Pacific Northwest Flower & Garden Show (An Introduction)

It's been a few years but I'm back! Coming up here to Seattle from Portland has reminded me why I missed coming to the Pacific Northwest Flower & Garden Show so much. I guess it'd been so long I'd nearly forgotten. Sure I missed one heck of a snow storm, but it was worth it. 

Here are a few highlights with more posts to come because I'm still really enjoying the show. I'm going to seminars, and after I hit "publish" I'm off to look at some books. (Later tonight I'll return to the restaurant where I first learned how to eat with chopsticks as a teen—but that's another post.)

The show in Seattle is just edgy enough to have a neon-style light in a log on the ground in the garden. I have no idea yet how much this would cost, but I want it. 

There is glass here. This is Chihuly Territory after all and his work has inspired many to take up the craft and I'm eternally grateful for their work.

There is nothing more reminiscent to me of the PNW style than huge trees and rusty metal. This is a refined nod to the logging industry if ever I saw one and to the great resource which although now managed, is something that still inspires awe in all who experience it. That's why each and every year the ancient woods are brought into the convention center. I've missed these homages.

Whimsy? Not always my thing but I burst out laughing when I saw this bat house. My former foster children would have loved this.

There is always something that appeals to the over-the-top Italian side of me. This garden display cured my wintertime blues and made me crave a glass of limoncello.

As someone who specialized in modernism as an art history student I understand it and its midcentury relative well. It's not my style because I'm too wild and flamboyant to live in it, but I love seeing it and being in it when it's in another's home.

It's calming to see the lines all "just right".

 Seeing the simplest joys and pleasures on display here make me tingle.

Then there is what I would do. Luckily I cannot afford a giant glass pavilion with an art orchid made of glass and metal in it. Was it my favorite display garden? Yes. The huge glass Sarracenia? Well what do you think? This was amazing to behold. It could be in a museum.

I should add that I come here for the hotel too—at least this time around. Let's just say that my husband really likes to spoil himself with a nice hotel so this trip I actually have marble tile on my bathroom floor. Did the show spoil us rotten with a great discount at the Fairmont Olympic? Absolutely. Will I take high tea tomorrow with our extra discount? Definitely.

I think one of these is going home to the family house on the river. It only seems appropriate when you have salmon spawning behind your house.

Not something I'd put in my garden, but I would love to see these in lieu of other options in other gardens. Variety is good. I think they're fun and I would love to slam that arrow on the front of my house so that people would walk around that way but it might be an overstatement. (I'm pretty sure there might be something more "subtle" I could do too.)

Miniature gardens are in the show as well. They aren't for me, but my husband is now eager to make a few. I'm excited to see what he makes and I would love to have one. I just wouldn't know where to begin. John has loved other types of miniatures for years so I know he'll make something wonderful.

This is a stake you can add to a planter pot and I loved it. (Gotta have my bling.) We do live in a rainy region so we might as well celebrate it.

Yesterday I didn't buy much but I came back to the hotel last night after a long day with a few free plants from a reception. I was grateful.

My husband John got to take a silly picture of me. That's his takeaway from the event. (You can tell I'm amused.) I'm afraid this is a word that pops out of my mouth from time to time and he does tease me about it a lot. Again, I love the silliness.

Then there is ikebana too.

I miss making arrangements but I'll be back at it again soon.

(More to come with A LOT more detail. I just wanted to post a few pictures.) 

The Alaskan Honeymoon: Part Two (The Kenai Peninsula)

It's a shame it's taken so long to return to blogging about our honeymoon back in September 2013 but the installments seemed daunting. Alaska is a big place and is best experienced. I just didn't know what to say and I still cannot find the words. 

So, instead, I'm pressing forward. 

When I look at these images now I feel a lot and it's mostly silence, calm, and solitude. I'm not known to be silent, but I know what it is and what it means. In Alaska I felt it and I felt a deep calm I haven't felt in a long time. The solitude was much needed and I had a lot of time to reflect. It felt better than any spa treatment. 

There was space to breathe. 

Even though I'm now looking forward to traveling to Italy in a few months, there will always be room in my heart for Alaska. We will return. 

These posts find me pining away for it a bit too...

