A Dream Garden: When I first met mine...

Antiquo jardín del Alcázar de Sevilla (Joaquín Sorolla), 1908.

Writers, dreamers, poets and artists have thought long and hard about gardens for centuries—and so have the more religious and practical among us. At least I imagine they have because I've studied such things, but I'm far from certain. So often nowadays I find that these real characters of history are just as real to me as any who are fictional. I guess I've grown and that fine line is no longer there. It all blends together. It's all a pastiche. 

I'm not religious myself, but I was raised in a Catholic family, went to Catholic school for 12 years, and I now consider myself Catholic by culture. That's how I ended up visiting España with my parents back in my early 20s. Dad wanted to go there for 10 days to take photos of churches and to visit the region of Estremadura. The three of us traveled south from Madrid during the month of December and I'd like to say that I remember a lot more than I do, but I spent most of my trip feeling unwell. 

At night my dreams were in Spanish. (Back then my Spanish-language fluency was much better, although that had never happened to me before and it felt strange—yes, foreign.) During the daytime, my mind wandered back-and-forth in the backseat. I felt between worlds.  

As we drove I thought a lot about what a cousin had recently told me concerning our Sicilian ancestry. He'd researched our family as part of his Master's thesis and had found that one of our earliest relatives was actually a Morisco from Spain. Fresh in my mind was the way my father had vehemently been unable to accept this discovery. Today he's softened and has accepted that it's likely true, but at that time, it dramatically altered how we saw ourselves.

Jardín de Carlos V en el Alcázar de Sevilla (Joaquín Sorolla), 1910.

Before I knew it we were in the beautiful city of Sevilla. We stayed there for a few nights and went to several museums, a Flamenco performance, we ate delicious food, and then one day, while walking around on my own, I stumbled upon the Alcázar of Seville. I went inside. 

The gardens of the Reales Alcázares de Sevilla changed me. I think I was transported there away from myself. They were—and still are—my dream gardens. It was there I felt so many new and wonderful things as I saw plants that seemed so unreal to me. I felt so alive and so awake. In many ways it felt more like home to me than my own home. I had never felt that way before and I haven't felt that way again.

To me that's what a dream garden is about and it's what we seek to make when we design gardens. We want what I can only describe as being a kind of religious experience. Like in meditation, we consciously count our breathing until we transcend and forget ourselves. We want gardens to give us that kind of rush too. It's deep. I know. It seems very much connected to something inside of us that's human. Many of us crave this feeling. It's spiritual whether we like to admit it or not. It's calming. It's soothing.

To Christians, it's a return to Eden, and to those who follow Islam, it's called Paradise. In Arabic the word is جنّة or Jannah—and that's short for garden. That day in Sevilla I felt like I'd visited Paradise. Ever since then, as a gardener, I've wanted to recreate that feeling.

That has been my dream.

(The Grow Write Guild is a creative writing club for people who garden. It's a series of bi-weekly writing prompts created by garden author and blogger Gayla Trail. I'm starting out late with the series but hope to catch up soon. It's just what this blogger needed for some summer fun.)

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!

Wordless Wednesday: Gardener Dreams (Astoria, Oregon)

The sun sets into the Pacific Ocean.

Mission San Francisco de Asís and Its Historic, Cinematic, and Photogenic Garden Cemetery

Located in The Mission neighborhood of San Francisco, this mission is also referred to as Mission Dolores. Its common name originates from a creek that once ran near the community named Arroyo de Nuestra Señora de los Dolores. Founded by Franciscans, it is named after my favorite Catholic hero: San Francesco d'Assisi. 

It is difficult for me to believe that I have been to the Bay Area almost twenty times in my life, and yet, this was my first visit to the city's oldest structure, a location made even more famous by its inclusion in one of my all-time favorite Alfred Hitchcock films, Vertigo.

I loved that the official plaque made it very clear that the original adobe walls and roof tiles were still intact.

The first Catholic Mass celebrated here took place under a shelter at this site just a few days before the
signing of the Declaration of Independence in 1776. These bricks had not yet all been formed and dried at the site. The building was completed in 1791.

Inside, the proof is made even more crystal clear. 

My namesake, St Ann(e), mother of Mary, is to the right of the crucified Christ and the Immaculate Conception Mary is to the left. Above St Ann(e) is St Clare, the founderess of the Poor Clares, or, the female Franciscans. Above Mary is her father San Joaquin. 

Without going into too much detail about the alter and its iconography, I can say that much is being said in this one that is rather atypical. Since I am such a plant and animal nut, it was really great to see such a formal alter for St Francis and all that he stood for in his work. 

