Easy Being Green

Posted on May 21, 2013 by Emily Stashower

Lately, I’ve been looking at photographs I took of the garden throughout the summer of 2012. As plants become established and the garden matures, it’s a good time to revisit my original vision for the garden’s design.

One area in particular had been bothering me because, though I envisioned varied hues of green with a mix of textures, heights and complementary styles, it just seemed to be maturing too slowly. I was having a difficult time seeing how things would eventually blend and the individual plants would look like they belonged together, fit the footprint of that bed and blended enough to provide a soothing, interesting and unique landscape.

I wanted to look out the kitchen window and see a beautiful, cohesive garden. Below are two photos taken from inside my house overlooking the dry stream bed and “varied green bed.”

In keeping with the desire to use principles of good design and adhere, within reason, to the vision and plan first drawn over 3 years ago, I nurture my garden beds and, occasionally, add a few new plants for color, balance, replacement and interest. I don’t want to undo the garden’s loose, welcoming and informal feel and have been careful about the additions, working with the “bones” of the yard and balancing my desire to piece plantings together with the same quirky, fun, colorful and textured characteristics I love so much in a crazy quilt. It’s definitely a balancing act for me. But the hardest part has been waiting. Waiting for plants to become established and waiting to see if the maturing plant fits with the gardens feel and/or does well in its location.

Good things come to those who wait and this week, as I begin to explore the “Green Bed” after days of soaking rain and warming temperatures, I really like what I see. Better than that, I like how I feel. The Green Bed I wasn’t so sure about is bringing me something so wonderful this summer it’s hard to describe.

When I look at the bed following the dry stream, I see peace and I feel calm. There are at least 20 different shades of green and I love each and every one of them. The lighter green of creeping moss and low growing succulents is soothing and graceful. Several plants travel along the rocks, dipping into the blue-gray pebbles of the dry stream bed.

The blue fescue is an eye-catching shade of green and the new bulb shaped solar lights blend with the multi hued plants, adding patterns and interest. The plants in bloom are set against a sea of greens, highlighting the colorful blooms of salvia, peonies, scotch broom and nepeta.

Cone flowers, scabiosa, the butterfly bush and daisies will soon rise above the lush green “floor” and I will continue to cut blossoms to bring inside for bouquets. I’ve already been able to put together some bouquets with the blooms from the Green Bed, perennials and some container gardens I put together with annuals.

The Green Bed, currently dotted with yellow, purple and white flowers (which will bloom on and off for the coming 5 months) and anchored by the vivid, magnificent Scotch Broom, is starting to come into its own – it’s maturing, getting stronger and exudes serene confidence. I’m able to see all the shades of green and appreciate the serenity.

My Scotch Broom is a stunning focal point. It’s the paperless calendar telling me it’s my brother and sister in law’s wedding anniversary (Daniel and Alison). Hard to believe this bush began as a puny stalk casually stuck in the ground before we left for their wedding in Ayr, Scotland (May, 1996).

The Scotch Broom’s growth is a suitable way to honor Daniel and Alison’s flourishing marriage and growing family. When I look out the window or walk through the Green Bed, I can’t help but think about how much my garden is teaching me.

A-May-Zing

Posted on May 11, 2013 by Emily Stashower

In Washington, D.C., May is “Europe Month” – a time of educational, social and cultural events associated with the EU, giving participants a rare first hand insight into the European Union. How do I participate? By going on a garden tour, of course.

Despite threatening weather, we headed to Embassy Row and began at the British Embassy where my sister in law works (equally important – Dr. Who’s 50^th anniversary honored by the appearance of a Dalek).

We bypassed the long line for the residence and headed for the gardens. They are breathtaking and I’m not foolish enough to try and describe the sights nor am I knowledgeable enough to describe, in detail, the magnificent plantings and/or history. I hope my descriptions and photos do justice to the experience.

The gardens were like a series of stunning vignettes but in saying that, it sounds too planned and/or calculating. Instead, it was a peaceful, stunning, artistic and natural walk through gardens with a unified story and purpose. They made good use of the architecture, reflected the embassy’s culture, adapted to the D.C. climate and introduced visitors to a world of such beauty it was engrossing, not off-putting. Instead of feeling inadequate by my sparse hellebores, wonky alliums and absence of roses (can’t even be bothered with floribunda) I was enchanted, appreciative and engaged.