After hibernating for a day in Anchorage we drove south on Highway 1 to the Kenai Peninsula. I'd chosen it because of the Kenai River and because a garden client of mine is from Homer. I met her just after meeting my husband and when I told her we were discussing Alaska as a potential honeymoon destination she became very supportive of the idea.

(I'm so glad she did because she was a great help in our planning. I only wish we could have stayed in Homer longer but more on that next time...)

There were some goats up on the rocks somewhere not far from where we snapped this photo—wild mountain goats! 

This photo says a lot about the first day out on the road. The bride was still very tired and the groom was ready for an adventure.

Wild rose hips. 

Sadly, we rushed a bit on our way to the town of Soldotna. I regret not having stopped to take more photos but I was too tired and we both had no idea what the day would be like at all. The drive south was beautiful though and the landscape was unlike anything I'd seen before and as we drove we talked a lot about what it reminded us of so I'm left with a memory of that free-association game.

How do we become acquainted with new landscapes? We often familiarize ourselves to new environments by associating them with other places we've been to before and that's half the fun—at least for me. While John saw the Alps, I saw the Tetons.

After a week it became Alaska to us, but at first, we had to get settled.

(I suspect in the future we will be in Scandinavia talking about how it looks like Alaska to us, but I hope we'll see more of Alaska again before that trip takes place.)

Along the way we passed Kenai Lake and we were driving along the Kenai River off and on too. 

Considering I'd spent many years editing fishing books for my father's company, I expected to see something familiar. My eyes scanned the landscape and it looked like any other fishing hamlet. Later Dad told me on the phone about the trout fishing on the upper Kenai and I'm kind of fascinated by it now. I guess it's some world-class fishing I'd never heard about, but it's probably why it looked so familiar to me. There was a lot of fly fishing and it seemed a lot like home. 

My father's love of Alaska was a big reason for my having wanted to go there in the first place. Each year during my birthday in September he'd always be off fishing for salmon. He'd return with tons of fish, great stories, and usually a stuffed animal or piece of jewelry for me. I hated Alaska for many years. I was jealous of her. 

I'm the last of the Amato children to visit Alaska, but my purpose was as a naturalist more than anything else. It's what my father and I share. During the trip he called me more than he's ever called me in my entire life. Every other day he'd check in and he'd have me describe the weather conditions, the light, the surroundings, and I'd tell him about what we'd seen and done.  

In my usual way, our tour was unlike any of the trips my father had ever taken. He'd always been treated like a king. He'd been flown into fancy lodges. He'd land in Anchorage and then immediately fly out to a remote location on a float plane. We hit the ground, rented a car, and toured. It's the trip—I later found out—that my dad would love to take now that he's older and I hope he gets to do so. 

What interested him most was our access to good food, museums, and wildlife. He already knows about the fishing, but he hasn't seen the culture other than remote Native Alaskan villages. Traveling cheaply, eating well, and making the most of what we spent really sounded like a fun adventure to him.  

When we arrived at our hotel/motel in Soldotna, I had another moment of giggling. I loved this news advertisement. 

Alaskans have a sense of humor and we saw it all over the place. They are matter-of-fact too. (Just wait until the next post when I show you what makes news here.) Coming from Portland, this was such a relief. Nowadays Portland residents take everything far too seriously and they are so sensitive so it was fun just to live simply without any "major issues" being shoved in our faces. 

Not hearing about sustainability, livability, or seeing a hipster on a fixed gear bike for one whole week was another big part of the vacation for us. I don't think we heard the words "California" or "Bay Area" once. We didn't see women in yoga pants or a single Prius car. I'm not saying that it was Montana or Wyoming or even Idaho. It was just Alaska. 

Again, let me remind you of the silence we felt there. There was no hype. What you saw was what you got. We just were. The other people just went about their business. People were polite and friendly but there were no cultural agendas or lifestyles. I haven't felt that free in a very long time. 

Once at the hotel, John rested while I walked down to the river. It is a well-known fishing river and there was an elevated walkway with multiple fishing platforms for town residents and visitors. I've never seen a river so prepared and well-planned for salmon fishing. Since the season had ended, I had the walkway to myself. I walked along and watched spawned out fish corpses float by me.

The river was alive.

To my left was the riverbank. It was grassy and wild. There was also a small park with access leading down to the river. Looking up at the park bench it felt more like spring than late-summer.

