Slowing Down to See

Traffic leaving the freeway at my exit was unusually heavy and slow on a recent Sunday as I drove home from the airport. I’d just returned from sunny southern California and was comforted by a perfect spring day in Seattle. Creeping slowly down the exit ramp, I noticed something I would otherwise have missed. A wisteria had climbed into the upper branches of a tall mountain ash and thoroughly mingled itself to create a mélange of lavender and white blooms.

Wisteria twining through Mountain Ash

I returned two days later with my camera, parking a couple of blocks away in the adjacent neighborhood and walked up the informal asphalt path beside the exit ramp. It was too windy to get really sharp photos, but you can get the sense of it. As I returned to my car, I saw a stunning pairing of contrasting colors, which I had missed on arrival because I was so focused on getting to my destination.

Golden Chain Tree and Smoke Tree

 

Across the street from where I parked, a Golden Chain Tree (Laburnum) danced its bright yellow hanging racemes in the sunshine beside a deep purple-leaved Smoke Tree (Cotinus). 

Close up of Golden Chain and Smoke Trees

I'm going to sit quietly in my own garden on the next non-rainy day and see what I've been missing right here.

Birthday Tulips

My birthday - and it’s a glorious sunny day! Hooray!

I couple of days ago I was gazing at my little species tulips, Tulipa battalini ‘Bright Gem’. I find it enormously satisfying that the original five bulbs have multiplied into a robust cluster over the years.

Standing back and taking in the cluster as a whole, I love the way their pale apricot contrasts with the deep purple Heuchera ‘Obsidian’ and with their own strappy green leaves. But looking deep into their open cups hypnotizes me with their complex perfection.

Six pointed petals have fine, deep, orange-red whisker lines, like dry brush strokes from the center out. Six points of apricot anthers form a star around the pale apricot stigma. A small pool of soft umber in the bottom of the cup forms a soft hexagon shape and its darkness makes the pale anthers glow. At first, I see just the umber that contrasts so delightfully with the apricot. It takes a longer look before I notice the starburst of six chartreuse lines that divides the umber into triangles.

  

 

 

What a perfect birthday gift to have blooming in my own garden!

Musing about the Muse in May

I power up my laptop while sitting in bed. Six o’clock, Sunday morning. A computer thought balloon appears at the bottom of the screen. It says “Wireless Network Connection is now connected. Signal Strength: Excellent.”

I smile, remembering the interview I heard yesterday with Elizabeth Gilbert, author of “Eat, Pray, Love”. She was asked about the phenomenon of artist inspiration. She told the interviewers what many other artists and writers and musicians have said through the ages: One must be available regularly, daily is best, for the Muse to trust one as a dependable recipient.

I woke today with excited anticipation. Last night, I went to bed knowing that the weather would be beautiful, I have the whole day free, and I can work in the garden. The part I’m especially excited about is sprucing up the ragged containers in front of my home. Yesterday evening, as the light was beginning to fade, I studied the pots most in need and envisioned today’s transformation. Thinking about the juicy-colored annuals stashed on my deck since Tuesday, I can’t wait to “bibbety bobbety boo” with my magic hori-hori.

I soaked up some inspiration yesterday evening. About 6:30, after leaving a neighbor’s home a few blocks away, I strolled along some streets that I haven’t walked before. The western light angled bright and warm, the air was still and gentle. Gardens I’d never seen before beckoned me to study their charms. Two hardy palm trees, ten feet or more tall, shouted out in front of a small bungalow. Surrounding them, and oddly juxtaposed with the palms, bright gold leaves and large, dangling pink and white hearts of Dicentra ‘Gold Heart’ sang amid a sweep of rich purple barberry. Beneath one of the palms, a few rich notes of orange-red flowering quince blossoms winked beneath their green veil of newly-leaved, arching branches. But the plant that most bewitched me was Euphorbia polychroma. Its extra-large, bright yellow flowers trumpeted amid the purple mounds of barberry and heuchera and fountains of striped yellow grasses. I rarely see this particular Euphorbia.

Seattle skies were clear enough last night to view the much trumpeted, extra-large full moon. And today is, indeed, a beautiful day for gardening! I’m off to it!

Speeding through Spring

I feel the Earth is hurtling through the seasons much too fast. Wasn’t it just a week ago that the Western Dogwood revealed its white arraignment, the Camellia and Italian Plum bloomed riotously and the Lilac buds first showed their color? Today, the dogwood’s bracts are browning and shriveling. The Camellia’s glory fell to a slimy, suffocating mess on the perennial bed below. And the Lilac is fully open, moments from its descent. Of all the flowering shrubs, I find the lilac’s decline the saddest. Perhaps because its fragrance brings me such joy, I feel its passing with greatest poignancy. 

Among people, our oldest friends often remain our closest and dearest regardless of how many years pass. Perhaps so, too, with garden “friends”. Lilacs grew outside the window next to the kitchen table of my childhood home. Their fragrance arrived just as the days became warm enough to open the windows at lunch time, and drifted in to sweeten our meals and our lives.