The climbing roses and established roses beds were especially lovely and walking underneath a trellis of wisteria and other twisted vines seemed completely natural, not programmed. Although I doubt there are children playing on the expansive lawns or people engrossed in a good book while sitting on a teak bench under a weeping willow, the embassy’s garden didn’t have a roped off “do not touch” feel (even though we were, in fact, not allowed to wander through certain areas and touching was discouraged). My point is, it was welcoming and appropriately protective at the same time.

While I was taking a picture of the a pavilion, one of the guides asked me if I knew what I was taking a picture of – I looked at him as though of course I knew! I was taking a picture of a beautiful stone pavilion with wisteria vines and beautiful plants flanked by stunning, planted urns.

Most of that is true but I was also, unbeknownst to me, taking a picture of the windows of Hilary Clinton’s bedroom (the windows are visible over the hanging light in the pavilion).

Large, perfect green lawns bordered by hostas, primroses, coral-bells and blooming hellebores in subtle, varied tones were on either side of the garden paths. The view, complete with seating, sculptures and paths, transported visitors to dreamy storybook lands yet at the same time, were relatable. Roses draped walls, clumps of allium punctuated lush perennial beds and in some areas, the beds looked like layers of every shade of green possible, occasionally dotted with blooms. The gardens must bloom month after month, providing new views weekly. Overwhelmingly beautiful and perfectly suited for the British Embassy – better than my vision of an “English Country Garden.”

In transitional areas without hardscaping other than a lovely flagstone path, the gardens wound around tangles of trees – it was like walking through art. I was standing in a painting.

Familiar plants combined with less familiar gave each bed unique characters and the overall feeling was more comfortable than I imagined. Instead of contrived groupings with harsh borders, the lawn’s border plantings read colorful, interesting, layered and joyful.

In areas with stone carvings, intricate brickwork and woodland plantings, it was easy to feel “lost” but not disjointed in the tangles of vines. Wandering down a path brought new vistas and areas to explore. It was hard not to gasp. Typical tourist, I am.

A burst of colorful berries against the backdrop of an old tree with moss was like looking a casually a framed picture perfectly hung in a room. Contrasts brought intrigue and appeal.

One transitional area had a few orchids on display (the majority of orchids were in the residence) and I’ve posted them in this blog because, as regular readers know, I’m not An Orchid Person but I do have a very close friend who, with her husband, have a home that could easily be on its on Garden Tour for Orchids.

While walking away from the orchid area, I looked up towards the sky (in truth, because I felt raindrops) and was delighted by the sight — a HUGE tree overhead looked like someone had carefully hung white pom poms, like white lanterns, in honor of the event. I think they were a variety of hydrangea (it was that type of flower but in such a huge tree, not bush, it looked like a familiar bloom on an unfamiliar plant):

Then more views of deep green lawns bordered by allium, digitalis, ferns, hellebores, wild geraniums, irises, yarrow, spiderwort, hostas and woodland plants.

What tour of the British Embassy Gardens would be complete without stone archways dripping with roses, teak benches among the beds of roses and . . . more roses?

Absolutely A May Zing

Mysterious May

Posted on May 7, 2013 by Emily Stashower

April’s showers bring May flowers; so what does May bring? For some amateur gardeners, myself among them, May brings mystery and intrigue. Some garden mysteries are solved this month; the clumps of long, flat leaves scattered throughout the garden have been ID’d; daffodils, grape hyacinths and alliums. Case closed when blooms open.

The curled green leaves were easier puzzles of tulips and hyacinths while the flat, fan-shaped leaves will reveal colorful hemerocallis in the coming months. Square shaped stems help this amateur garden-detective distinguish plants in the mint family; monarda, nepeta and herbal mints but I’m clueless (sorry, could not help myself) when it comes time to sorting out the amsonia, echinacea, leucanthemum, agastache, armeria, scabiosa and . . . you get the idea.

The late bloomers will remain a mystery until August and September at which time I’ll remember the plant by its flower. I prefer it that way and though I could label additions and/or add them to the drawn landscape plan that would mean work. More than that, it feels like looking at the last page of a really good mystery before reading the preceding chapters. I don’t want to know how the story ends, so to speak, before it’s time. Watching the garden grow is as intriguing as a good story well told.

