Wordless Wednesday: The Red Balloon in Our Winter Garden

Merry Christmas: Here's to Planting the Seeds of Celebration

Several years ago my husband and I pruned off the old Christmas Eve celebration I'd participated in annually with my family. To some this may seem harsh, but I'm a gardener and am optimistic about such things, because change is good, and it almost always means growth and renewal in a garden.

An unfinished felt cactus ornament on one of the many houseplant holiday trees with our first real Christmas tree behind it.

Gardening has taught me that you can use many of its lessons in your own life and that the values found in each and every one of these lessons can add a rich hue to your life that is as enriching as any organic fertilizer.

Our first vintage Christmas has added immensely to the holiday feeling on our urban street.

Good pruning is about learning how a plant grows, knowing its needs, anticipating them, and then creating a plan to foster the best growth based upon this knowledge.

Playing with more materials.

We can use this system for people too, and performing these tasks on our own lives is commonplace whenever we hit a wall, but I want to posit that you should do it seasonally—just as you would do for your garden plants. 

For we also have our own seasons for growth, and traditionally, many of us have grown during the dark winter months in unexpected ways as we plant the seeds of celebration with those we appreciate having in our lives. 

The table was set for 14 this Christmas Eve and much merriment was made. 

It is for these people we give thanks, and as we celebrate, we support one another. At this time of year we are allowed to close our eyes and let go knowing that we have people in our lives who will catch us if we fall, and they will feed us if we are hungry, or they will give us water if our soil is dry, and best of all, they give us the light we need to survive and to keep going—but we must provide light for them too and you cannot do so if you are not at your best.

First Amaryllis to rebloom. I did it! Whew!

The most difficult part though is that we must reexamine our own lives as the new year is upon us, and we must measure our growth, take stock in our stores, and we must rejuvenate ourselves with a light pruning.

The Amaryllis was much taller this year than last year. 

This is how many of us are able to avoid that gnawing depression which can eat at our roots and rot us to our innermost core. If we do not prune, taking into consideration what is best for ourselves, what will give us the greatest integrity to grow our strongest, we will weaken over time.

My first giant floral installation.

Sometimes you're the seed that fell upon foreign ground, growing up in an environment that couldn't allow you to be your best. Often, you weren't in your best light and you never bloomed much, kind of like a lot of houseplants I know who struggle to do what they can in far off foreign places.

My Christmas Day reading arrived in the mail on Christmas Eve.

Unlike houseplants we can get up though, dragging our weakened roots behind us, and we can wander until we're able to find the home where we're meant to grow, blooming repeatedly, living in an environment that no longer threatens our growth.

So this season, if you are feeling a bit alone in the Wilderness, I want to wish you the best and let you know you're not the only one. I also want to encourage you to dust off your shovel and pruners a bit and revisit what it means to be you. If you're not ready yet to move on, at least trim off what you're able to let go of and take a good hard look at your roots. Make the adjustments needed and just like a plant in your garden, return to the problem in a few months time to reconsider your options.

I did it and survived and this Christmas was one of the best I've ever had simply because I felt free to be who I really am.

Happy Holidays!

Wordless Wednesday: My Garden and Life through the Eyes of a Therapeutic Foster Child with Autism Spectrum Disorder

Rosa "Golden Showers".

Japanese Snowbell Tree, Styrax japonicus.

Pacific or Western Bleeding Heart, Dicentra formosa.

Multnomah Falls. 

Trees in the Columbia River Gorge. 

Rosa rugosa. 

Evergreen Huckleberry, Vaccinium ovatum.

Clematis "Josephine".

Leopard's Bane, Doronicum orientale.

Living wreath. 

Entrance shade garden near the street and sidewalk. 

Columbine, Aquilegia vulgaris. 

Me with box.

Macavity—the old lady black cat.

Peace Lily, Spathiphyllum. 

Vita Sackville-West on the Humble or Sensitive Plant

Last night I couldn't sleep so I grabbed a book from the bedside bookcase. I've been reading Sackville-West's In Your Garden Again off and on for the past few weeks and it has all kinds of things I always mean to mention here but, by the time I've finally fallen asleep and come to in the morning—I've totally forgotten whatever it was I was thinking about sharing!