Beside the mission church is the larger, more modern, Basilica. Seeing its main alter decked out with garlands of blooms and tons of flowers flooded me with memories. It also allowed me to show my husband where my penchant for springtime pagan-like bloom worship sprung from. 

Lastly, there is the famous cemetery. If you have not yet seen Vertigo, I promise to hide my shock. If you have, this is where Jimmy Stewart's character Scottie follows Madeline and he watches her as she sits and visits a gravesite.

This was the only Italian gravestone we found but there  were many in English and Spanish.  I was also really curious about many of the early Irish people who appeared to have been living here when it was still Mexico. That makes sense since it was Catholic. I'd like to learn more about these people now!

The gravestone from the film is no longer here, but there are plenty of real people to keep you more than entertained for an hour of so. Oh, and then there are the plants!

The plants are rambling all over the place.

If you go and you see something you like, there is a list of plants posted.

The architecture, the light, and the plants, made for an unimaginable visit that day.

Even though it was overcast, I could easily see why Hitchcock had picked the site. For many years the church actually left the gravestone of one Carlotta Valdes in the cemetery, but it became too much of a tourist site, and the stone was removed. I am not sure where it is now, but I am sure that it is out there somewhere.

In the film, this figure can be seen behind Scottie. It was once part of a grotto, and from online research, it appears to have been moved around a bit.

St Francis pacing in thoughtful prayer around the rose garden. He was a bit too large and lifelike for me.

I really liked this stone seat. Its permanence is unquestionable. 

A newer addition, this looks a lot like the spineless Prickly Pear developed by Luther Burbank. Against the white wall, it really stands out.

As always, the history of the site appears to overlap with that of my husband's ancestor who travelled on what was John C. Frémont's famous Third expedition. It is sad that Basil LaJeunesse became an historical footnote during that trip, but his death reverberated for many years in the lives of those closest to him. It is my belief, based on what I've been reading, that it was a loss both Kit Carson and Frémont were unsettled about since during the ensuing weeks they did things they later regretted.

I loved the casual feel here. The stepping stones, Sedum and hose make this feel so much like a garden.

One of the most controversial actions these men took involves this man.

This is the grave of the first mayor of San Francisco—though he was called an Alcalde and the city was then still Yerba Buena. Kit Carson shot and killed his twin sons and their distant cousin in 1846 near San Rafael when told to do so by John C. Frémont. This was just a few weeks after Basil's death, after they'd attacked and killed the wrong Native Americans to avenge the death in Oregon, and after they must have realized they'd been tracked by Modoc paid by the Mexican Government who'd been tracking them from their encampment near Monterey as they'd headed north of the border for safety.

So enough about all of that for now, you soon will be seeing more of Frémont as he has so many native plants that have his name attached to them. I just have to add this stuff because it is so much a part of why both my husband and I love where we live, between both the Pacific Northwest and California.

So the next time you find yourself in San Francisco, I invite you to sit and stay awhile. Meditate a bit and transport yourself back in time to a California before the Gold Rush, to a time when it was part of Mexico. 

Mission San Francisco de Asís or Mission Dolores

When Gardeners Can't Sleep I Prescribe This Book

Pumpkin, Bartolomeo Bimbi, c. 1711, Florence, Museo Botanico. (The rectangular stone at the bottom reads: Pumpkin grown in Pisa in the garden of His Royal Highness in the year 1711. It weighed 45 kilograms or about 100 pounds.)

Last night when I went to bed I wasn't feeling well. In a hurried rush to get out the door next week—and back on the road to California—I have been doing far too much. Since reading complicated material is often very difficult when I feel unwell, I turn to imagery. Seed catalogs and garden magazines work most of the time, but I am often left with that icky I-can't-afford-all-of-this taste in my mouth. In comparison, this art history book is the quiet calm that always soothes any little storm inside of me that I throw at it.

My steady bedside grab is called Gardens in Art by Lucia Impelluso. It's part of a series of books put out by The J. Paul Getty Museum simply called: Guide to Imagery. I don't think you have to be an art history expert to enjoy this book, but I am fairly certain it is a must if you love gardens. Following current curatorial style, the book is arranged thematically and it is not chronological. There are tons of paintings, and not too much text. The painting above was in the brief Still Lifes section.

Gardens in Art by Lucia Impelluso

The reason I picked this painting is that it was the work most emblazoned on my mind last night when I finally turned into a pumpkin myself. Still lifes are a favorite genre of mine to begin with, but this one really struck me because it reminded me so much of the photographs, come autumn, in so many magazines. This image resonates much more strongly with me than many of the others I've seen, both in books and museums domestically and abroad, and if you garden, I think you know what I mean. We've all wanted a painting like this of something from our own garden bounty writ large like a trophy. This painting could replace the huge mirror above my fireplace any day.

