Easter Morning

Shamrocks in the yard capture the spirit of Easter . . .

Delicate, and brimming with possibility.

The Colors of Spring

All of the cold rain last month finally gave way to something lovely . . .

The cascading flowers of this Pieris Katsura are like Elton John's tiny dancer, ballerinas in the palm of my hand.

What of the Magnolia stellata, or the star magnolia?  Budding out from pussy willow spikes, these spectacular flowers haunt the early spring light.  They're pretty in pink.

Hellebores plants hide their flowers well, though not well enough.  They tilt their faces down, but you can still see their freckles and fingers teasing shyly.  Beguiling queens.

Yellow defines spring, and daffodils, like ladies-in-waiting, bloom everywhere--happy and willing to delight.  As A. A. Milne wrote, "She turned to the sunlight and shook her yellow head, and whispered to her neighbor.  Winter is dead."

O forsythia, forsythia, wherefore art thou, forsythia?  Deny thy father and refuse thy name, but we will admire you just the same.

Finally, from Sesame Street, "One of these things is not like the others/One of these things just doesn't belong/Can you tell which thing is not like the others/By the time I finish my song?"  (Hint: the not-so-subtle color)

It wouldn't be a garden, though, if something didn't belong, something nonetheless quite beautiful.

Life Lessons From the Garden

The news is too much these days, as we lurch from one screaming headline to another.  I prefer thinking about plants.  Here are some observations that have occurred to me over the years, as I've dug up weeds and divided bulbs, moved plants and thinned overgrowth.  You could consider these lessons about life, along the lines of All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten or Tuesdays With Morrie.  Here goes:

1.  Sometimes you have to cut off part of a plant for the whole to thrive.

2.  Sometimes you have to move a plant out of the spot--I mean--sunlight.

3.  Sometimes you have to move a plant to the other side of the yard.

4.  Sometimes you have to accept that plants will die no matter what you do.

5.  Sometimes you have to let the wind and the bees and the rain take over.

6.  Sometimes you can't dislodge a weed from the rock that protects it.

7.  Sometimes you can't tell the difference between a baby flower bud and a dying flower head.

8.  Sometimes you can't get a plant to grow straight.

9.  Sometimes you can't keep the deer away.

10.Sometimes you can't imagine what your efforts will yield.

On Being Real

Sometimes when I see this rabbit outside,

I think about the Velveteen Rabbit and wonder what the "real" rabbits in our yard think of this sculptured imposter.  For as the Skin Horse in Margery Williams' The Velveteen Rabbit tells us, "You become.  It takes a long time.  That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.  Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby.  But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

I think my stone bunny is Real.

From the Garden. . .

The Leaning Tower of Yucca.

April Showers Brought May Flowers

I've got lots of new plants in the yard this year.  Here's my verbena.  According to folk legend, it was used to stop the bleeding from Jesus' wounds when he was taken down from the cross.  It seems too lovely for such a sad use.

Whenever I see the name Gerbera daisy, I think of Gerber's Baby Food.  This is unfortunate, for this delightful plant ought not to generate such a mundane image.

The botanical name for the pincushion flower is scabiosa, which sounds like a disease.  We'll stick with pincushion.

Spirea is properly spelled spiraea.  It rhymes with Crimea, Korea, and Medea (according to the online Merriam-Webster Dictionary).  It has medicinal properties similar to aspirin, though an overdose could be fatal.

This Virginia Spiderwort looks like a wreath.  Native Americans used the plant to treat a host of maladies including insect bites, kidney trouble, stomach aches, cancer, and "female ailments and rupture."  I imagine our forebears produced these medicines more safely, simply, and cheaply than the pharmaceuticals that are foisted on us today.

Bacopa is supposed to improve your memory.  Dr. Oz recommends taking 150 mg per day, but Dr. Weil recommends crossword puzzles, reading, and other more rigorously-studied supplements.  If I could, I'd like to know what the Native Americans recommend; they seem more knowledgeable.

May Monotony

The news this week, I'm sorry to say, isn't interesting to me.  I loved the photos of Chris Christie and Prince Harry, and Angelina Jolie's disclosure was provocative on many levels.  But otherwise, the reporting of this week's events--the IRS, the AP, Benghazi--seems overridden by hyperbole and distortion.  So I'm posting a picture of my columbine instead.

Mother's Day Mementoes

Flowers by Mark. . .

. . .  and face jug by Miranda.  Lucky me. 

Springtime Magic

A song from my past:

"White coral bells upon a slender stalk,
Lilies of the valley deck my garden walk.
Oh, don't you wish that you could hear them ring?
That will happen only when the fairies sing."

