|THERE ARE PLANTS THAT SEEM TO GET BETTER WITH AGE. A PULSATILLA BLOOMS IN THE ALPINE GARDEN, STARTED FROM SEED EIGHT YEARS AGO, THESE HIGH-ELEVATION ALPINES GROW WELL IN OUR GARDEN, IN TROUGHS, RAISED BEDS AND CONTAINERS THAT FREEZE SOLID.|
First of all - the winner of the hanging planter is ADELE! So, congratulations Adele! Please email me and let me know your mailing address and full name - we will be sending you the planter soon.
|OUR VERSION OF HOMELAND SECURITY - A PAIR OF CHINESE GEESE, AND A PARTICULARLY VICIOUS INDIAN RUNNER DUCK PATROL THE PERIMETER OF THE YARD LOOKING FOR THE OIL MAN, THE GAS MAN OR AN IRISH TERRIER OR TWO TO INTERROGATE.|
When I was about 16, with the first paycheck that I received from my first job, I bought a super 8 movie camera ( it was the late 1970's). My first film I entitled 'Fantasy in Bloom - a symphony of color by Matthew X. Mattus was filmed, set to the music of Richard Strauss' 'Alpine Symphony' ( the cassette recording). The premiere was memorable, a July evening in my dad's painting studio, the film, projected on a large king size sheet that I draped over one of his paintings over the fireplace, the projector strategically placed at the far end of the house, in the kitchen, set on a piano stool, so that the projection would be massive on the sheet - it was practically IMAX '76.
I had painted credits on glass panels, with the key shots behind it. That evening, the audience ( my pathetic siblings who laughed through it all hysterically, my parents and Aunt Ann) patiently sat through 25 minutes of spliced film, shaky closeups of bright orange oriental poppies, bumble bee sequences, and a stunning pan as I rode down the meadow high behind out house on my banana seat bike with the camera ducktapped to the handle bars. If things went well, I could have become the next Steven Spielberg, for this would have been the classic back story, but no. My feature film, a tour de force interpretation of 'Jonathan Livingston Seagull' set to music from the album, failed miserably before anyone could appreciate it. Maybe, someday, I will copy these spliced reels to Youtube, but until then....I garden.
|JOE RETURNS THE GANDER, BACK TO THE COOP AFTER HE WANDERED OFF INTO THE STREET THIS MORNING, MOST LIKELY DISCIPLINING THE NEWSPAPER DELIVERY BOY.|
|A DOUBLE BLOODROOT BLOOMS IN THE RECORD-BREAKING HEAT. MOST LIKELY, THIS BLOSSOM WILL LAST FOR A DAY AND A HALF BEFORE SHATTERING.|
|THE OLD GOLDFISH POND WAS DRAINED, AND THE MUCK CLEANED OUT. JOE HAS VISIONS OF VICTORIA WATERLILIES FOR IT ( rrrrrrright). BUT I THINK THAT SOME DUCK WEED, A WATER LETTUCE AND THE IRIS PSEUDACORUS WILL BE JUST FINE. MAYBE A GUNNERA.|
I spoke at a local garden club this past week in Easthampton, MA, a quiet town nestled in an agricultural valley in western Massachusetts. It reminded me about my crazy fantasies about living in the Berkshires, or in Vermont, maybe even up-state New York on a farm or anyplace where I can meet some of my basic requirements - a location where I can hear spring peepers - our native tiny frogs that live in vernal pools in the woodland, their call is something that I grew up with, but which I never hear anymore now that homes have been built all around us here in the city; no sounds of distant highways - a bit unrealistic, sure, but where I live, the Massachusetts Turnpike is less than a mile away, and I can hear trucks, plus, the road I live on is busy now that they opened it up to a section 8 housing project, which is OK, but the new 'shortcut' it provides for the next town over, is not. Lastly, as there must be three, I want a view of something wild, a distant hill, a valley, a deep forest - anything other than our neighbors white box trucks.
