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Years ago, on Mother’s Day, my kids went shopping together and bought me the head you see here. She is cast from some material very like concrete, with an architectural detail as the model. For a while, I used her to hold votive candles, but always she seemed to be asking for plant material. I tried various things, but the space for planting is small and everything either died or overpowered her delicate features. At long last, this tiny sedum is behaving just as I had hoped: requiring very little water and spilling over her brow in a most fetching manner. Now, when Hillary and Din visit from their far-flung and disparate lives, I can show them how their long-ago gift has finally fulfilled her destiny.

Welcome to all visitors from Carol’s May Dreams Gardens site…as well as to all ye who enter here from parts unknown. It is a bit frustrating to note the few blossoms that put in a brief but glorious appearance between the days we have committed to posting (15th of each month). They shall remain unheralded, unless they rise to the level of meriting their own posts.

This Aquilegia ‘Swallowtail’ was an exclusive offering from High Country Gardens. Note the long spurs, which can reach 4″.

Allium karativiense ‘Ivory Queen’ is low-growing and long-lasting. It has been blooming for a month, and it’s furry balls are just beginning to show signs of exhaustion.

The alliums keep coming up with aliases. This one used to be called christophii, but now goes by albopilosum, and I can’t begin to decipher what’s up with A. bulgaricum aka Nectaroscordum siculum. It remains one of my favorites, even if I don’t know what to call it. The Alliums, with their pungent bulbs, foil whatever is tunneling through my beds, so I will continue to experiment with the many offerings, along with the killer (and I mean that literally) daffodils. My A, schubertii was drowned by late rains, but I will simply move it to one of the berms rather than give up on its Sputniky, space-agey presence.

This is the last blossom on the tree peony ‘Chinese Dragon’. I use a combination of cutting bouquets and elaborate staking to keep the masses of blossoms from breaking off branches. I am told that as the plant matures it will become sturdier and more compact.

The foxgloves that grow wild in the meadow and along roadsides have migrated to several cultivated areas, and welcome to them.

My current favorite of the bearded irises is this flesh-toned beauty, but my fickle affections will no doubt transfer to the brunette when she comes along.

Philadelphus arrived as a mere stick from one of those cut-rate catalogs, but see how it thrives…and this is definitely where scratch and sniff would come in handy.

I have more appealing photos of Phlomis russeliana, but this one shows the architecture of the plant, which I find to be its most appealing feature.

The flowers on Rodgersia aesculifolia are just coming on…merely an excuse to show you the fabulous leaves, which run 26″ or so across.

The earliest of the lavenders is the bright and witty Spanish.

Buttercups sprinkle themselves everywhere. What could be more cheerful?

And there you have it for June. Still blooming from before are hellebores (they seem to go on forever), euphorbias (some just coming on and a few ready to be cut back), weigelia, blue-eyed-grass, silene, strawberry and blue star creeper. New bloomers that didn’t rate photos are dogwood ‘China Girl’, California poppy, chives, roses, snapdragon, catmint, heuchera, Lecesteria formosa and Viburnum dentata ‘Blue Muffin’.

…who needs flowers?

I bought this Acer pseudoplatanus ‘Puget Pink’ at the legendary Heronswood nursery in ‘03. I had no idea it would be this slow-growing. The hornbeam I bought at the same time is now towering above the roof line, while this baby is little more than knee-high. Still, when these brilliant leaves unfurl, all is forgiven. It maintains a pinkish cast through the summer, but these are its glory days.

The heaths and heathers do bloom, of course, but it is the new growth that brings them to my garden. This one is called ‘Red Fred’, and I waited a few days to long to snap its picture for you to see it at its most colorful. Those little tips were like glowing embers.

This Euphorbia is called ‘Excaliber’, a name that would recommend it to me even if the foliage were not so appealing. It has the usual acid-green cuplike blossoms (or are they bracts?) later on, but so what? Here is where the action is.

‘Philippe Vapelle’ is a cranesbill with such softly textured, scallopy leaves that one barely notices the lavender blossoms with darker purple veining. In fact, I sometimes cut them off, as it seems to prolong the freshness of the foliage.

They keep coming up with new heucheras every year. The newest ones are usually priced sky high, but I had to have ‘Caramel’ (on the left) regardless. Now I can hardly distinguish it from ‘Amber Waves’ (on the right)…can you? Hubris strikes in the garden as much as anywhere else, I guess.

Then there are the dark ones, whose names I have completely lost track of, but dote on none the less. I quite like the frothy little wands of flowers that are coming on about now, but could live without them. Not so the resplendent leaves.

This geranium is a passalong plant from Amy and I have no idea what its name is. It is easy to propagate from cuttings, and a good thing, too, because it plants covetousness in the hearts of all who see it.