They must be out again, those fairies, for I hear the bells tinkling in the breeze.

Duke Gardens Reflections

 "And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything."

~ William Shakespeare, As You Like It

Helen Borus

Here's my helleborus. . .



. . . which reminds me of a story about my friend Mary.  When she started confirmation class at our church years ago, the minister met with both the kids and their parents at the first meeting.  In giving an overview of our theology, he said, "We're not a church that believes in hell and damnation."

Puzzled by this statement, Mary turned to her mother and whispered, "Helen who?"

So here's to Helen Damnation, whoever she is, and a plant that shares her etymology.

Southern Pride

So here is my camellia.  It's been on its own all these  years, never specially watered or fertilized or pruned or spoken to--and perhaps its slow growth reflects this neglect.  Nonetheless, now my camellia is glorious.  Perhaps I'm a southern gardener after all.

The Garden in Winter

"Let us love winter, for it is the spring of genius."
- Pietro Aretino

"When the bold branches
Bid farewell to rainbow leaves --
Welcome wool sweaters."
- B. Cybrill

"'Hear! Hear!' screamed the jay from a neighboring tree, where I had heard a tittering for some time, 'winter has a concentrated and nutty kernel, if you know where to look for it.'"
- Henry David Thoreau

Winter Landscape: The Interloper

In the Garden: From Madeleine

Winter comes to Boston. . .

Autumn: In the Garden

You find a flower half-buried in leaves,
And in your eye its very fate resides.
Loving beauty, you caress the bloom;
Soon enough, you'll sweep petals from the floor.
Terrible to love the lovely so,
To count your own years, to say "I'm old,"
To see a flower half-buried in leaves
And come face to face with what you are.

- Han Shan

Time Out

I'm putting the election aside today and thinking instead about my yard.  Fall has arrived for sure, and earnest gardening has come to a close.  Finally, I can wind up my hose, which no matter how hard I try always drags through the yard, unsightly--a reminder of my gardening shortcomings.  So instead of "The Long and Winding Road" by the Beatles, we sing "The Long and Winding Hose":

The long and winding hose that leads to my door
Will never disappear
I've seen that hose before
It always leads me here
Leads me to my door.

Many times I've been at home and many times I've cried
Anyway you'll never know the many times I've tried
To wind this hose back up in a neat coil so flat
Just like my neighbors do, whose yards are always clear
Don't leave me standing here
Help me wind this up.

But still the hose resists any tries to get it right
You left it tangled up a long, long time ago
Don't keep me waiting here, put this hose away
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

Eat, Pray, Martha

Several years ago my aunt gave me a subscription to one of Martha Stewart's magazines.  When the gift announcement arrived, I didn't know anything about the magazine or about Martha Stewart.  I thought maybe she was a religious figure.  Now, all these years later, I know she's a religious figure.

You see, even though that old subscription ended, we got a new one last year--this time, a freebie from a Stonyfield Yogurt contest.  The magazine, Martha Stewart Living, is filled with beautiful food, beautiful decor, and beautiful people--perfection, of a sort.  My favorite feature is called "Martha's Month," a one-page calendar that highlights Martha's daily activities.  Next month, for example, she will "Replace any expired spices" on November 2; "Polish silverware on November 20; "Stargaze with telescope" on November 27; and "Get blades sharpened on ice skates" on November 30.

Tell me, does anyone live like this?

Nowhere on her calendar does it ever say "Sort through piles of paper stacked throughout house" on November 6; "Water dying houseplants" on November 15; "Delete 200 emails" on November 21; or "Gather 10-year-old 35 mm film for developing" on November 28.  Only then could I relate.

Martha Stewart a religious figure?  In a way.  She's developed a set of precepts for living; they're clearly spelled out; and she tries to teach you how to live up to them.  And, like most religious precepts, they're impossible to follow!

Water Wonders

The water lilies at Duke Gardens look like flying saucers

Some resemble fancy plates with red rims

This one reminds me of a heart

Rose-colored fans swirl nearby

 And hot pink blossoms keep the memory of summer alive.

In the Garden: Mushrooms

It's that time of year when warmth and moisture conspire to breed some of our yard's most interesting creatures.  These gilled fungi often look like extraterrestrial beings

or like they belong in a zoo.

Still others look like buttons and parasols:

When I googled "Mushrooms that look like coral," I learned that there's a type called Coral Mushrooms:

Once I saw a TV show that featured a guy in the mountains who grew his own morels.  They looked like this:

He encouraged viewers to follow his lead.  It didn't sound too hard.  I briefly entertained the idea, imagining how cool it would be to harvest my own morels, but soon realized that the grocery store was easier.