As I walked along the river I could hear the ever-buzzing sound of small planes in the sky. It's another strange thing about certain areas in Alaska. You get used to the sound. So much so that when you return home you think that every car or truck you hear in the city is a little bush plane. You begin to miss the little tin mosquitos in the sky.

You also realize why it's the first thing you see hanging up high in the Anchorage airport—loud and proud. Those little planes are so important in this state.

The river was to my right. That day, it was a silent river that had overfilled its banks due to the heavy rainfall before our arrival. While I was there I was texting with a friend from high school who lives outside of Anchorage and she felt so badly that we'd arrived to Oregon-style weather. I told her we didn't mind, after all, it was our honeymoon. 

Holy Assumption of the Virgin Mary Church in Kenai. Founded in 1840. 

After we grabbed a quick bite we went for a drive to the town of Kenai to see this old historic site. The daylight hours were longer then and that day we experienced our first day of what I can only call prolonged nightfall. 

In the plane—as we'd flown north—I'd noticed how the light had changed. I hadn't really thought about prolonged daybreak and prolonged nightfall but they are wonderfully slow things that again need to be experienced to be understood. 

The world feels as if it's slowing down. In the morning, you don't feel like rushing. The one morning I watched the sunrise, it took what felt like hours to be fully light outside. It felt decadent. I felt powerless to the powers that be. I felt small in the grand scheme of the universe. That felt good and I was ok with it. 

Witnessing the light was something quite incredible. It was a light show. I've seen color bursts in the sky plenty of times here at home, but not light shows with colors fading in and out, blending with one another, shifting and then fading into another shade. This process simply goes on and on for several hours. Then when you think it's dark, it's not. There are still slivers of light in the sky. They fade out slowly like embers in a fire. Before you know it, you've lost track of them, and fallen asleep beside them. 

When you awake, the slivers of light are in the sky again. The embers brighten and heat up the sky, you feel warmth from the darkness, and then it is morning. This whole process takes a few more hours. It is happening all around you as you go about your travels. It becomes a big part of how you experience the place. 

On our way back we passed a nursery. Even though it was closed, I had to stop and look. By this point I was fascinated by the climate, the light, and I wanted to find a gardener and ask them all about it. I didn't get that opportunity, but I'd like to explore gardening in Alaska more in the future.

Their display garden was really pretty. I didn't poke around though because we had to get back. I was fading. The gardens I saw during our brief visit were utilitarian, but not Spartan. I only saw things from the car though, but again, it's something I'd like to read more about in the future. As always, I have a lot to learn. 

In the parking lot, we saw many more of the poppies that grow so well in Alaska. Papaver nudicaule is meant for this place as are many other poppies.

After another long day of adventure, it was becoming clearer to us that Alaska is a really big state. As we drove and talked about this, we realized just how much we wanted to see more of its beauty in the future. One long week in Alaska is nothing. We estimate that it will take at least 5 more trips to see every climate Alaska has to offer. Sure, this is true of virtually anywhere, but most places aren't surrounded by that much wilderness, with such extreme climates.

To be continued...
(Next stop, Homer, AK.)

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...

Greetings from an Amateur Botanist in CA

Leading up to this trip I didn't say much. I've had a lot on my mind, and additionally, my broken finger recovering took a slide due to my swelling disease. Coaxing them both back into splints was all we could do and it really slowed me down again.

The Rogue River in Southern Oregon.

Just a few days ago I drove down to California alone, to see my husband and to witness the wine harvest and crush for the first time. It's the least I could do as his wife and it was my birthday gift to him. I had to be brave to drive I-5 alone and to stay in a yurt right off the highway when virtually few others were doing so. Driving the whole 10 hours in a day—by myself—was just not possible. The two-day drive was amazing!

Western Redbud, Cercis occidentalis, in a rest stop near Lake Shasta.

Arctostaphylos in a rest stop near Mt. Shasta.

As for botanizing, my main goal during this trip is to more deeply familiarize myself with the native flora in the chaparral of California. I will be doing some coastal exploration too, but most of my activities will be centered around Lake County where my husband is during the growing season.

While stopping in Redding to visit McConnell Arboretum & Botanical Garden I caught some folks fishing for salmon in the Sacramento River. The flyfisherman who'd waded all the way out in the riffles was fun to watch but I was disappointed that he didn't know how to cast. (Sometime I will have my husband take a picture of me casting. It's the only fishing skill I retained from my upbringing.)

