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I go to art fairs and shows every now and then, where I find myself admiring garden ornaments like totems and towers by ceramic artists. Alas, my budget, after plants, simply will not stretch to include original works of art. But wait! What about all of those odds and ends…lids to jars that have broken, saucers and/or pots with no mates, the wobbly pot that I threw in college (too weird to use, but too significant to throw away). I gathered a bunch of this detritus and began stacking it up. Perhaps not so oddly, since my taste tends to run to celadons and naturals, there were plenty of pieces that harmonized as if it were planned from the start.

Glue is always a stumbling block in projects of this kind. I had recently graduated from Gorilla glue to an industrial strength craft adhesive called E6000, so I proceeded with all confidence in its ability to hold things together. I gave my finished tower a couple of days to cure in my workroom before moving it outside. After a night in which we had a light freeze, the join where my wobbly, hand-thrown pot met with a smooth, commercial saucer gave way. I thought it was simply a result of the uneven surface, so silicone caulk was pressed into service to fill in and cushion that point of contact. Great! It held! Then all of the other glue joints began to fail. Richard found me some clear silicone caulk (the first one was white) and I went to work cleaning surfaces and reassembling the whole thing using the new method. At this writing, the tower/totem is standing up to the job. You see it here, placed among cardoons and Stachys ‘Helon von Styne’ , which echo the tones in the ceramics perfectly (as does the dirt…oh,well…).

The cardoons were raised from seed from HPSO, and fill me with a mother’s pride. When I went out there to place my tower, you can imagine my consternation when I found that one of my lovely cardoons had been sucked down into the ground by whatever creature has been excavating tunnels around our grounds. Only a few wilty leaves and a deep hole about 4 inches in diameter testified to the crime. We have moles aplenty, which I do not mind, but this is another kettle of critter. Are there gophers in these parts? Any thoughts, fellow sufferers, will be greatly appreciated.

The dahlias beside Richard’s studio had been in place for four years, so I thought it was about time to dig up at least one of them. All of the tubers you see here came from one above ground plant. We had a number of freezes during the winter that we are having a hard time putting behind us. Expecting a cluster with many gone mushy from the cold, I was surprised to find nothing but plump, healthy, yam-like tubers in a cluster of about three feet across. Every article on dahlias calls for digging after the first frost. When I did that, they did not overwinter well…so I am going my own way here. The mud ball I unearthed required a lot of hosing, prying and more hosing, but I finally had about four dozen individual tubers of varying sizes. I spread them out to dry for a day or two. The size of the tuber is said to be immaterial to the size and vigor of the resulting plant. I potted up a few of the smaller ones, just to test out the theory. A few of the big ones went into the fence line border. The rest will go into a basket, free for the taking, when I open the garden for the first time Sunday next.
Lots of people “in the know” find dahlias garish and tasteless. Not me. In late summer, when things are looking a little tired and dusty, along come the can can dancers with their flirty skirts of many colors. They alone can hold their own in the harsh August sun and heat, and oh, what dramatic bouquets! This is one gardener (vulgar, perhaps) that could not do without dahlias.
I will keep you posted on the ongoing experiment.

The Linnton Condominiums had flag poles across the roof line, left over from the days when it was a schoolhouse. When Ellie bought two Spinnakers from me to put in her front planter, she feared that the condo association would ask her to remove them for the sake of consistency. Instead, they decided to utilize the abandoned flag poles to express themselves in some way. There are pirate flags, Canadian flags…you name it. Ellie and Brad decided to commission me to design theirs. The fine old building looks out over the river toward the sunrise, and I know Ellie is fond of Color with a capital C, so I took that as my theme. Here it is, caught in motion, and below is a shot I took of it tacked up on my deck to show the full design.

When I had the sad task of going through my mother’s things, I found drawers, baskets and boxes filled with literally hundreds of snapshots, polaroids and slides of what must have been every bouquet she ever put together. The odd thing about them was that she never bothered to set the stage for these creations. At the edges of each shot would be scraps of paper, dirty dishes, whatever just happened to be lying about. Of course she didn’t have the convenience of digital, with its instant replay and Photoshop. I understand the impulse. Whenever the elements come together to make a nice composition, my instinct is to capture it in time.
I’ve already told you how cuckoo I am for rocks. My kitchen windowsill is filled with a nice assortment gathered from my daily walks (my normal route is nearly picked clean by now). When I was casting about for a tiny container for violets, I stumbled upon this highly textured pitcher. Our dining table is black lacquer. The runner is handwoven in many shades of earthen colors echoed by the rocks. I love the play of color and texture, and the one white violet(no scent) tucked in with the common purple. I found great swathes of the white violets under the cedars. In the four years we have been here, I had not seen them before. I am shamed by my lack of observation.
Hillary (my daughter) commented that I should have saved all of Mom’s pix and turned them into an art installation. What an idea…their slap-dash quality would have given a unique twist much more interesting and ‘avant garde’ than my merely pretty efforts.

This Ribes placed itself at the corner of our house, right behind a ‘Point Defiance’ Rhododendron. The first year we had the Rhody, the two bloomed together, in shades of the same pink. The small clusters of deep pink florets on the native currant complemented the large, open petals shading from medium pink to nearly white on Point Defiance to perfection. I was so excited (and this from a person with little affinity for pink). It never pays to get one’s hopes up…the two have never again graced us with that perfect duet. As these buds begin to unfold, the buds on its ersatz partner are still clenched into tight fists. What do you suppose: they had a lovers’ spat? one felt upstaged by the other? they’re holding out for a better contract? I sure do wish they would work out their differences.