Juniperus communis ‘Gold Cone’ is one of a growing number of evergreens finding their way into our plan. I was told early on that gardeners follow a predictable trajectory: start out with pretty little annuals, move on to perennials in lush borders, become seduced by shrubs and trees and finally graduate to evergreens. I think it has a little bit to do with getting worn down by all the work involved in maintaining the early stage plants. Plant yourself a juniper or a cypress, give it supplemental water for the first year or so, and that’s pretty much it. It grows in beauty year after year, and overshadows ever more of the dreaded lawn. But that’s the cynic’s view. The subtleties of form and coloration have endless appeal to a more practiced eye.

In answer to that leading question…of course we all want and need flowers. What would life be like without them? I still watch buds swell with nearly maniacal anticipation, and ooh and aah with the rest over on Carol’s May Dreams Gardens site every Bloom Day. In a pinch, though, the above bevy of beauties, and their brethren, could see me through.

We expect gardening photos to scale the heights of beauty and grace, right? Well, not this one. This is an example of what can happen if you put off the inevitable. I know. It looks like an amputee from a Civil War field hospital. Richard and I seldom agree upon when, where and how much to cut back, so Mom Nature steps in. Last winter was a harsh one, with heavy, wet snow and ice. Several trees that had been overreaching cracked under the pressure. This cypress on the back of the house is the worst case in point. It had been slowly spreading, until it completely shielded the unattractive foundation, and yielded endless boughs to deck the halls during the holidays. We knew it was getting out of hand, but, like I said, the bickering never resolved itself into a plan of action. Now we are left with a barren expanse which I am trying my best to see as an opportunity rather than a disaster.

Yesterday, I apprehended R heading for the Acacia, loppers in hand (I gave him the loppers as a gift, so how much complaining can I do?). With the cypress incident fresh in our minds, we were able to negotiate each cut with admirable equanimity. The trimmed branches are dramatic in a vase. The tree, I think, will be spared the embarrassment of the fate of the cypress.

By and large, we take a live and let-live attitude toward the deer. They provide endless entertainment from our dining room windows, and in return, they are allowed to browse at will. I will buy strawberries at the Farmers’ Market because the deer nibble the flowers before they can begin to develop into anything humans deem edible. Trees are a different matter. After the deer stripped a young eucalyptus of every trace of foliage (who knew that they would go for something so aromatic?) a remedy became necessary. Richard drove metal pipe into the ground to support deer netting that would surround each tender young tree. It proved effective and not especially unsightly. Still, those poles seemed to be begging for adornment.

This picture shows a hose guard made by a local ceramicist. I bought three of them several years ago because I fell hard for them. I don’t know about you, but try as I might, I just can’t make hose guards work for me. These beauties sat around waiting for the deer fence epiphany. The stake, meant to go into the ground, fits snugly into the top end of the metal pipe. Cute, huh? The first picture (above) features glass electrical insulators (hope I got that right) slipped over the tops of the pipes. These things always appealed to me, so whenever they popped up at garage sales, I would buy them. Never had a clue as to their fate until now.

I ran out of stashed goodies before the corralled trees ran out, so off to the local craft store for me. These 3″ wooden balls were intended to become dolls’ heads. With the application of red spray paint and a big long screw to slide into the top of the pipe, they become a variation on my post cap theme.

Visiting gardens and nurseries is a sure way to fill one’s memory banks with ideas . They might mingle in there for years before they pop out disguised as your own brilliant brainstorms. One garden owner (wish I could remember, so as to give full credit) had taken a paint pot to some poppy pods left standing after the petals fell. The result was a surreal parade of sculptural unflowers in an array of colors alien to most gardens. At Dancing Oaks Nursery they had crafted special stakes to hold their collection of electrical insulators, which spring, flower-like, from various beds. In other words, truly original ideas are few and far between, but out of the stew of influences we can often pluck a tasty morsel or two…and, in this case, deprive the deer of a few tasty morsels until the trees get big enough to fend for themselves.

You may have noticed posts on the 15th of the past couple of months with photos of what is blooming at the time. The brainchild of Carol at May Dreams Gardens, it attracts garden bloggers from far and wide. They post their pictures and comments, then leave a link on Carol’s site. What fun it is to tap into these avid gardeners’ personalities and to see what is blooming in different parts of the world. I always thought Portland OR was the mecca for growing things, but after skimming Pam’s site, I was almost ready to decamp to Texas. Of course it could very well have simply to do with Pam’s exceptional photography.

First up, as seen through branches of the acacia in the foreground, is sweet little Saxifraga andrewsii in combination with Penstemon newberryi. They seem happy in the gravel bed surrounding the pond.

In the woodland, Erythronium has followed me from place to place ever since I first dug a few from my mom’s yard. She had great swathes of them that had sprung up naturally, but I am still waiting for my three to start a family.