After Redding I drove south toward Sacramento and San Francisco before heading west on Hwy 20 into Lake County, CA. From the point on, I was far happier with the gorgeous scenery and I was excited to see what my husband was doing. When I arrived, he hopped up the ladder and began to punch down the fermenting grapes in the tank. I have to say, it was impressive and the smell was incredible. It was both good and bad at the same time!

I looked at the color of the grapes, took the picture, and then as I was on the ladder I laughed when I noticed the labels on the tank.

When he finished we walked through the olive orchard.

We were both surprised that the pomegranate tree had actually produced this year despite the funny weather.

Then he showed me what the weather had done to some of the grapes. With the heavy rains and low temperatures we've had this season all along the West Coast, you're going to get some rotten grapes. This is what they can look like and you just have to let them go.

And this is what grapes in a vineyard look like when they're not pruned. This row was going to be grafted with something else but when the time to do so passed because the weather wasn't right, they just let the grapes go. It's only one row, but it really shows you how much pruning is necessary to make all the vineyards look so pretty. They really prune to improve the air and sun exposure for the grapes and to ensure that they have consistency in overall quality and quantity. The whole process is really interesting to me.

While we perambulated, we were being watched. I shot this picture and admired Mt Konocti behind the mighty raptor. That's because at that moment, I had not yet climbed to its top. Tomorrow, I'll let you know how that went because right now, I'm off to collect some more plant materials just north of here...

Vashon Island, Washingtion

My first visit to Vashon Island occurred when I was in high school. One of my friends at that time had family here and we were often invited up to visit her when she was visiting them. After I purchased my first car, I drove her up and dropped her off. That was my first solo road trip, and as anyone who knows me now knows, it was the beginning of my long love affair with road trips. I cannot tell you how happy I am to have returned for a quick visit. This island is the first place I ever felt freedom as a young woman and that still means a lot to me.

It might be hard to see, but the name of this Washington State Ferry is Rhododendron.

I wasn't sure what to write about Vashon Island, since there is simply so much to say, but I had to start somewhere so here we are on the water!

There are four ferries to the island. One leaves from Tacoma and takes you to the south end of the island while the other three leave from the north and can take you to West Seattle, Southworth or downtown Seattle. The ferry to downtown Seattle is a passenger-only ferry and we utilized it a lot when I was younger. 

Nowadays I stay with another friend from high school and it's at her in-law's vacation home. Lucky for us, the drive from the ferry is a quick one so I had my feet up resting in no time.

We had to drive to the north end of the island to gather some dinner items and as soon as we returned, the chef was hard at work. Our hostess did an amazing job of making everything pleasant for us and the evening could not have been better!

My friend's mother-in-law is great with interior design and it is fun to see her love of nature and plant-life. This charming marigold print is a new favorite of mine. Surrounded by the grey-blue of Puget Sound and the sky it compliments the environment well.

Outside on the deck, a lonely Aloe awaits us. It is such a great touch and it is almost starfish-like. (Yes, you can lean over the deck sometimes and look directly at starfish and other creatures. It is really dreamy that way.)

Like all vacation homes, the house has plenty of hens and chicks—and these are beautifully arranged.

There is a mixed succulent dish too.

When you first arrive at the house, after a long walk down several flights of stairs, this is what greets you  beside the front door. It is nice to enter a house smiling and I think the homeowner has nailed that requirement.

Nearby, you will find other garden and patio decor. And although this is a catfish, I'd like to imagine it to be a sturgeon.

This morning I awoke early, excited for the day ahead, with plenty of plant shopping on my mind, and I watched the fishermen and the wildlife. I grew up on a creek and I often saw herons all of the time, but living in the city now, I honestly miss them. They are really beautiful birds.

Nearby on the back deck there is also this lovely piece. I am guessing this was purchased, but it could easily be handmade by anyone with enough time to collect the driftwood.

I was also able to see some amazing watercraft this morning too other than the plain ole salmon boats with their screeching outboard motors and huge almost ridiculously over sized nets that are honestly necessary to land big salmon.

Sorry this is only setting the scene, and I haven't truly dug my teeth into any REAL garden material, but trust me, I will. (Have you ever seen abandoned overgrown orchid greenhouse? Oh, you will!)