I love the way so many blooms start up tightly curled, then unfurl and straighten as the petals (or in this case, bracts, open). This Euphorbia wulfenii is still in the early stages of the process. I must remember to check it out every day if I am to appreciate the many stages of beauty it will go through before, in mid-summer, it gives up the ghost and asks to be put out of its misery.

The dainty tete a tete daffodils are the first of the narcissi to bloom for me. Every year, I buy a pot or two of them to enjoy on the breakfast table. They cheer me up no end. Once they have performed that service, I add them to the growing colony under the cherry trees.

My hellebores seem late. They are just beginning to bloom, though I have been seeing patches of them in others’ gardens for some time now. I’ll take what I can get…maybe I will still have them when their earlier cousins have passed.

The evergreen clematis has been threatening to swallow the deck. Richard strung wires on the underside of the plastic roof, and the vines are clambering along them with great vigor. These first blossoms are responding to the extra warmth and light. By next month the outer blossoms will have burst forth. I will have to show you another picture, then, of the overall effect when the whole front of the house is engulfed in blossoms and scent. Sweeping up the mess they leave is a small price to pay.

The aconitums are new this year…tiny bulbs resulting in tiny flowers. The flowers are very like buttercups, but the collar of spiky leaves sets them apart. I am told that they will multiply…hope so.

Last year, I ordered two of these lounge chairs for Richard. He is a tall, long-legged guy, so they don’t work for him at all. When I looked into returning them, it turned out the cost of the shipping was nearly equal to the original price. So much for the convenience of online shopping. I don’t mind too much, because they are so handsome, strategically placed on the lawn. Sammy obviously finds them comfy enough. She is such a diva…always placing herself in a spot and a pose where she shows off to best advantage. Had we allowed her personality to fully develop before naming her, we might have called her something more fitting: Nefertiti, maybe?

This would have been easy to miss, had I not been searching for it. Do you see the raggedy little splash of orange in about the middle of the picture? Actually, there are several others, but the blossom in focus is the easiest to spot against the background of mulch. It is Hamamelis intermedia ‘Diane’, and I have high hopes for it (as yet unfulfilled, but then it is just a baby). It is billed as a fiery-leaved standout in the fall garden, and these small flowers are supposed to be a treat to the nose. When I get that close to the ground, all I can smell is dirt.

The snowdrops have been around since January, but when they were peeking through the snow they seemed beleaguered. As soon as the snow melted, they perked right up and looked ready for their close-up. Unlike the big, blowsy blossoms of high summer, all of the early performers reward close attention. See how they nestle up to the Heuchera ‘Caramel’?…or is it ‘Amber Waves’? They look similar this early in the year, when they are struggling to maintain composure in the face of unpredictable weather.

Every year the primroses show up at the supermarket right after Christmas decorations come down and everything looks drab. I can never resist a few for the porch, and have found that if I tuck them into the woodland, they come back year after year. The white ones seem to be the hardiest, and show up best against the duff and moss. These, too, have been blooming since January, but who goes out there to appreciate them until about now?

I see why violets are often referred to as “shy” since they barely peek out above the carpet of leaves. Demure they may be, but the irrepressibly bold scent will draw your attention. I like to pick a few each day to perfume the air. They won’t last long, and you must find a tiny vase, but as few as 5 can fill a room without overwhelming it the way paperwhites will. I let these run rampant wherever they are happy. They form a dense, evergreen mat that is very effective at blocking weeds. Be forewarned, though, as many gardeners consider them invasive.

My daughter gave me this hat for Christmas. It is a little challenging to wear, but I love it. So far, I have worn it only to walk up and down the hill by our house…hardly a public outing. Here’s the thing: this hat is downright therapeutic. As I walk along, the little balls bump against my head ever so gently. It is almost like the scalp massage that is the best part of getting a haircut. There is, so far, no evidence of increased brain activity, but I am more inclined to make time for my walk despite inclement weather and/or a general tendency towards laziness.

My sweetheart gave me rocks for Valentine’s Day…and I was thrilled to pieces. Of course these were no ordinary rocks…at least not the small, smooth kind handy for skipping across bodies of water or anchoring flowers in a clear vase (I covet those, too, and on walks can never pass one by without stooping to pick it up and drop it in a pocket). No, these could more aptly be described as boulders. Richard says at the quarry they differentiate by calling them half-man, one man or two-man, depending upon how much of a man is required to lift one. R is secure enough in his manhood to settle for half-man rocks. When I suggested that, between the two of us, it should be easy to lift them out of the truck, he declared, “What do you mean? We’ll just roll them out. They’re rocks! What can happen to them?” Now the trick is placement. There are four of these beauties, and I won’t want to squander their impact by misjudging where to put them. Tomorrow is predicted to be a beautiful day, and I look forward to carting my rocks around, with the aid of a dolly, to try out different locations and dream of their future with moss and lichens and little ground covers spilling around them.

So far, so good. It’s a long time until my birthday…maybe if I play my cards right I will rate a load of gravel.

This scene lasted for only a few hours this morning. I would have loved to capture it for a bit longer, but it is perhaps the fleeting nature of the scene that accounts for its poignancy. In that brief time I came upon many little vignettes where ordinary, or even ugly objects had been transformed by winter’s magic touch. The cats had ventured out before us, as they feel no need for the fortifying mug of coffee before the day can begin.