The sections of the book are divided into the twelve months of the year and are filled with articles she contributed to Sunday editions of The Observer between February 18, 1951 to March 8, 1953.

When I read this last night I knew I had to share this on my blog. As a foster parent who works in the garden with kids, this cracked me up and I hope you enjoy it too:

February 17, 1952
       Amongst other seeds for spring sowing I order a sixpenny packet of Mimosa pudica, the Humble Plant.... So humble is the Humble Plant, so bashful, that a mere touch of the finger or a puff of breath blown across it will cause it to collapse instantly into a woebegone heap.... One grows it purely for the purpose of amusing the children. The normal child, if not an insufferable prig, thoroughly enjoys being unkind to something; so here is a harmless outlet for this instinct in the human young. Shrieks of delight are evoked, enhanced by the sadistic pleasure of doing it over and over again. 'Let's go back and see if it has sat up yet.' It probably has, for it seems to be endowed with endless patience under such mischievous persecution.

Vita Sackville-West,  In Your Garden Again

Vita Sackville-West, by William Strang

The Willow Arbor in Winter

A week or so ago my husband trimmed up our willow arbor in the back garden. It is a task that we neglected to do last year and we paid heavily for it this year. Much of the growth that could have been harnessed for the structure's integrity was lost, but next year, this won't be the case. The arbor has been streamlined. 

I've ordered a super sized tarp to temporarily cover the arbor for a spell this winter. We have so little space indoors at times, and only a small front porch, so it seemed important to do so. 

The tarp will be red. I love the color and it always looks nice with green. I just did not want a blue tarp. 

Maybe if I pull out the fire pit I can sit beside it and warm up as I work on winter garden tasks. I've been so busy indoors that I am beginning to want to go back outside again. 

Next year, my plan is to have a nice fence to block more of the apartment building from our view. I am not a big fan of having folks that close. My childhood, surrounded by woods and water, spoiled me. 

I love out willow arbor, don't you? It's 10' x 10' and the heart of our garden. Maybe it was a bit ugly for a few years, but when it's covered in Clematis blooms and the branches sway and block the bright sun, it's simply heavenly. 

Why I ♥ My Garden Journal (Made by Attic Journals)

This is not my first garden journal/notebook, nor is it my only garden journal, but currently, it's the most special garden journal in my collection. If you need a journal, or if you'd like to give one as a gift this holiday season, I highly recommend those made by  Attic Journals.

I know for a fact that it was made with a lot of love. That's because I know the folks who made it.

They are a local (and extremely hard-working) Portland, OR company who inspire everyone they meet. I know I was inspired and I 'm pretty sure I'm not the only one.

My garden journal has fulfilled all of the requirements I have for an ideal garden journal. 

It has been used as a sketchbook and as a place for me to write garden quotes.

There are collages I've pasted onto its pages with ideas I've liked from gardening magazines.

It also has inspirational art I've collected for ideas, and design shapes for things I might make in the future, or, for things I will make in the future.

The journal is full of lists too, but I didn't want to bore you with images of those. (I don't have the handwriting of an architect if you catch my drift.)

And why, oh why, do I just adore my journal  * * *  t  h  i  s     m  u  c  h  * * *?

Well, it might have something to do with the fact that my Etsy shops would never have been created if I hadn't had a chance encounter with Attic Journals back when I was looking for someone to walk with from time to time in the neighborhood.

Every time I touch this journal, dreaming my dreams of creation and artistry, I remember those days before Milton's Garden Menagerie and I know that I will never go back.

Now I want everyone out there to feel as good as I do, and to have their own journal to flip through, to fill with their own hopes, dreams, tasks and designs. You too can forge your own future, and never have to go back, not unless you want to, but it all begins with a recycled vintage book journal—followed by a few blank pages.

O Pioneers! Onward!

In the Weeds

This has never been a how-to garden blog, but maybe in this case, I'll make a grand sweeping exception. If there is one thing I can teach all of you to do, it's how to be in the weeds in your garden. With the grace of my rough and rebellious American hand we'll brush off the argument that my garden is a mess, and I'll show you how to do so from the zero gravity chair I pretty much live in for the majority of the gardening year. So yes, today, I am playing as the armchair garden philosopher. 