The apple trees are less showy than the cherries or the pears, but if one looks closely, their blossoms are the prettiest of all.

I must plant more of this Dicentra spectabilis so there will be plenty to add to spring posies. The white one (Alba) that was nearby has disappeared.

The flowers on Kalanchoe fedtschenkoi are an unexpected bonus. I bought it strictly for its scalloped leaves. Like the echeverias, these guys refuse to stick to the script, and keep morphing into new forms. Oh, well…that’s half the fun.

It almost seems like cheating to include something like this Armeria that went straight from the nursery into a pot on the deck, but I’ll do it anyway.

One of the few shrubs that came with the house was a full grown lilac. It fills the air with its perfume, and turns lovely rusty shades of red in the fall.

I once brought Silene to life from seed gathered on a camping trip in Canada. I mourned its loss when I tried, unsuccessfully, to move it. Now I find it growing wild all over the place, Yippee!

It takes a lot of anything to make an impression when the property is large. Rhododendrons are just the ticket. We buy a few each year, so our collection is starting to take on a wee bit of “gravitas”. ‘Horizon Monarch’ is right at that stage when you can see all of its stages at once, and how the color develops from bud to full flower. We try to seek out varieties with interesting foliage, so that they can hold their own after the fabulous flowers fade.

R ‘Misty Moonlight’ is in full bloom under the cedar trees.

Going from macro to micro, these little Ipheon ‘Wisley Blue’ are scattered at the base of the cherry trees. With the help of some scilla, they mask the dying foliage of the early tete a tete daffodils, but I haven’t come up with anything to take over once these go. Any ideas?

We’ve come a long way since March, when it was easy to cover every bloomin’ thing without fear of boring the audience. Now, with the whole world bursting at the seams, a bit of editing seems appropriate. Here’s the list of flowers that failed to make it onto my A-list: many Euphorbias upstaged by wulfenii, Polygonum bistorta ‘Superbum’, Myosotis scorpioides, Mahonia ‘King’s Ransom’, Galium odoratum (see previous post ‘May Wine’), Epimedium grandiflorum ‘Lilafree’, Choisya ‘Sun Dance’, iris, Poncirus trifoliata, and various tulips and viburnums.

Many years ago I had a studio in a place called Hillside Center. It was a loose coalition of artists who paid small amounts of rent to inhabit a cluster of shabbily elegant buildings that had once housed a private school for girls. It was perched in a lovely setting, surrounded by trees and upscale neighbors who seemed threatened by what they perceived as an entirely too freewheeling style of life. In truth, my fellow Hillsiders were some of the most dedicated, serious and responsible people I have known, all appearances to the contrary. In a studio near mine toiled a woman whose art had been derived from careful study of ancient techniques lost to us over time. Through her research, she was able to reconstruct formulas and processes to create works of great beauty. Her historical bent extended to all facets of life. In the spring, she would serve a punch she called May Wine. It had a festive air about it, summoning up visions of maidens dancing about Maypoles in gossamer gowns. The celebratory mood was created with humble ingredients (jug wine was the norm among us in those days). I was never much of a fan of Rhine wine, perhaps because the jug variety was my only exposure, but with the added fillip of sprigs of sweet woodruff floating in a lovely bowl with ice, it became something easy to pass off as ambrosia.

These are memories sparked by spotting the Galium odoratum (sweet woodruff) springing to life when I was tramping around the yard the other day. The carpet of square stems punctuated by whorls of shapely, medium-green leaves is just beginning to produce clusters of diminutive white star-shaped flowers. This is the very best time, because just a few of the flowers have opened, with those to come still looking like white and greenish beads.

Having duly admired the sparkling effect in a shady spot, I logged on to see if I could recreate the spring elixer of those halcyon days. What I found were a number of recipes, all different, with the only common ingredient being the woodruff. What a relief! I was off the hook. No need to feel some historical imperative to use cloyingly sweet Rhine wine. I could invent my own version with impunity. My gardening books described woodruff’s taste as haylike. I would venture to call it grassy, but extremely subtle. The flavor is not the main asset here, but rather the sprightly decorative touch it adds to the punch bowl. A white zinfandel, chosen primarily for its pale blush of color, provides just the right degree of sweetness. The ice cubes could be plain, but why? I chose to make them by puddling a small amount of water in the ice tray with a borage blossom in each compartment. Freeze that thoroughly, then top off with water and freeze again. If you fail to completely freeze the first step, the flower will float to the top and stick out of the cube. I tried making them with tea, but it made for cloudy cubes, obscuring the blossoms. My answer was to make a few plain cubes with tea. Almost any tea that is very pale when brewed works aesthetically. Chamomile introduces another interesting flavor. I like to brew the tea with some borage and woodruff in the pot. After making the ice cubes, I combine the remaining tea with a bottle of white zinfandel in a jar in the fridge. By the next day, it is ready to be strained off over the pretty ice cubes in a bowl, for a party of several; or a glass, for a party of one. Toss in a few sprigs of your floral garnish and prepare to feel like the monarch of May.

