Fog Attraction

On a recent early morning, the fog called me powerfully to come outside and feel it, experience its enveloping chill, and see the transformed world it created. Feeling a rush of excited anticipation, I bundled up quickly and grabbed my little camera and notebook.

The distant jagged Olympic Mountain range had vanished. Towering Douglas fir, hemlock and cedar appeared insubstantial as spectral wraiths. Mist swirled enticing tendrils around chimneys and rooftops. Soft and dreamy, icy cold, it drifted along the ridge top where I walked.

In the pre-dawn half-light while I slept, Nature transformed gardens into mystical Tiffany’s diamond displays. With a wave of the frost fairy’s wand, the smoke tree’s fluffy summer puffs became crystalline threads set against velvet burgundy, silver-edged leaves.

Cotinus, Smoke Tree

Heart-breakingly sweet, partially opened pink rosebuds offered petals dipped in sugar crystals. Ephemeral whiteness edged each bloom and leaf. Violet coral bell leaves looked to have been bedding for sugar plum fairies.

Heuchera, Coral Bells

This world will vanish soon, an early morning dream, an enchantment that will vaporize as daily human endeavors resume. But I will carry the memory, a blessing.

Pining

Trunk of an old pine tree halts me. The way it leans – not just leans, but twists and leans like a thickly muscled human body, strong, massive – captivates me. 

Deeply striated bark, like sinew, two limbs outreaching, an old knot where a branch once grew, so very like an eye, chunky gaps in bark form a nose and a vertical, open mouth in profile on the right – the pine appears in motion. Yet I am rooted to the spot, feeling a powerful sense of presence in this tree. I think of Tolkien’s Ents, and of ancient druids who worshipped tree spirits. Twice I begin to walk away, and twice I return. An almost gravitational force holds me in place, in awe.

 

Autumn Siren

'Brocade' Japanese maple and variegated hosta in autumn colors

Scarlet translucency of delicately fingered maple leaves enchant me. Form and color contrast against jungle of hosta. Giant foliage senescing in watercolor striations lures my eyes from tactile foreground focus to impressionist distance. Light and depth hold me as captive as Odysseus tied to the mast, lost in song. I cannot tear my eyes from this magical moment in autumn sun.

Foggy morning

Foggy morning. The massive trees two blocks away, madrona, horse chestnut, Douglas fir, dissolve their edges in the mist, bleeding themselves into the liquid air.

I wanted to photograph my witch hazel from my upstairs front window, but expected the light would be too soft. The tree surprised me. Its citrus colors glow, acid in the syrupy air. I marvel and delight at the bounty of hues and vignettes my tiny front yard offers this morning, despite the fog. 

Witch Hazel

Each leaf of the witch hazel paints a different picture of transition, some nearly uniform orange, some grading from yellow edges into deeper and deeper tones, sinking red at the heart.

The saturated lilac mantel of tiny berries on the beauty bush (Callicarpa) contrasts with the Hinoki cypress’s bold evergreen-ness and, wispy thin whitish-green mounds of Carex ‘Frosty Curls’ that line the path beside the shrubs.

Callicarpa - Beauty Berry

Twin coniferous blue spires of Chamaecyparis ‘Blue Surprise’ frame a bright lemon marigold, still robust just days before All Hallows Eve. 

Chamaecyparis 'Blue Surprise' and Marigold

 

I have not yet had the heart to pull the annuals out of my pots, not while they are still blooming, even though their replacements are bursting in pot-bound anticipation. Soon. Soon.

When I was growing up in suburban New York, my mother would store our out-of-season clothes in a big cardboard box on a high shelf in her closet. As summer (or winter) drew to a close, I’d become bored with the wardrobe I'd been wearing all season and excited to get the big box down and see what old favorites still fit, and of course go shopping for new school clothes in the fall. There was a seasonal smell I can still remember, an intoxicating mix of new wool clothing, new leather shoes and fallen autumn leaves suspended in cool fall air.

Wintergreen with berries and Heuchera

I remembered about the big box and the twice-yearly wardrobe change recently as I contemplated the overgrown summer annuals in my pots, and surveyed the purple, chartreuse, and marmalade and rose-colored heucheras, evergreen grasses, and winter pansies awaiting planting. The annuals are still looking good, and most will until first frost, but I'm itching for a change, just like when I was a kid excited to wear my new fall skirts and sweaters.

Calluna 'Firefly', blue fescue and pansy

 

Cavorting Carrots

Never before has a vegetable so touched my heart.