Our passion vine (Passiflora caerula 'Blue Crown') is a bit wild. I blame all of those young adult mystery books I read as a child. I think this might be called Scooby Doo Chic. 

If there's one thing I've always been good at it's been taking on far too much. As a kid, I'd often have to give up an activity or two, but up until the last decade, I'd usually toss everything up into the air and over time, it would all work out.

When I was in college this nasty little habit of mine helped me to get my work done. Integrating unrelated information worked for me, but in the art history department I pushed beyond its unstaid envelope everyday and not all of the other students enjoyed or understood my work, and a few of the professors tended to think of my presentations more as mental acrobatics than as real academic work. And to this day, I will never understand why not a single art history professor ever assigned a philosophy book. Since the entire field has its origin in aesthetics, this was always very sad to me, but the same thing goes for garden design. Yup, it too is based on aesthetic theory and philosophy too. (Don't groan. I can hear you and the chorus of other groaners out there.)

I am in the weeds.

And here we go, I'm at it again. I'm about to wrap this egg roll right up though so hold on tight.

I realize now that stasis (in a Greek philosophical sense) has always been important to me, but I didn't know what to call it until I was introduced to Giovanni Bellini's St Francis in Ecstasy and the study of ontology in high school. I could write a tome about this painting, but I will attempt to resist in this post, and save that for later. 

I was able to go on a little pilgrimage to The Frick Collection to see this painting with an art history classmate while she was still living in New Jersey. She'd moved to the NYC area to pursue her graduate studies and I am so proud of how far she's gone in her career. (I am also happy she's now a gardener.)   

I find that I now tire of the same thing in garden design that I used to find dull and problematic when I studied art history and that it's not just illness and broken fingers which has led me to being in the weeds. Instead, what's been holding me back is my inner battle with mimesis.

Internally, yes, I struggle, and with this post, as well as a few others, I've exposed myself as a bit of a navel gazer who prefers to build her castles in the sky rather than on dry land, but that's because of my struggle with beauty, representation, design, art and reason. 

Like that overwhelmed server in a busy restaurant, I am so far behind in my garden that our green customers have overwhelmed me and are attacking. Well, so what if I'm in the weeds in my garden? Maybe I want to be the oldest kind of garden designer of all, not a farmer, but the kind of person who let's nature grow up against her. It just so happens I'm in a city though, but I'm not afraid of the chaos of nature and you shouldn't be either. We've been mimicking her since to dawn of man and I'd rather mimic her than the newest garden design fads.

So that's enough for now. We'll flog this not yet dead horse again soon. 

Wordless Wednesday: The Calm Before the Storm

Things Fall Apart, Rereading the Garden

Our willow arbor is beginning to fall apart.

I was introduced to the book Things Fall Apart by the Nigerian author Chinua Achebe many years ago when I was a freshman at Lewis & Clark College. Surprisingly, the book was not assigned, but instead, it was recommended to me by my boyfriend at the time, my first serious boyfriend, someone who'd lived in Nigeria for several years with his family and had greatly admired the book. Believe it or not, I often think of this book when I consider my garden. 

In summary, the book examines the life of one African man as his traditional tribal culture rubs up against the culture of white Europeans and Christianity in his realm. The events that occur become increasingly more painful for the reader to read as the story progresses, and in the end, you are there, on the stage with them, confronted. Few books have ever left me so radically changed. 

Things Fall Apart has stuck with me for many years, and I return to it often, especially whenever I feel stuck between conflicting realities. Let's say radically so. Often, nowadays, I stand between the world of the healthy and the world of the ill and as much as you may believe these two places are the same, they are not. If you are healthy you can physically work and earn money or else take care of things like your health and possessions. If you are currently unemployed, that is not even close to being the same as unemployable. If you are ill you struggle with money, time, personal expectations you've placed on yourself, schedules and then there is always that nagging responsibility you feel to lessen the stress for those who care for you. 