I’m not an ornithologist (and I don’t play one on this blog) and can’t differentiate nests in progress until I see its occupants. Even then, it’s not a sure bet. I know just enough to make it interesting and enjoy the process of discovery. Like a sketch artist using descriptions to draw a composite picture, nests can be identified by its characteristics. There are many good “nest identification” on line resources but I’ll take a pass on that and just watch and wait.

As I try to build a diverse library of plantings, I’m focusing on a section of perennials and bulbs near the entrance to our yard. Chapter One – I bought my first Jack in the Pulpit.

I’d like Jack to multiply (I think the one I bought is two years old) and the area to fill in, looking naturalized.

Working in the partial sun bed, I’ve added geum, galium, oenothera, camapanula and pulmonaria. (Remember, it’s my “crazy quilt” approach this year so professionals beware, these plantings don’t necessarily make sense planted together)

Last weekend I went to an annual plant sale held at an independent school not far from my house. I went back twice. Something about the wildflower section reminded me of the days when our family went to Cleveland’s string of parks (aptly named Emerald Necklace) for pleasure and with Mr. McDaniels’ science class (Roxboro Junior High School in Cleveland Heights, Ohio) for torture. In retrospect I think Mr. McDaniel was a wonderful teacher by using the detective approach with his new recruits – we had a clipboard with list of native plants we might see and set about the park to locate them. We all snickered at Dutchman’s Breeches. Flying underwear!

I must make a confession now (and without interrogation!). Yes, Mr. McDaniel, that was us making those phony phone calls on Saturday night in 1970. But DO you have Prince Albert in a can? It really is time to let him out, you know.

May’s mysteries draw me into parts of the yard previously ignored and/or newly planted. Whether it’s watching the return of perennials and bulbs or planting something new, a garden is surprising and ripe for exploration. Not everything can be described, much is unpredictable, but it’s always intriguing.

Why is it Jack who is in the pulpit? Is it the same Jack who will be carved in celebration of Halloween and what is it about Jack? It’s all a riddle to me.

Crazy Quilt

Posted on May 1, 2013 by Emily Stashower

While temperatures permit, activities in the garden are at a fevered pitch; plants grow at an astonishing rate, humans enjoy the constantly changing views and the developing spring garden attracts animals. While wandering through the yard, I started to think my garden reminds me (a little) of the crazy quilts I treasured in my great Aunt Cora’s apartment. I wonder why I was so drawn to them as a child and continue to think about them in my “middle aged” years (ouch!). What is it about a crazy quilt that resonates with me and why, or how, would I try to interpret it into the landscape?

My garden has, over time, implemented a definite and considered plan. The house’s architecture, siting and many existing, permanent features were incorporated – some highlighted and others had to be worked around. Considerable thought was given to the aesthetics and practicalities. It was important to me to have a garden that could be equally explored and enjoyed from inside - and outside – the house. Damn it, we had a plan!

It doesn’t seem like crazy quilts had a plan – no two are alike. Were they pieced together randomly using whatever jumble of textiles were available? How did each one become a masterpiece without a design plan? Maybe part of the appeal, for me, was in the discovery of a new fabric or stitch hidden in the folds of fabric.

As much as I love the organized chaos of a crazy quilt, I also love the structured, repeating and sometimes intricate plan of other quilting styles. The same is true with gardens.

I’ve noticed that, as my garden matures in its current incarnation, I’m waiting for the pieces of the planting puzzle to blend and spill over – like coloring outside the lines in a coloring book. I never was good at painting by numbers. And as much as I fight change and life’s chaos causes me much anxiety, I eagerly anticipate – even yearn for and seek out – change in the garden. I don’t want everything to fit a prescribed, predictable plan.

I want colorful blooms to attract butterflies and birds, no matter how fleeting their appearance might be.

This year I’ve added a few more colorful solar lanterns and hung them off shepherds hooks so I can enjoy the way colors can be seen in different light.

I asked my husband to plant the tulips my friend Tracey brought as a gift from Holland and didn’t tell him where to plant them. I just wanted them to pop up and surprise me so I could enjoy and appreciate the individual, random mosaic of colors and textures. They’re beautiful and unconventionally located – they don’t follow the rules of design (whatever they may be) and certainly were not part of our landscape design.