I found among the mound of bunched carrots with their feathery tops a unique pair. And I do mean a pair. Two carrots in one bunch curled gently around each other, like sleeping lovers. 

Carrots sometimes grow in odd ways. In the presence of too much nitrogen, they fork and develop odd protrusions and protuberances, occasionally looking quite obscene. But these were smooth, neat, bright orange, healthy – they just twined around each other as they grew.

There I stood, in the produce aisle of my local natural foods market, my heart aching to be so embraced, and simultaneously feeling like a lunatic. I couldn’t possibly eat them. Vegetable empathy?

Of course I bought that bunch. And naturally, I photographed the carrot couple – from every angle – outdoors, on a bright blue plate. Autumn gentled the day, and the sun brushed the blue glaze with watery reflections.

Reviewing the photos shook my dreamy state a bit. Some looked more like someone in the grip of a boa constrictor. Others just looked like genes gone awry.  But a few did catch the twosome the way I first saw them – loving and sensuous. I knew I’d gotten the angle right when my heart went, “ohhhhh”.

Am I silly? Perhaps. But not as silly as my friend who suggested pickling the carrots to preserve them like an excised appendix or Einstein’s brain.

Winging it

I slipped out to the back garden on Sunday to take a breather from paperwork. Movement and a flash of vibrant blue on the ground in the shade under the broad Viburnum caught my eye.  About six feet from me, a Stellar’s Jay noted my presence, then hopped deeper into the shadow before winging up into the taller trees and away.

High-pitched trills and a tiny “tic, tic” caught my ear and pulled my eye to the opposite side of the garden. In the uppermost branches of my neighbor’s overbearing holly, an Anna’s hummingbird hovered then perched lightly on a twig. I’m enchanted by its green iridescence and ruby throat – a jewel with a heartbeat.

A sturdy stalk of Acanthus looks like a tower of birds all poised for takeoff.

Acanthus spinosa

The birds, the plants, even the air all seemed to be saying, “Yes, this is what really matters.” If I could just work in the garden, write and photograph, I would be content.

In Memory of my Dad

Seated in the shade, quietly blending with the early morning cool and the blue sky of what promises to be a hot day, I conjure my father’s spirit. He passed away on August 30, less than two weeks ago. What would he like in my garden? Certainly not the overlong grass emerging from a thick bed of moss, nor the invading blackberry and morning glory in the neglected corners. In my father’s garden, there were never neglected corners, and his lawn was meticulously manicured with surgical precision. But he would like the potted fuchsia full of blooms dancing in the light breeze. And he would admire the cherry tomatoes, now finally ripening at the end of this delayed and late summer. Enjoying their beauty, I feel his presence.

 Thank you, Dad, for showing me your love of gardening.

First Lemon Cucumber

Harvested my first lemon cucumber yesterday. It was a little smaller than I know lemon cukes can grow, but the color screamed “ripe” at me. I cut it in half and peeled one of the halves. The outermost eighth-inch or less was still a little harder than the rest, but I think if I waited longer, the center would have been too mushy and the seeds too large. The flavor was excellent cucumber!

 

Meanwhile, my peas grace me with abundance. I munch pea pods raw for spontaneous snacks and in salads. Or I blanch them just for seconds until bright green, but still crunchy, to bring out the sweetness. And a stir fry with a handful thrown in at the end adds such satisfying homegrown zest. To plant, nurture, harvest and eat from my garden – in these moments life is complete, at peace, perfect.

Vanquishing the blackberry

We cut down the blackberry canes on Friday. Even those with flowers.

My friend who helped me grieved over the lost potential of berries. I fear I diminished myself in his eyes by viewing this food source as a marauding Visigoth. Nonetheless, he energetically attacked with loppers and pruners, dismembering and purging massive tangles, some 15 feet or more long. We extricated twisted canes from fragrant mock orange, Western hazelnut, viburnum, rhododendron and lilac. Resisting, thin branch ends whipped around, grabbing us in thorny holds.

When the yard waste can was stuffed to capacity, we piled the brambles on the lawn. The curving canes that once held captive the western border of the garden are today a spiny shipwreck, sharp brambles still guarding a non-existent cargo.

Caution: active thorns!

Peas' Progress II

Update on how the peas are progressing in the two different soil mixes:

In the commercial mix amended with extra compost, perlite and organic fertilizer, where all eight seeds germinated, the vines are about 45 inches tall with many flowers.