Planting a tree is an act of optimism - a clear statement of belief in the future. You must have vision, especially if the tree is a mere whip at planting time. The spreading umbrella of shade or the pouf of fragrant blossom will take time to materialize. It may not achieve its full majesty in our lifetime, but a carefully planted specimen will reward us with untold pleasure as we watch it develop from year to year. I find myself driving by my old neighborhoods just to see how something I planted there is getting on. It’s like visiting the best longtime friends with shared memories. It always surprises me to see how something that I planted as a sapling has become a real tree in my absence.

Unlike perennials that can be put in willy nilly and moved around at will, a tree demands forethought. Its mature height and spread will need to be considered. Some are fast growers; others take their own sweet time. Impulse buys are best avoided on pain of creating a monument to rashness that can only be remedied with a chain saw. My natural inclination is to be haphazard. It doesn’t bode well for the siting of trees, so I enlist the aid of my partner in life, who is more inclined to take the long view. A case in point is the magnolia . We took turns standing on a proposed spot, while the other went inside to peruse the effect from various windows. After much wild gesticulating (a little to the left, back, back, not quite so far…no, that won’t do at all…), we agreed upon a setting where the little tree glows against the darker background of the forest and can be seen to advantage from three windows of the dining room. It has plenty of room to reach for the sky. I can all but see the monster blossoms unfurling to dinner plate magnificence. What a day that will be!

When we planted street trees, we did the research, made our choice and planted two flowering pears across the front of the house. They had been growing there for three years when the need for a third tree became apparent. I called my horticulturist friend, Michelle, to tell her what we were after. She came to measure the circumference of the trunks of the existing trees so she could allow for transplant shock. The new tree would have to be slightly bigger or it would never catch up. She then sought out a specimen meeting all of the requirements and delivered it to the site. Her detailed instructions for its care left us feeling she was parting with her first-born child. Now that is what I call a dedicated nursery person. Too much to ask for? Not really. You may be surprised by the ardor of arborists - and why not? Beyond their physical beauty, trees do so much for us. They clean our air, shade us from the blazing sun, produce food and stand as sentinals over the history of a place. On a practical note, each tree adds to the value of a property.

As a rule, trees are big-ticket items worth every penny. To get around financial constraints, think about joining the National Arbor Day Foundation. For a nominal membership fee, they will express their thanks by sending you ten free trees. The flowering group includes two flowering dogwoods, two Kousa dogwoods, two crabapples, two Washington hawthorns and two American redbuds. Alternatively, you can opt for a selection of two each of five varieties of oaks or ten Colorado Blue Spruces. When I received my ten free trees, I was distracted by other things. The poor little trees languished on the back porch. When I finally got around to planting them, I had little hope for their survival. I was in for a surprise. They thrived despite my shameful neglect, and within two years were flaunting pride of place and contributing considerable charm to the landscape. Imagine what might happen if one treated them with all due respect and followed the easy planting instructions to the letter.

So…what happens when you open your garden (for the first time, mind you) and nobody shows up?

I can hardly blame the Hardy Planters, as the day was bleak. Early in the week, we were promised a day of at least partial sunshine. The day dawned, we flipped on the TV to catch the weather guy, and were served up visions of wind, rain, hail, lightning and thunder…all of which duly put in appearances. To be honest, I appreciated the chance for a “dry run” (so to speak) to test out signage, banner placement, etc.

I had expected the cherry trees to be in full blossom, but they were running late. The only plant life really putting on a show was the Clematis armandii, a batch of daffodils, and Euphorbia wulfenii. What came off really well was the way banners can spark things up when Mother Nature refuses to cooperate.

The garden will be open one day of each month through October, so there will be plenty more opportunities for it to strut its stuff. The schedule, as listed in the HPSO Open Gardens book, is as follows: May 4, June 7, July 13, Aug 10 and Sept 7, all from 11am to 5pm, and June 9 from 4 to 9pm. If you would like directions, or to make an appointment for some other time, please call: 503 248 9670.

My totem project got me to looking at cast-off household items through new eyes. Back when I had an art deco-ish black and silver bathroom, my kids gave me this black ceramic hand, which attaches to the wall and becomes a soap dish. I have gone through several bathrooms since then, but could never bring myself to discard the hand, even though it broke into several pieces in removing it from its original place of honor. After careful gluing, it is still missing a finger…but the violets cover any defects, and I love the rather macabre impression of a lost soul reaching through a sea of violets to the light of day.