When the rain decorated those gorgeous tulips, I began to appreciate the additional patterns of rain on the landscape.

Those brilliant, wild, rich, irregular combinations of colors, shapes, textures and patterns I loved exploring in crazy quilts might be in my garden after all. My fingers used to reach for the quilt’s velvety, soft textures just as my hands now reach for the lamb’s ear, catmint, coreopsis and cosmos in the garden. The scratchy wools and starched fabrics helped the quilt retain its form but all the same, I could do without my Japanese Hollies and possibly even the little blue spruce.

The rocks, pebbles and plantings in the dry stream bed are varied, beautiful and functional. They look different every time I look at them.

There is a lot of purple in my garden but it appears at different times of the year. There’s a tremendous range of heights, hues, textures and they grow in different directions.

As the garden’s patchwork unfolds, I am beginning to enjoy different color combinations I never tried before and look for new ways to look at what I thought was planned and familiar. Crazy.

Mourning My Doves

Posted on April 25, 2013 by Emily Stashower

A few nights ago, my son asked me why I hadn’t blogged yet about the progress of the Mourning Dove’s nest in the juniper tree in our yard. At the time, the nest had two eggs and one very large adult Mourning Dove.

Unfazed by human activity nearby, torrential rain, fierce winds and other aviary activity in the same tree, the dove’s mission was clear. All s/he needed was a “baby on board” sign – except s/he didn’t really need a sign. Her/his purpose was obvious and the single-minded determination admirable. (Note: both male and female Mourning Doves nest and tend to the young.)

The nest, built on the top of a rectangular solar light, tipped backwards slightly and abutted a brick wall. The wall was yet another protective element and someone could walk past the nest and not notice it.

When the adult left the nest I was able to quickly take a look inside using the camera’s zoom lens. I was glad to see the eggs in tact and began counting the number of days in the incubation period.

While doing some Internet research on Mourning Doves, I discovered an interesting program offered through Cornell’s Lab of Ornithology and the Audubon Society. It’s tailored towards amateurs with an interest in birds, encourages citizens to “register” any nests easily observed and collect data using a spreadsheet they provide. The program is called The Great Backyard Bird Count and the website (www.NestWatch.org) contains wonderful information, including a bird identifier application.

After reading their protocol and getting more familiar with the proper way to watch nests, I decided to register the nest and become an “Official Nest Watcher” for Cornell’s Lab of Ornithology (no SATs required, just an easy on line test). Each nest observation included key elements (date and time of observation, condition of the nest, number of adults present and their activity, etc.) and it was a quick way to figure out the range of days when the eggs might hatch.

The protocol suggests nest visits every 3 – 4 days using different approaches if possible. In some circumstances, that’s especially important as predators can watch human activity that may inadvertently clue them into the nest’s presence.

Because this nest is built right outside my kitchen window, I could photograph it while inside and didn’t have to worry about providing potential predators with key information. The picture below is my kitchen counter – if you look towards the back, to the left of the white vase, you can see the juniper and the bottom of the rectangular light. The nest is on top of that light and visible through the windows in that area of our kitchen.

Those windows, part of our initial renovation process over a decade ago, allow me to see the garden (actually, it’s almost like being in the garden because it extends over the dry stream bed and a perennial bed) and watch nature. On days when the weather’s bad or I’m having difficulty moving around because my back hurts too much, I can sit at the kitchen table and look out the window, taking stock of the garden’s progress, looking at the birds activity and thinking about how much work there is yet to be done. Too bad I can’t wipe away that last thought but I guess it comes with having a garden (anyone know of an available spacious condo with rooftop garden?). A few pictures were taken outside because the nest’s slant made it hard to see the eggs.

For the next week I continued observing the nest and, more or less, saw the same thing; two white eggs ready for hatching, an adult keeping guard while sitting in the nest and occasionally, the adult would change positions and/or leave briefly to look for food. I was particularly surprised when I went outside for an “Official Nest Watch Visit” and the adult would perch on a nearby limb, watching me watch her eggs.

Once, the Mourning Dove in residence simply sat in the nest with one egg visible and remained in the same position during my observation. I’ve looked at these pictures a few times and tried to zoom in on the egg to check the shape. Is it my imagination or does the egg look like the tip is either missing or changing shape? I guess it’s possible the first egg hatched and s/he was taking care of the hatchling while waiting for the second to hatch – I don’t know – but I was thrilled to have a front row seat to the hatching process.