We all have to put on a productive happy mask, but what lies beneath it is always what matters most because beneath the mask and its design is what we call its integrity. That's what makes some books great, while others miss the mark. It's the unseen emotive element in design—and it exists even in garden design. Not surprisingly the designs with the most integrity are also those which inspire us the most, that's why we say great works have soul. They live and breathe apart from us. It's for this reason Dr. Frankenstein, like so may others, created his monster. Unlike them, I am not a literalist, or for that matter, a copyist. 

When it comes to our garden, I am often asked what style it is, and up until right now, I haven't really had an answer. It wears no mask, at least not one that fits into any traditional category—and we like it that way. When we get around to affixing a mask to it, I will let you know, but until then, I think I may begin to tell inquisitors that it is in the Style of Illness. 

Thoughts on My Own Personal Garden Therapy Program and Treatment Plan During Crisis

Warning: This is a post about a crisis—not an emergency—and its subject matter concerns living with an illness more than living with plants; but the conclusion will be that no matter what, if you live with an ongoing illness that causes crises (or whatever it is in your case), even when you are a wreck, and you don't really care as much about your plants as you usually do (or whatever it is for you), that's ok. So don't let me—or this post of mine—get you down...I am doing just fine.

Mt. Konocti as seen from Walker Ridge Road in Lake County, CA. If I hadn't walked up that peak on the left, I probably wouldn't be here writing this post right now. Do I regret the steep walk uphill? Uhm, HELL NO! I already want to do it again, but with better attention paid to the additional necessary precautions in order to prevent more heath scares. 

For some time I've been trying to locate and define the line I cross when illness makes my life so difficult that the subjects of gardening and plants cannot immediately resuscitate me. Then, suddenly last week—but maybe it wasn't that unexpected–I found that line again, and Thud! I was knocked out fair and square by the indwelling opponent I hadn't really been keeping an eye on recently. 

Last week my larynx nearly closed and it was terrifying. Since it had happened in the past I knew what it was and what to do, but I was home alone and terrified. For many with Hereditary Angioedema, this is our worst nightmare and up until only recently, this is how many people died from this disease. What many physicians still do not understand is that this is not an allergic swelling and that what we actually need is not corticosteroids or antihistimines but instead, fresh frozen plasma, or sometimes even more expensive treatments. 

That night I faced a difficult decision and worse still was that I was alone. I could stay home and use the old treatment of anabolic steroids, hoping that it would help my body produce more of the C1 complement factor I needed in my blood, or else I could run the risk that my own hospital might actually deny my treatment in the emergency room. Being without my handy advocate, I chose not to attempt to fight the system that evening, and overall, that made me really angry. No one should have to put off potentially lifesaving treatment because they don't want to argue with an emergency room doctor. You heard me correctly, and yes, this probably does not make sense.

Luckily, the old anabolic treatment kind of worked. I stayed up all night just in case, making sure that the swelling didn't worsen or spread. If it had, I was committed to calling 911, so I wasn't being too unreasonable. 

Showy Milkweed, Asclepias speciosa. Garden booty from my recent road trip to California.

This experience reminded me that I've not yet won the recognition of a diagnosis I've lived with for almost 10 years from my own medical insurer, and that's solely due to the fact of its potential expense. I live knowing that I cannot get the help I need because the quality of my life does not matter as much as their Bottom Line. To say that this is a heavy weight to carry on my back is an understatement. Unbelievable still is that my interest in plants and gardens could paper over the indignity of the healthcare nightmare I am so sick of living.

Many other patients already qualify for brand new expensive treatments that our large advocacy group fought hard for, but as of right now, I still do not qualify. There are several Types of HAE and I have now fallen into the Type III category that's not only a catchall, but it's also the least understood group and is currently still more theoretical. So, I wait, and if a study comes up and they need me, I will go, but until then, on paper, my own insurer will not accept the diagnosis. Scientifically, statistically, mathematically, symptomatically, they will only treat me in an emergency room based upon the symptoms as they are observed. To treat me with plasma would open up the door to my petitioning and potentially suing them in order to get special new treatments. This is sick. It is a sick system. 

Each year my doctor writes a new letter describing why I need a treatment and why her diagnosis does not fit their criteria. Going to your insurance company repeatedly to ask for help, while being repeatedly denied, is really quite humbling. Even though I am basically too sick to work full-time, I am not ill enough. If I could get treatment, I could actually have some kind of life again. Instead, I am told no, and then am instructed to stick with the old treatment until more research has been completed. I think this round I will dig deeper. I might even fight back.

