A Trip to Paradise Garden

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When an already amazing winter garden is blanketed in snow . . .

. . . grab your coat, your camera. Hurry up! Go!   ( Here, nearly silent runners duck and swerve to avoid the snow-laden branches as the heavy flakes keep falling.)

Don’t wait for blue skies, though if they show, rejoice . . . (A pungent witch-hazel, in full fragrant bloom, bedecked with a heavy coat of snow.)

For even a hint of sunshine will change the visual landscape dramatically, adding even more color and contrast to the mix.

This stunning and very large Corylus avellana ‘Contorta’ literally glows within a small, momentary patch of sunlight.

There are wonders on a snow day, quite different from the rain. (Winter-blooming Camelia blossoms are accented by the darker leaf tops and lighter leaf bottoms, and, of course, a heavy dusting of snow.)

Some blooms may appear in an entirely new light against a background of white. (This Mahonia reaches upward perhaps ten feet beneath an immense cedar and its blooms, a prized source of hummingbird food, are much more visible against the bright snowy background than against shadowy, dark foliage on a snowless day. )

Small details take on new importance as one moves in close, even while still marveling at the larger snowy scene that drew you toward them in the first place.

For me it is that contrast, taking in the beauty of a larger, more pastoral scene and then turning to discover some small wonder on a shrub, not three feet behind me. ( Below: Garrya, aka, Silk Tassel Bush)

An early blooming rhododendron, radiant within a heavy blanket of white, serves as a woodland beacon against a backdrop of greys (below).

Seattle has a most amazing winter garden that many describe as a complete transformative experience once they’ve visited it. I have walked its winter-fragrant paths many, many times over the years, on rainy days and cold sunny days, and never, ever have I left, disappointed for the time spent getting there or being there, regardless of the weather. This past week, however, was something altogether different. This was the first time I’ve driven through a sea of insane-seeming fishtailing cars and trucks on the freeway and then navigated several slippery, narrow side streets in a heavy snowstorm to actually arrive and spend time within the winter garden as an ultimate winter paradise, and ohhh, oh my!

Once I had arrived safely and started walking within that sacred silence, that essential essence of falling snow, I completely forgot about all the crazies along the way, surrendering to the beauty, instead. I could scarcely have hoped for such a complete wonderland treat, and ended up staying there, utterly enchanted for nearly three hours.

If you live in the Seattle area or plan on visiting in the next month or so, and have never yet been to the winter garden, go. If you’re coming to town for the Northwest Flower and Garden Show, consider a field trip with friends for a few hours, rain or shine. Bundle up, take your camera and treat your nose and eyes to something completely unexpected. There’s no charge.

 

 

 

It started with these . . .

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I made a trip to the Seattle Wholesale Growers Market on Wednesday last week because I needed a bunch of Narcissus flowers for a photo. You see, we had this pesky little blank space on one page of our book project and I wasn’t quite satisfied with any of the pictures I had that fit the general topic. But I did have an idea about how to fill it.

We’re in the late stages of weaving and editing The 50 Mile Bouquet together into book form right now, before it goes off to the printer, but not so late a stage that I won’t still fight to make it even better, wherever I can. After five years of giving it my all, I’d be crazy to start taking the easy way out now.

Unfortunately there were no cut daffs available anywhere I checked within my neighborhood, not in the grocery stores or the florists shops. And truthfully, there weren’t any at the wholesale flower market either during the first week of January, but a quick phone call did confirm that there were dozens of little pots of forced bulbs available. Of course, none of them had any blooms yet, but they did have a few buds, so I boogied on down to Georgetown, bought several of the most mature looking pots, then took them home, watered them and put them in a nice warm place. And, voila, by midday Friday I had the requisite handful of blooms . . .

I needed to make a shot like this:

Having achieved my objective by mid-afternoon last Friday, I’ve long since moved on to other pages and other problems seeking solutions, but that hasn’t stopped me from many more delicious moments of pure pleasure as I’ve watched these Narcissus cyclamineus ‘Jet Fire’ bulbs I brought home continue to push out even more cheerful blooms. Finally, this morning while I was waiting for the teapot to boil, I used the few minutes to snip several more opened blooms to add to that first handful, and this, this is the gift that now graces my kitchen window . . .