In reading some of the articles about Mourning Doves, I learned that it’s not uncommon to see both adult doves tending to the nest as they wait for the hatchlings. I laughed when I uploaded the photo below because to me, the only possible caption was “Expectant Parents.”

This past weekend, as I went near the nest, the adult flew away and I saw one hatchling next to the other egg. I was about to walk away when I saw the other egg beginning to crack. Here are pictures of the hatchlings, the second of which is only minutes old.

After watching the second egg hatch, I was thrilled. I looked back at the observation sheet and saw that my notations mirrored the information provided by the professionals. A Mourning Dove is a common bird and I know that my data are not going to shake the ornithology world. But that doesn’t bother me at all. It wasn’t the point or purpose of joining NestWatch – it is an opportunity to learn more about nature; not in an exotic location or with technical, expensive equipment but simply by being observant and looking out my kitchen window.

Unfortunately, being observant and enjoying a premium seat in nature doesn’t always mean it’s a wondrous, beautiful sight. When I looked out the kitchen window the day after I witnessed the egg hatch, I saw this:

When I saw the nest in complete disarray, with no sign of the hatchlings nearby, I knew a predator had gotten to the nest. I was crushed and the casual (well meaning) responses like “it’s just a bunch of pigeons” and/or “there will be more” and/or “that’s the circle of life” did little to comfort me.

Although this first nest didn’t produce fledglings, it was a clear, important sign that spring, and its message(s), has arrived. This nest gave me another perspective; last August, when I started this blog, one of the first posts was “A Bird In The Hand” – instead of thinking it was in bad form to repeat some material posted almost a year ago, I couldn’t help but feel comforted in knowing this blog has come “full circle” and stayed true to its theme.

The pictures below date back to 2009, pre-dating my camera (probably taken with my cell phone’s camera), this blog and the current landscape. And just like the exuberance I feel when I see the perennials I love so much return season after season, I’m looking forward to looking out my kitchen window to see what else might fly my way.

If you have a nest and are interested in becoming involved as a Nest Watcher, take a look at www.NestWatch.org for further information. Tell them a Mourning Dove sent you.

Past, Present and Future

Posted on April 13, 2013 by Emily Stashower

The National Cherry Blossom Festival marks an unofficial-official start of spring and Tourist Season(s). The buds can be viewed courtesy of a “blossom cam” and attract throngs of admirers to enjoy the 3,000 trees circling the tidal basin. Local news programs have a panorama of the blossoms as a background that, without my glasses, looks like a blanket of the Pink Panther’s Owens Corning insulation. Apparently, my backyard is the only garden in this entire area void of a cherry blossom, dogwood, magnolia or redbud tree. Lucky for me, an adjacent yard provides the Spring Rush with this graceful weeping tree:

Many of the established neighborhoods have spectacular trees rivaling the tidal basin’s100 year old trees and the burst of traffic in previously quiet suburban streets signals peak blooms without the benefit of a “blossom cam.” If I need a blossom fox, all I need to do is look towards the street’s cul-de-sac, walk to the end of the block or wander around the neighborhood.

I know absolutely nothing about Cherry Blossoms and prefer to stay that way. I am under the misguided notion that learning how to distinguish varieties, therefore setting expectations about the characteristics, diminishes simple enjoyment. I know it’s wrong but it’s my blog and I’m sticking to it.

I’ve got magnolias out the bedroom window, dogwoods on the tiny strip of grass where the garbage cans are placed and a few azaleas in my garden. One stands out from the others – a gift from my friend Denise who knew this addition to my garden would honor my mother as it was planted the month after she passed away.

Spring cleaning and downsizing allows me to look at many items with renewed interest, stirring up memories and sometimes, forcing my hand to act rather than ignore. Once the attic was organized and its contents appropriately distributed, a few “new” items were added to the “To Do” list. I’m slogging my way through that list – I can procrastinate like a champ.