At least last week I knew exactly what I have, and although it is mysterious, I was informed enough to understand what it was and I can now see how I'd created the perfect storm for a health crisis during my trip to California. When I returned home and noticed I was physically shaking a lot, I knew something was going to happen but I was hoping it wasn't going to involve my throat. 

In the past my doctors and I had discussed a way to try again with the committee and had created a plan to re-petition but it was a long shot. At that time, I gave up because I couldn't take any more, but I am ready now—even if it means having to make myself sick again. 

Last week's experience was a tipping point in my life. Seeing massive old growth native Californian oak trees has inspired me to want to see more and I cannot do so unless I seek the medical attention I need to prevent attacks like the one I had. Walking around staring at plants in the wilderness felt more normal to me than anything I've felt in ages. For a time, I felt free.

Safflower, Carthamus tinctorius. One of the blooms used in some arrangements I've been making this past week.

Luckily, while everything else has recently been a struggle, I have somehow successfully kept up with a daily Ikebana post on the other blog. After weeks of arrangements, I am really satisfied with the piece "Trapped" because it beautifully showed how I was feeling. What it made me realize too was that I needed to write this post. What's important right now is my own personal growth and rebuilding, the plants that have papered over my frustration can rest a bit, and I will tend to that garden I have inside, just as we all do, and what's left of the garden and plants I've neglected this year can come along with me and we'll go at it again. Differently. 

I don't want the plants to be papering over anything anymore. 

The tide has turned. My weight has shifted. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe. 

"My blog will always be primarily about gardening, and my love of seeds and growing 

oddball ornamental plants from seed, but today, I wanted to write an illness post because 

if if weren't for my rare hereditary blood disease, I doubt I ever would have ended up 

here and I would have been doing something else." 

One of our hummingbirds striking its best Ikebana pose...

San Francisco: Wine Deliveries, Lunch, and Flora Grubb Gardens (Again)

 Crimson Passionflower, Passiflora vitifolia, at Flora Grubb Gardens.

On my first full day with my husband in Lake County, CA we had to get up early and head to San Francisco. Another long day in the car wasn't exactly what I wanted, but it was worth it. Mr. B was going to attend a day-long industry-only wine tasting and I'd planned to take in some sights.

From the time he woke up he started feeling unwell so we adjusted our plan a bit. During harvest and crush, he really gets worn down so a rest day was in order and we were both kind of excited about visiting SF together.

Ficus microcarpa 'Nitida'. 

Other than an early dinner date with a new garden writer friend up in Marin, the city was very briefly our oyster that day. Our only serious task was to deliver some cases of wine, and while waiting in the car at one of those stops, I shot this picture of a typical street somewhere in SF.

Sorry for the dirty windshield but note that a weekday drive into San Francisco from Marin can be pretty painless during October just so long as you wait until after all the morning traffic. 

During the drive, I discovered something funny about harvest. Once all the grapes are in their tanks fermenting, the whole valley in Sonoma actually smells of fermenting grapes. (Mr. B said Napa is even worse.) Coming from beer central, I should have realized this was possible but I just had never really thought about it. What an experience for the nose!

Entering the city you get to pay your $6 toll. I never get to take pictures of the tollbooths,  so I was happy this time with Mr B driving. They are designed to match the bridge and I think they're the prettiest tollbooths I've ever had to go through. 

After we paid our toll we had no plans and for me that was unusual—but welcome. Usually when I drive into SF I have some idea of where I am going since otherwise I'd still get lost very easily. In this case, I just sat back and enjoyed the view.

Alcatraz as seen from Hwy 101 just past the tollbooths. 

The first thing I saw, of course, was Alcatraz in the distance. It's now such a large part of my Ikebana project it made me smile. Finding my own metaphorical escape from the imprisonment of chronic illness has become such a game for me and gardening and plants are such an integral part of my strategy. I think for some of us, making the battle less personal is key to our survival. We need that distance to feel more comfort and less fearful. We need that space to heal. In a way, I've tried to leave a lot of my troubles on that island and I think it's been working.