I suppose we all can complain, but it's now- when spring arrives ( this year a whole lot early), is when I want space where I can appreciate the migrating song birds, the brief ephemeral wild flowers, most basically,the sensual side of spring: it scent, its sound, its dioramas. Woodthrush, Woodcock, Wood Frogs and woodlands. Simple, right? Not so fast. I need to work, I need to be near a large city, near an airport, near culture. As I read the New York Times this morning before starting my second day of garden chores, I wished that I lived near enough to Manhattan, if only to see friends, and certainly to sit somewhere in the audience Wednesday to hear the New York Philharmonic directed by Lorin Maazel perform Richard Strauss' 'Alpine Symphony', a tone pome if not literal composition inspired by the Alps ( literal is OK, if it gives you goosebumps!). I would want to be able to zip over to Matthew Marks Gallery to see Brice Marden's new works, if only to remind me of my past life as a contemporary artist, but these sort of experiences still inspire me, they confirm a creatives place in time and culture - something which is more difficult to do today no matter how creative you are.
|A VARIEGATED PETASITES JAPONICA DISPLAYS ITS VARIEGATION STRONGEST IN THE SPRING, BUT VIEWED EN-MASS, THE PLANT LOOKS LESS THAN PLEASANT, SO HERE IS THE TRUTH.....|
|OK - NOT ALL IS PRETTY HERE ON OUR PROPERTY. A STUMP FROM A LARGE BLUE SPRUCE THAT WAS UP-ROOTED IN A WIND STORM LAST MONTH, REMAINS AS PETASITES EMERGE. THERE ARE SO MANY PROBLEM AREAS THAT I JUST HAVE TO LET GO WILD FOR NOW.|
What's interesting about those two cultural events is not that one is old, and one is new - I mean, one is a repeat performance, composed and performed first nearly one hundred years ago, and the Marden exhibition debut's the artists' newest creations - what interests me is that they are both similar to why we appreciate growing things. Not the art of 'gardening', but the appreciation of what happens in the garden. I never consider myself a gardener, if I did, my garden would look awesome and believe me, don't let the photos on this blog mislead you - 75 percent of this old garden is not impressive, it's downright messy, unkempt and out-of-control. A gardeners garden is generally more about the collective experience - a delicate recipe which in no other time of the year besides spring, becomes overwhelming.
Between late April and mid May, New England gardens become Avery Fisher Hall, Carnegie Hall and The Met - all at the same time. There are other times of the year when I, myself become the curator, the planter of bulbs, the sower of seeds, but during this brief spring interlude, I become nothing more than an observer - an usher even. One can sit and observe the performance ( something that I need to practice on more), or proceed with the never-ending to-to list of chores, trying not to notice the house wrens as they pick up whisps of goose down that became stuck on a petasites blossom, or the bloodroot as it opens its large, waterlily-like waxy white blossom if only for a day, since the unseasonable heat swiftly convinces the plant to do its duty, and move on. My symphony in the garden is brief, but always worth experiencing, in one way or another.
|A LARGE DENDROBIUM SPECIOSUM HAD TO BE REPOTTED INTO A LARGER BASKET, ONE OF THE LARGEST ORCHID PLANTS ONE CAN GROW, THIS PLANT IS STILL YOUNG.|
I mention to-do lists, which I do make each day, but rarely do I follow them. One task leads to another, and before long, I am taking on large projects that never even made it to the original list. The Lavatera needed thinning, which reminded me that some orchids in the greenhouse needed to be repotted, leading me to parsley plants that needed transplanting, sweetpeas set out into more rows in the garden, tubs of agapanthus, olive trees and calla lilies needing to be hauled out of the greenhouse for the summer, better fertilize the spinach and the snap peas, and cactus need to be relocated from the high bench in the greenhouse to a sand bed as they are showing buds. So much to do, but I did turn the fans off in the greenhouse so that I could hear the mating chickadees, and there was enough time to make a caramelized garlic and creme fresh tart, albeit with frozen puff pastry. After all, we had to eat!
|THE BEES ARE STILL BEING FED SUGAR WATER TO BUILD UP THE HIVE, TWO HIVES WERE LOST WHEN THE TREE FELL LAST MONTH.|