When it came time to focus on a neglected little footstool with tattered needlepoint I knew I wanted to keep it. I saved little pieces of needlework for sentimental reasons – a great aunt did it. I knew some of the pieces could be rescued and perhaps used with new fabric and restored. Why had I never before noticed the delicate outlines of tulips, my favorite flower? Was that why I was holding onto the scraps of fabric? The restored footstool stitches together nature and family and I am glad my inner voice told me to repair, not discard or ignore any longer.

As the temperatures warm and gardens become more colorful, the sights, smells and sounds of nature become more obvious and accessible. I’m happy to join the throngs of festival goers and it’s fun to watch my garden’s rebirth. Each day brings change and this year, it’s impossible not to feel like we can watch spring unfold before our eyes. It happened overnight.

One day I was complaining about the camellias – where were last year’s prolific flowers – the next day at least ten flowers appeared:

My thoughtful friend Tracey brought me tulips from her visit to the Netherlands and I waited for them to emerge from the bed where they were planted. I worried they would never come up – what would I tell Tracey? Had she planted some of her own and if so, were they bringing extraordinary color to her garden? The tulips heard me, too. Within two days they began to grow – I watched them. I swear it. As with most things in this house, they’re coming up in “two’s” – each bulb has two buds.

Last weekend as I watched spring spring to life, I walked through the backyard by the dry stream bed and added a few chores to my list of things to take care of before summer. Lost in thought, I backed up to one of the brick walls separating my yard from the neighbors, oblivious to the prickly juniper branches and the tall, rectangular solar light in the tree’s crook. As I walked away, something made me look back at the light and on top of it I finally saw what for me, is the true harbinger of a transformative season of life and mysteries.

The mourning doves have returned and once again I’ve begun the delightful task of watching the clutch, hopeful for signs of new life. Two new lives.

Double-Take

Posted on April 6, 2013 by Emily Stashower

Recent construction on our home to take care of much needed but delayed repairs resulted in more than refinished floors, patched sheetrock and a fresh coat of paint. Although I dreaded the process, we couldn’t put things off any longer.

With a little hesitancy and a lot of encouragement, I decided that as long as we were packing up the contents of a few rooms, we might as well begin downsizing by sorting through the contents of the attic (The Place For All Things Not Currently Used Or Repaired). If a picture is worth a thousand words, this is priceless:

The argument could be made for “real” downsizing: moving from the house and neighborhood where my twins were raised. Practical as that might be, it’s just not realistic (yet) and I’ll be honest – I’m not ready. But I am reasonable enough to know it’s time to begin the process and it’s a positive sign to see the twins start off on their own. I just need to be in my nest a little longer.

Over 20 years ago, when the twins were barely old enough to begin walking, my husband proudly came home with an unbelievably apt gift. As a new mother of boy/girl twins, the gift was a perfect and delightful addition to our house. Better yet, these twins didn’t require much attention. Little did I realize then how meaningful these sculptures would become and what they foreshadowed.

When we moved into our house we inherited the previous owners’ garden. Initially, the yard was utilitarian and safety a priority. The sandbox, jungle gym, inflatable pool and toys destroyed what little was there and put any significant landscaping plans on hold.

When the twins were in preschool, I decided to try my hand at a children’s garden. At first, I did all the work and the twins, with their plastic, child-sized gardening tools, gardened with me. We watered the garden together and over time, they began to look forward to going into the garden to see what was happening. We picked flowers and I helped them arrange them in a paper cup to be admired by everyone. We successfully grew a watermelon and I remember how excited they were to slice into it. It didn’t taste too great but that was beside the point.

The summer before the twins entered kindergarten – a huge milestone – we grew pumpkins. We went to the nursery to select the seed packets and my daughter chose a miniature variety while my son went for drama. He saw the seed package’s illustration with a HUGE carved pumpkin on it and there was no discussion about the practicality or realities.

Does it surprise you at all that when kindergarten started and it was my son’s turn for “Show and Tell” he took a pumpkin? I didn’t think so. Better yet, it was so huge he had to carry it into school in a stroller. It was quite a sight. Unfortunately for my daughter, we weren’t quite as successful and I’m sure she will tell you that experience scarred her for life.

We had a children’s garden for a long, long time. When they were enthralled with a series of books for early readers, the story of a boy growing a hideout made of vines on wood stakes shaped like a teepee was replicated in our garden. It, too, was a success.