For lunch Mr. B decided to take me to the Ferry Building Marketplace. What a great little shopping area they have there! (I now know what Portland wants to have in its plan to create our James Beard Public Market. Shopping before your ride home is a such a great idea!)

So the first business that truly caught my eye because of its regionally accurate "shop locally" distinction was McEvoy Ranch. Could you have a store dedicated to olive oil and its many products anywhere else? I think not! That's what they do. They're olive ranchers.

To say that I felt envious is an understatement. I want to be an olive rancher too. (When my husband met me he was shocked that I cooked everything in olive oil. That still includes things like fried eggs and pancakes.)

I think I may have been an olive oil life-stylist long before we discussed and marketed things called "lifestyles" to consumers. My dad used to crack up when I was a girl because I'd use our jugs of olive oil to concoct rosemary and olive oil leave-in conditioners for my thick dry hair. (I still use olive oil soap but it's usually the kind made in the Middle East.)

But oh how I now want to be an olive rancher...

Speaking of lifestyles, the gardening lifestyle is not an uncommon one to find in San Francisco either. Kingdom of Herbs was actually kind of nice to visit because it had upscale fun stuff mixed in with other odds and ends that all related to a love of all things plant material.

As someone who's known for picking seeds wherever I go my husband and I giggled quite a bit about how I'd fit a few of these into my pockets. Not likely.

They had a lot of nice hats too.

And then there were plants...

and preserved plants and wood products. (Next year I really hope to preserve my boxwood cuttings. I really love these wreaths but they're a bit pricey.)

After we grabbed some take-out from a deli, we wandered outside to watch the foot ferries while we ate. (This ferry takes commuters back and forth across the bay to Marin County.)

On our way out we stopped by The Gardener. It is a small local chain in the Bay Area and I was a bit less enthused by what it had to offer since it had far less to do with gardening.

I liked their display though of Japanese gardening tools. Reminded me a bit of a little piece of art I could hang on my own wall.

Mexican Flame Vine, Senecio confusus. This is a plant I've tried to grow from seed once or twice with little success. 

Later, after the deliveries we went to Flora Grubb Gardens. I was embarrassed that I'd already been there four times this year, but since it was going to be my husband's first visit, it somehow seemed necessary.

I was not disappointed. He was truly blown away by the displays and by the plants. As usual, I obsessively noted every change I could and thought about plants I may want in the future. (If only I could have that second garden in California.)

Queensland Silver Wattle or Pearl Acacia, Acacia podalyriifolia.

Kangaroo Paw, Anigozanthos 'Bush Dawn'.

Mr B staring at an aquaponics display. Maybe I could convince him to do this if we could grow our own sushi. 

Valley Oak, Quercus lobata. It's endemic to California and is the largest of the North American Oaks. Some mature specimens can be nearly 600 years old, and can reach almost 100 feet in height. 

Hibiscus 'Haight Ashbury'.

Mexican Bush Sage, Salvia leucantha 'Midnight'.

I love all the colors and you may have noticed that incredible blue sky?

Groundsel, Senecio mandraliscae and Sedum 'Ogon' behind it.

 Aloe 'Pink Blush'. What an incredible hybrid!

Then there are the exterior/interior design ideas that Flora Grubb is so famous for. I still haven't made my Sedum masterpiece, but that's probably because I am still stuck on that Jackson Pollock flowerbed idea. (More on that next season. I've made some progress with this idea this year.)

I am not sure if the wire baskets are oyster baskets, but they sure look like they could be. These little decorative wall items are kinds cute and I hope to make some this winter. I so love anything with gilding.

Last time I don't think I added a picture of their suspended Woollypocket display.

This geometric bear head is great too. After all it is California and they do have that silly bear on their flag, so why not!

Begonia 'Irene Nuss'.

Just before we left I discovered these two Begonias. Glad I did too because one of them I can grow from seed. It is really amazing how much leaf variation exists in this group. I truly am in love with all of them, but the Grape Leaf Begonia might just be my new favorite.

Grape Leaf Begonia, Begonia reniformis or Begonia vitifolia. 

Grape Leaf Begonia, Begonia reniformis or Begonia vitifolia.