

That turned out to be great timing, because in September 2004, both Hurricane Frances and Hurricane Jeanne passed right over Pamela's garden. The two storms provided inspiration for a new book -- Stormscaping -- describing which trees usually survive high winds and which trees fall on your house. They also convinced her to move to Canton, not far from Atlanta, out of Hurricane Alley. 

Bursting with more energy than a nuke plant, Pamela immediately designed and planted a new flower garden in her front yard. It consists of all sorts of plants she tests for wholesale growers all over the country. She plants in beds, but also does dozens of incredible containers she mounts on posts. This is how it looked this year in early May right after planting.

And this is how it looked during my most recent visit two weeks ago.

Below, a tighter shot looking back in the opposite direction:

You'll notice a lot of planters up on posts. Pamela says she does this to get color at eye level, so that all of your flowers aren't flat on the ground. Her patented container planting system is available from Kinsman. Check it out. She loves growing plants in containers because "it's the only chance you have to start with perfect soil." She uses moisture-control potting soil that contains a wetting agent that allows the organic matter in the soil to absorb water, not shed it. She's also a big fan of Dynamite slow-release fertilizer. 

Obviously, her formula works. How do you like this post planter below? Dragonwing begonias, variegated lantana, purple angelonia (my favorite annual), and purple sweet potato vine look incredible. 

How about this coleus and begonia basket beneath the window? Woo-hoo! 

How does she manage this without using any city water (or well water)? Just take a gander at one of her water storage tanks. It holds 2,500 gallons. Pamela collects rainwater, condensation water from her AC units, and even water from a shower. Underground pipes and a drip irrigation system feed water to her plants. Her tanks fill up quickly after a rain. According to her new book, Easy Gardens for the South, one inch of rain from a 1,600 square-foot roof yields 960 gallons of water.

Look for the usual brilliant, insightful, entertaining, and revolutionary story by the Grump on Pamela's garden in Southern Living next spring. I'll leave you with this final photo to whet your appetite.

Garden Conservancy Tours Raleigh

The Garden Conservancy's Open Days Program returns to Raleigh, North Carolina, this fall, featuring six private gardens to visit on Saturday, September 19 (9 AM to 5 PM) and Sunday, September 20 (12 noon to 5 PM). The tour also features two nearby gardens in Cary and Wake Forest.

One of the gardens, shown above, is Helen's Haven, created by my good friend and fellow garden blogger, Helen Yoest, of Gardening with Confidence. She assures me you'll be pleased.

Call 1-888-842-2442 or visit www.opendaysprogram.org for more information. Locally, call 919-513-3826. A portion of the proceeds will benefit the nationally known J.C. Raulston Arboretum, a research and teaching garden at North Carolina State University.