The metal sculptures of a young girl and boy with flowers and gardening tools in their hands might as well have been a fortuneteller’s crystal ball. My passion for nature and gardening deepens and the yard is landscaped. It, like everything else, is a work in progress yet it reflects maturation.

Last summer, my son built some raised beds in the backyard and I enjoyed the fruits of his labor:

Last week, he came over with . . .

We’re finished with construction and streamlining for now. I’m grateful for the repairs and the paint is still fresh. I’ve been looking at those sculptures and know I will never be able to part with them. Like I said, I’m just not ready to let go (yet).

A Moveable Feast – The Flavors Of March

Posted on March 28, 2013 by Emily Stashower

If variety is the spice of life, March has been a particularly flavorful month. Baskin-Robbins offers 31 flavors of ice cream; this month offers 31 different flavors of spring. March has been extremely tasty.

Whether March comes in or goes out like a lion or a lamb is immaterial because this year, the Daily Specials change dramatically. One day it’s warm, the pollen count begins and the landscape becomes greener, punctuated with spots of color. The next day, the same tree with newly formed, delicate green leaves might be coated with a fresh layer of snow.

Just the other day neighborhood kids were out on their scooters and I wore sandals to get the paper from the driveway. Quite a different scene a few days later and the sandals were quickly replaced with boots.

Dressed in jeans and only a sweatshirt for warmth during the Ides of March, I began Passover preparations. By the Sunday (the 24th) before the first seder, when I got the fresh ingredients and ran last minute errands, I was back in a winter coat. That evening, I set the table for Monday night’s seder, making a concerted effort to blend and represent traditions and the season.

The simple china, brought out once a year, on my crisp white tablecloth was accented with bud vases filled with spring; pansies, irises and ivory colored spray roses. The flats of pansies are ready to be planted outside but the outside is not ready for planting.

In a rare creative moment, I tried something different for napkin rings (then again, using napkins rings for anything is rare in this house). I’ve been playing around with different applications using photo transfers and made a few prototypes of potential cuff bracelets with some of my photographs.

Traditions? Check. Seasonal touches? Yep. Representing change and future generations? Got it – afikomen bags and matzo covers the twins made in preschool & grape juice and afikomen rewards for my nephews.

It might have been a week night when Passover began but, true to spring’s flavor filled month, the golf tournament in Orlando had to be continued from Sunday to Monday (I have a hard time listening to or watching golf any day of the week but for the most part, I know the remote control is safe from channel flipping to major golf tournaments – not highlights – on a weekday) because a sudden strong, severe thunderstorm stopped play. So, with incessant golf/hoops/spring training/hockey soundbites as background noise, I filled the house with the smells of a Jewish holiday and spring.

Nature’s punctuation this month has made March a moveable feast.

The Paperless Calendar – Spring’s Garden

Posted on March 20, 2013 by Emily Stashower

It doesn’t take a specific date on the calendar, the announcement of peak cherry blossoms in Washington D.C., noticing marketing changes (out with children enjoying hot cocoa and cookies on a snow day from school and in with squirt guns by a pool) and/or springing our clocks forward to know it’s spring.

Although our area is currently experiencing a rollercoaster of temperatures and precipitation forecasts, many of us just have that feeling it’s spring – or getting close to what we expect in spring. The green tips that first appeared as tiny green dots barely breaking through the ground only days ago have gained momentum and with that, for many, comes hope. Hope, excitement, change, growth and signs of new life – spring’s calendar.

It’s becoming easier to distinguish those green tips; a tulip’s curl, the fanned and flattened characteristics of daylilies (perfectly named Hemerocallis – Greek for beauty and day), hyacinths are nestled within the embrace of green leaves and the daffodil’s abundant, flat leaves and stems often grow simultaneously, revealing the future color that will soon bloom.

The appearance of green isn’t the only “heads up” on transitioning seasons; colors continue and the palette expands. Early blooming hellebores persist (I admire their staying power) and additional varieties appear, crocuses aren’t the only blue-purple tones as muscari, periwinkle and anemones join rank and clumps of crisp white and green snowdrops make for the distinct spring landscape’s look and feel.

There’s so much more to look forward to – spring is the season of hope.

This is the time to enjoy what we’ve planted and my guess is I’m not the only gardener who now inspects their beds more frequently, looking for signs of progress (or lack thereof). I can see the beginnings of color in a few hyacinths . . .