In the coir, compost, perlite, pumice mix (also with organic fertilizer), where only 4 of 8 seeds ever germinated, they are closer to 38 or 39 inches with fewer flowers. The leaves are darker green on the vines in the coir mix, but they are being eaten by something that is chomping off huge chunks, working from the outer edge toward the stem. This is not the work of a slow nibbler! I haven’t seen the culprit yet. Anyone have any ideas?

Pots L to R: Cukes, Peas in coir mix, Peas in amended commercial mix

 

The cucumbers are flowering and beginning to set fruit. The slim Asian type, 'Satsuki Midori', is looking very good – perfect baby cucumber shape and rich green, or as my friend Joel said, it’s at the “cutecumber” stage. The lemon cucumber has two tiny fruits but they are brown at the flower end – not a promising site. Hopefully the flowers that have not yet set fruit will be healthier looking.

 

 

"cute-cumber"

          

 

baby lemon cukes

First Day of Summer

Looking out my bedroom window, I see plenty of blue sky and a clear view of the white-capped Olympic Mountains. The first day of summer looks like one. The peas are finally beginning to bloom in the pots on my deck. It took over two months from planting to flowering. I heard on the radio that this was the coldest spring we’ve had in Seattle since 1950. Now I hope the peas manage to produce pods before the weather turns too hot for them.

The morning sun just flowed through the Rapunzel window where I sit typing, spilling a warm pool over my left foot. Yes, it looks like a good day. I’m very grateful that I get off work at 3:00 today instead of 5:30.

I woke about ten minutes before 4:00 am to find that I’d fallen asleep with the bedside lamp on. I turned it off, but the birds were already singing and I never managed to get back to sleep. I tried to quiet my anxiety about my father’s cancer diagnosis and impending radiation and chemo by listening to the quiet morning and bird song and feeling grateful for these. One bird call sounded like “Judy”. “Ju-dee”, with emphasis and slightly higher pitch on “dee”. Over and over the bird called to his absent “Ju-dee”.

Naturally occurring bi-color mutation!

The last time I got excited about a buttercup, I was maybe 7 or 8 years old and held a blossom under a friend’s chin to see the reflected glow that supposedly revealed a fondness for butter.

As an adult I view buttercups, although cheerfully bright, as nuisance weeds with tenacious roots. But the other day, by Meadowbrook Pond, I spotted a patch with splashes of white on the petals! Bi-color buttercups! A naturally occurring mutation. Perhaps not quite on the order of a Dan Hinkley Himalayan trekking discovery, and certainly not commercially appealing, with their tendency to spread, sprawl and subjugate, but a discovery of a rarity nonetheless!

Waiting for warmth!

May is nearly over. What a busy month. I spent the second week in California, saw most of my family and attended my son Galen’s college graduation. My first to graduate! I put together a PowerPoint presentation about fabulous containers, which I gave last night to a group of gardeners and will deliver to another group tonight.

It still feels more like early April. Chilly, rainy and too cold to put the tomatoes outside. Yet the garden is full and lush, running on its own timetable. A few days ago, the sun made an all-day appearance and the Helianthemum ‘Henfield Brilliant’ exploded into bloom worthy of its name. It brought me to my knees – literally – to get in position to photograph it with the small pale apricot tulips, gold Euonymus and purple Heuchera in the background.

My little Japanese maple that I planted last spring in a pot on the part-shade side of the deck, along with the Ligularia and Hosta, came back robustly. I had been a little worried about the maple, called ‘Brocade’, last fall when only one branch of leaves turned color and the rest shriveled brown. I’m so relieved that I worried needlessly. I love its delicately divided leaf and subtle red and green color variations, very like a brocade. 

And the peas in both soil mixtures continue to grow at the same rate! They’ve reached 15 inches tall, but no flowers yet. I’ve enjoyed quite a few tender, tasty salads of bib lettuce, arugula, Mizuna and red mustard greens from my pots. The little pak choi cooks so much faster in a stir fry than store-bought – one stir in the pan and it’s done. It’s begun to flower, and very soon I’ll harvest the rest and plant the tomato in that pot. Soon, very soon!

This Weekend is the Best Edible Plant Sale!

Don't miss Seattle Tilth's annual food growers extravaganza for the largest selection of summer garden plants in the region! Free plant talks also.

May 7 and 8, Saturday and Sunday

9 a.m. to 3 p.m.

Meridian Park, Seattle

Hooray, it's May!

Ran out of time on Sunday, but here’s my May Day post now:

Columnar flowering cherry in backyard

 

Yes, it’s May Day. A day for dancing around May poles and celebrating spring, fertility, youthful zest, renewal, life etc., etc.

