Morbid Cyclamen, reborn! It's nearly spring.

Thu, 18 Mar 2010 16:31:06 -0400

Holy f*ck that was one hell of a winter.

Paris, baby, we’ll always have each other, and you’re always the best. But you let me down too hard once we’re apart. Too much sugar and flour, I end up with all too many aches for my age. A dear friend of Mark’s is dying, and she’s going to suffer through another blasting round of chemo just to meet you for the first time. I feel so selfish. Why can’t I learn to love where and what I am constantly?

The garden’s really starting to move now. The Helleborus are with me as the funk ends. The flowers are gorgeous now, but will be spectacular in a few days, at the zero point of their peak for the season.

Parisian Cyclamen

Fri, 4 Dec 2009 09:05:25 -0500

I’ve not been this blue in a while. Leaving France again hurled me into an emotional spiral. I adore my home here in Pittsboro, but Paris is a home where my heart lives too. There’s just no escaping that.

My favorite thing to do in Paris is walk. Paris moves so fast, and so do I when I’m there. We ended up around Place de la Concorde a few times this trip, for one reason or another, and even in my haste I couldn’t keep but noticing the fresh blood-hued cyclamen in the containers that surrounded the Hôtel de Crillon. They reminded me of my American home.

The End is always the Beginning

Tue, 22 Sep 2009 20:36:44 -0400

Photos never seem to get, nor do I adequately remember, the real depth and color that the eye sees under this light and in this cooler air. And there is no doubt this Equinox, Fall is here.

The opaque emerald tone in evergreen foliage is heartier than it was just a month ago. If I remember fully, and I’m sure I don’t, it gets richer.

Arisaema are to Spring as Arum are to the Fall. Spikes, talons, clawing up. Arum pictum is blooming; just getting going. The small bed devoted to favorite Arum is still relatively bare otherwise. It will glow green in January.

Cyclamen’s promise have carried me through the limpest part of the year. We’re morphing again.

No, not again. There’s really no end or beginning, just around and around. Remember better.

Sleep/Wake

Thu, 10 Sep 2009 13:04:44 -0400

On the edge of sleep last night, they pulled me back into consciousness with their calling. Back and forth, back and forth. I listened in bed, in the dark, letting their conversation eventually have the opposite effect and lull me to sleep.

I imagine they are as ready for the Autumn as I am; as much of the garden is. A portion is just waking up again, while the lion’s share is winding down into sleep.

Rohdea are sending up their penultimate leaves of the season. The Spring and Summer Aroids are haggard and scarred. Cyclamen and Tricyrtis are stealing the Indian Summer show. Tulip poplars are littering en masse, before the other deciduous have even really begun to change hue and fall.

I’m much like the plants. There’s a part of me that is exhausted from this odd, wet growing season, but a larger part of is just getting ready to wake. Like the Helleborus, watch me come out of my summer sleep and come alive this Winter.

Careful Carving

Sun, 9 Aug 2009 20:25:22 -0400

This hot, even stifling, time of year feels so thick, so dense, and the garden feels the same obviously. The canopy is high, and it’s not until early summer that one realizes how much the trees have grown until things are darker than they should be.

The last month or so has been devoted, mostly, to grooming and refinement; specifically, carving out limbs that are blocking precious light and keeping the air too stagnant. The tricks of forest gardening are keeping the lighting right, the hydration adequate, and the air moving.

Planting will resume when the heat lets up. Until then, I’m imagining myself a botanical Rodin and I carefully carve.

Them

Sun, 28 Jun 2009 18:35:14 -0400

I heard the Barred Owls calling today just before sunset. Their presence seems rarer this time of year, or at least less regular than in the late winter - the Hellebore heydays.

I think of them as my garden companions; conspirers. They may be common and forgettable to some, but they are magical, spectral to me.

Hazy

Sun, 14 Jun 2009 07:49:40 -0400

Valiant efforts were made this weekend, but the heat diminishes this gardener’s efficiency. Back in ’96, Tori Amos was trying to convey the feeling and inspiration of ‘Little Amsterdam’ to an interviewer: "Things get very hazy down south in the heat, and it’s easy for people... the sweat gets in their eyes."

Boy does it. The plants and wildlife may be thriving and moving fast, but the Siamese lounge limp on the decks and porch swing. The only thing that really makes them move quickly now is a crack of thunder, an audacious passing squirrel, or the Stihl backpack blower. In the hot, I’m almost as bad, and only manage to work and keep order in slow, sweaty segments. In the winter I’m a gardening machine; now, I’m just treading water, and that feels fairly literal much of the time.

Planting has come to a near halt with the exception of transplanted Cushion Moss (Leucobryum), Osmunda cinnamomea (Cinnamon Fern), and Matteuccia struthiopteris (Ostrich Fern). They don’t mind the heat and the haze one bit.

Our new greenhouse access is nearing completion. The new road will give easier access to visitors and delivery men alike. Once that project is fully complete, there will be plenty of grooming and sculpting to keep me busy and alert. Wake me and rehydrate me when it’s done. I’ll be on the porch swing with Loki.

Hidden garden

Sun, 7 Jun 2009 19:20:13 -0400

Our location is remote enough that neighbors cannot be seen when the trees are leafed out, and only the nearest household, dearest friends and business associates have an idea of what is behind the gate and fenced property on our dirt road.

There is really no intentional secrecy; just a mindful, tireless mission of conservancy. We want to preserve it all - the vast wild, avian and insect life as well as the rich, treasured plant life. They feel safe when they hide. So, we humans are quiet and we protect, so they can hide.

Just enjoy

Sat, 30 May 2009 15:56:36 -0400

I want, and attempt, to be just an observer; to view things as a foreigner. Rarely, I’ll catch a glimpse of what it is, rather than what I want it to be (and what it will be): glowing green moss-covered paths snake the property; rare perennials punctuating their more common cousins; a cool high canopy filtering the clear bright sun. Then the spell gets broken and I can’t help myself and start weeding, grooming, transplanting, or whatever the Muse tells me needs to be done.

We feel that Barred Owl Bend is unique and special. A distinction of this place is that we acquired it after being practically untouched for over a quarter of a century. Knowing that natural beauty is tough to beat, the carving and cultivation is deliberate and judicious.

I adore this place, and find the fuel in that to make it a true work of art. Given enough time it will be, but I really do need to learn to just enjoy the Utopia that it already is.