I’m taking notes so, if inclined next fall, I’ll know what, and where, to add to my early spring blossoms (Jack-in-the-pulpit, winter aconite and squill come to mind).

Athletes and fans might think spring begins when the pitchers and catchers report to spring training or the brackets are announced for basketball’s March Madness. As for me, I’ll take my cues from nature and begin my spring training by replacing the shovels in the garage with bags of mulch.

March’s Madness

Marvelous McCrillis

Posted on March 14, 2013 by Emily Stashower

McCrillis Gardens, located in a residential area of Bethesda, is charming. And I don’t use that word lightly or easily. Last weekend, when the weather was so beautiful and our AWOL snowstorm headed north, I thought what better way to find out what’s growing than to wander down the street to McCrillis?

No matter what the date, time, season or condition(s), something is always happening at McCrillis. “Yelp” calls the Gardens a “hidden gem” and for purely selfish reasons, the hidden aspect makes walking along the paths peaceful and enjoyable without throngs of people detracting from the experience. But it really is a shame more people aren’t loyal, regular visitors because there is so much to see and appreciate.

As beautiful as it was last weekend, if I were to visit this weekend, there would be obvious changes, new growth and additional colors making it as beautiful, if not more so. Maybe the Winter Daphne would be in bloom and the fragrance would announce their arrival before I got closer:

Decades ago, McCrillis was a private home, complete with the tremendous gardens, and in 1978, it was donated to Montgomery County. McCrillis’ setting adds to its inherent appeal – who would expect to find such a garden treasure off a moderately busy street directly across the street from the Woods Academy School?

When my twins were young (I’m glad they don’t read my blog because they would torture me for bringing this up) I brought them to the Gardens and took roll after roll of black and white pictures of them. I treasure those photos (which I won’t risk posting for fear of discovery) and memories.

As the years passed, I started to think about having their b’nai mitzvah at McCrillis (their date didn’t lend itself to a garden event) and, again I’m grateful my twins don’t read this blog because I now find myself thinking about how lovely a setting it would be for a wedding.

How to describe McCrillis for those who have yet to visit? Calming, restorative, creative, surprising, thought provoking (not just for us day dreamers but from a horticultural perspective, too) and full of discovery. Maybe that’s what I find so compelling about nature. The changes are graceful, seasonally “fitting” and visually stimulating with unexpected glimpses of beauty. Cliché? Too bad. Expect the unexpected at McCrillis. This is the time of year when witch hazel is in bloom and although I know there are several varieties and colors, I didn’t expect to see them all in bloom, casually interspersed with later blooming trees and shrubs, in at least three colors:

Hellebores are plentiful – in my garden, along the paths where I walk the dog and on the cover of many gardening catalogues. Of course they were everywhere at McCrillis but with each turn, I saw tremendous groupings of stunning varieties.

I think these (on right) are hellebores? The colors really drew me in:

The camellias in my garden, though considered “early blooming” don’t usually make an appearance until April. I think in some ways, that’s too bad because though they’re intended to complement the other blooms during that time, I’m not so sure they make much of a statement – they look a little lost where they are currently located (or maybe it’s the color choice, I don’t know). True to the professional, beautifully designed and thoughtful planting along the paths at McCrillis, their early blooming camellias are not lost and make a bold (in a good way) statement; HERE I AM, PLEASE ENJOY!

And enjoy, I did:

The canopy of leaves used as my blog’s cover photo was taken at McCrillis and I clearly remember taking this picture. After walking around in the heat for a while I looked above me, grateful for the shade, and snapped a few shots. At the time, I had no idea I would like those pictures so much and for me, it’s not the usual photo I’m drawn to because, in case you haven’t noticed, I like the color, variations and detail of blossoms.

Upon further notice it was hard not to appreciate the dark lines of the tree’s branches spanning out, contrasting with the variegated leaves. There’s plenty of color in those leaves and the detail? Just take a look at a few of the leaves and see how each one contains a unique, almost hand painted-like quality. If no two snowflakes are alike, I dare you to take a look and find an identical pair.

The decision to use this photo for Roots in Reality was a deliberate one; a photograph of a plant’s roots would be too obvious. The growth, or result, from well-established, nurtured, healthy roots – evident in the lush, expansive treetops in this photograph – captures my vision for this blog.