And the sun is shining through my Rapunzel window. (My friend Joel named the window. It’s tall and narrow, with leaded glass and an arched top, the only window in the peaked second story front of the house, and it does suggest a tower window.) The sky is superbly blue at 7:30 am. It’s a perfect May Day. Except that I have to work all day on this exquisite Sunday. I’m aching to work in my garden.

My own flowering cherry trees grace my yard now. The columnar Amanogawa cherries in the backyard are so tall, they dominate the skylight view in my second-floor bathroom.

Prunus serrulata 'Amanogawa' seen through skylight

 

Out front by the street, fat, bunchy, rich pink blooms cluster thickly on the Kwanzan flowering cherries. 

Prunus serrulata 'Kanzan'

 

I am feeling a bit like Rapunzel this morning, limited to viewing spring through windows because of my retail work schedule. Mantra today: my real work is supporting people in learning to grow their own food, build community, revel in the beauty in nature and live in harmony with the Earth. Repeat!

Peas' Progress from Seed Pea to Pea Pod

Happy Earth Day!

The peas are growing! All eight of the peas I planted in the pot with the amended commercial potting soil are up and looking eager and robust. As of the 21^st, they were all at least an inch tall. Granted, I would have much taller plants by now if I had simply purchased starts, but then I would have missed out on the fun and gratification of seeing the tiny green shoots first emerge from the soil. It definitely brings out something of the fond and doting parent in me.

Only four of the eight seeds I planted in the peat-free soil mix are up. They are about the same size as their brethren in the other pot. Could just be random. I think it’s too soon to draw conclusions.

(If you’ve just joined us, we’ve been following the progress of peas planted in two different potting mixes on March 25^th. One pot contains a commercial potting mix amended with compost and perlite. The other pot has a peat-free mix of compost, coconut fiber (coir), perlite and pumice. See post of 4-8-11 below for complete details.)

8 peas up!

Because there was so much empty space in the large recycled nursery pots, and I had some salad starts I’d bought that needed a home, the peas now have company. They’ve been joined by Red Bib Lettuce and “Spicy Salad Mix” (mesclun). So far, the starts are doing equally well in both mixes.

If the missing four peas ever show themselves above the soil line, you’ll be the first to read about it. I’ll also keep you posted on the rate of growth and general robustness of all plants in the two different potting mixes.

Meanwhile, I took advantage yesterday of this relatively dry spell we’ve had to haul out the weed whacker and the heavy, ornery coil of orange extension cord to whack what passes for lawn into submission. In the backyard, that is mostly moss. And this year the moss is doing very, very well! I’m hoping that if I continue my general policy of lawn-neglect, the moss will eventually choke out the grass completely. With a little luck, this will happen before I have to invest in a new weed whacker!

Tutus in the trees

I set off yesterday morning in search of Yoshino flowering cherries (Prunus x yedoensis), the type celebrated in the other Washington, and famed also on the University of Washington campus. I knew that they were at their peak the previous week, and hoped to get some pictures in better focus than my two fuzzy previous attempts that were more reminiscent of claims of Bigfoot documentation than nature photography.

Something about standing under a dense blossom canopy of flowering cherries feels like walking in clouds. No wonder that cherry blossom time inspires festivals.

It rained earlier today, and in typical Seattle fashion, the sun now graced us through shifting blue windows. The five-petalled flowers hang in clusters like a swarm of ballet dancers in tutus. They are the shyest pink, made all the more fetching by sun-shimmered raindrops still clinging to them. The exquisitely blue sky, peeking through branches, sets them off perfectly. (Here in Seattle, where we see the sky so rarely, when

the clouds break I’m awed by what an absolutely gorgeous color Earth’s sky is.)

Yoshino flowering cherry (Prunus x yedoensis)

Recently, I found that thinking about the beauty, the constancy, the dependable sequencing of the spring parade of flowering trees is better than counting sheep. A few nights ago, I was stressing about something, feeling like an overwound spring. I imagined gazing up into a canopy of flowering cherries, then remembered seeing saucer magnolias (Magnolia x soulangeana) newly in bloom, and that the pure white Mt. Fuji flowering cherries (Prunus serrulata ‘Shirotae’) were poised for their glory. Suddenly, I realized I was smiling and my breathing was deep and even, and I happily drifted off to sleep.

Saucer magnolia (Magnolia x soulangeana)

Mt. Fuji flowering cherry (Prunus serrulata 'Shirotae')