 

As you can see, the blue mason jar, the green stems and the rich yellow and orange Narcissus blooms absolutely vibrate with life and color on an otherwise dreary day. And there beside them, and in stark, curvaceous contrast is an oyster shell from an early morning beach breakfast with Miss Mary, gathered last summer when we vacationed on Hood Canal, and emerging poetically from within it, a single, gray-green, Tillandsia, an air plant.

Sweet and salty. Lush and arid. Warmth and cool. During this time of year when all those run-together, amalgamated tones of gray prevail over so much of the Northwest’s visual landscape, it feels especially decadent to have such abundant color upon which to feast ones eyes. But I wonder, is it only me that revels just as completely in the metaphorical palette cleanser of the stark bromeliad seaform beside my opulent jar?

 

Begin with a statement of intention!

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 Be bold and state your case clearly.


Once you have encapsulated your intention(s) into words and pictures, put it out there in the world and then be willing to stand behind it. Not everyone will love what you say or approve of the way you say it. Be brave. This less-than-universal approval would likely be the case no matter what you said, so be true to who you really are.

Congratulations friends, and welcome to 2012.

 

 

On the first day of winter

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my garden gave to me . . .

Sing along, friends. I’m pretty sure you already know the tune.

Yes, that’s the spirit!

. . . and thankfully they seem almost immune to the heavy frosts we’ve been having lately. Now, deep breath and prepare yourself for those high notes.

Seriously, I’ve never had so many raspberries so late in the year as I have this year. They’re kinda seedy and not nearly as sweet as they look, but, like so many other little miniature poems within the garden, they make this heart grateful, nevertheless.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this little wander through the garden with me this morning. Truthfully, I’d guess I was only out there for about fifteen minutes, but what a day-changing quarter-hour that was. It totally transformed my mood and my outlook on the day, and it re-affirmed and energized the kid in me who is so completely fed by the adventure of discovering whatever beauties the goddess, Dawn and her partner Jack Frost have teamed up to leave behind.

Remember, amidst the cacophony of bills and parties that must be attended and that everlasting problem of what to get Aunt Marvin, you only need wander beyond the walls and windows of your fortress to truly see, feel and taste an entirely different sort of healing magic. Now that winter is officially upon us, be sure to make time to see and picture the gifts they leave for you.

And FWIW (for what it’s worth), I have it on very good authority that just noticing is the best way to say Thank You.

Namasté

 

 

The Solstice With The Most-est

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Coming soon to a neighborhood near you.

Steady and generous, my White Meidiland rose bush somehow manages to push out elegant little sprays of creamy white roses throughout the winter.

Just a few days now, no matter which hemisphere you live in. Change. Both imperceptible and powerful, depending on whether you’re paying attention,  . . . in ratio depending upon the noise level within your heart and psyche.

Plants know. Armed with an innate photoperiodism and circadian rhythms, they ‘know’ when the pendulum of day length begins to swing back in the other direction, and all sorts of processes are switched on and off within them because of it. We are no different, not really, but because of our ability to control our environments to some extent, we’ve certainly lessened our conscious awareness of these swings of the pendulum, and in many cases made it possible to live in near complete denial of these elemental rhythms of the seasons.

Do yourself a favor, as a child of this planet; carve out a window of time, no matter how tiny, a momentary, miniature holiday. Walk outside into whatever weather the day is offering and plant an ‘awareness stake’ in the ground of this nearly completed year. If there is sun, look into it, let it warm your face and imprint its signature upon your inner clocks. If there is no sun, then get down low to the Earth, and touch it, aligning yourself with the poles, laying on your back and looking up, into the grey or the blue, or the black sky, above. Take several deep, cleansing breaths and linger for as long as your inner compass directs. Find some marker, some symbolic element to gather, to bring into your living space, to symbolize this passage and your deliberate honoring of it.

The very same spray of White Meidiland roses pictured in the sunset scene above, only a few days later, cut and brought indoors to help mark the season and celebrate the approaching solstice. (Note: both of these photos were shot with my iPhone and processed within the Camera+ app.)