More about California next time... 

10 Reasons Why I Garden Therapeutically

1) Creative Outlet: I am a creative person, but I am not creative. This is what I used to think, but I am beginning to change my mind. Gardening has been the activity that has helped me to better understand this and it has helped me haul my obstinate mind and kicking spirit over this hurdle.

2) Relaxation: I know there are folks out there who consider a week by the pool relaxing—and I am sure that works for some of you—but I have found that kind of relaxation dull. Gardening is my form of moving meditation.

3) Sharing: Gardeners are wonderful givers. They always have plant divisions on hand for others and they are always open to sharing their knowledge with gardening neophytes. 

4) Connections: Through plants I am connected to both my past and my future. One of my white lilacs is from a cutting of a lilac once grown by my great-great-grandmother in Baker City, Oregon. Additionally, seeds from around the world have allowed me to travel to places I would never have been able to experience otherwise. 

5) Curiosity: Not every gardener really gets into the fine details, but for me, our garden is a laboratory where I perform plant experiments. Collecting seeds that I then germinate is what makes gardening even more rewarding. I am simply in awe of seeds and the potential they hold.  

6) Love of Nature: Whenever you're unable to camp or hike, you always have your garden. Bringing birds to it, and providing room for all of the other little creatures is the least we can do to give back. When I need a quiet sanctuary, I go to my garden. 

7) Preserve Dignity: Until you have to tell someone you are unable to work due to a disease, and that you are unable to have children, you may not understand how painful this encounter can be. My garden helps to preserve that last scrap of dignity in that it is a way for me to contribute something. In time I have discovered it is the best answer too when I am asked what I do for a living. I make and care for living things. 

8) Sense of Perspective: Things are steady and the seasons dictate the rhythm of time. I hum whatever tune is needed and I can be inconsistent as the days pass. Nothing is lost, and nothing is truly gained. Every day is different and no plant is ever the same.

9) Sense of Pride: Yes, I do garden to grow things but I will not take part in any kind of foodie garden fad. I am an Italian-American and that means you grow your own food. I am also a descendant of pioneers, and in our family, if you couldn't grow food, and save seed, you'd die in the wilderness. Better to be prepared, to grow well, providing for your family and sharing your knowledge with those who may need your help. 

10) To Provide Relief for Grief and Loss: My words cannot yet fully describe the feeling of losing the sense of yourself once the process and experience of disease begins. Mourning the loss of what life was like before is something that never fully goes away. I can be the cloud on a sunny day in my garden, and I can pour my heart out while toiling with my hands. Best of all, I learn from the garden. My garden has taught me how to renew myself daily, weekly, annually, and like it, I continue to grow, and shed, and change.

Seeds of Inspiration, Plant Veneration, Pits and Poetry

Some palm-like plants I've grown from seed. They are looking kind of sad. 

While eating a date today for breakfast, out of concern for my teeth, I bit into it carefully. I'd noticed a small chip in my tooth recently, so I sat wondering if it had been a seed pit from my last package of dates. It had been a dangerous bag.

Somehow, this led me to thinking about the poetry of Medieval Spain and of Al Andalus. My roads to nowhere often lead to this place, and I am sure that when you garden, your trains of thought all arrive back at some station that's meaningful to you.

These are the things that we gardeners sometimes think about when we don't speak to people all day. How on Earth do you explain that to people though when they ask you what you think about all day?

Of course all of our minds wander all over the place. Somedays I think of nothing, and yes, sometimes I think about seeds, and plants, and where the come from, and why and how. I think about the people who travelled with them tucked into their belongings, and I think about those who longed to see the plants of their childhood in places far away from them. Yes, these things I find inspiring and they perpetuate the mythology of the garden while propelling me forward as I create my own. Great garden poetry inspires me too.


The Palm Tree
A palm tree stands in the middle of Rusafa,
Born in the West, far from the land of palms.
I said to it: How like me you are, far away and in exile,
In long separation from family and friends.
You have sprung from soil in which you are a stranger,
And I, like you, am far from home.

Abd al-Rahman, Emir of Cordoba, d. 788 CE

Northwest Flower & Garden Show (2011) Part Three

We made it home despite the Arctic blast and saw lots of snow along the roadside. Immediately we ran as many outdoor plants as possible into the studio to protect them from the cold air. All my new treasures are hidden or else under lights in the basement. I cannot wait until next week when I can plant some of the new stuff that is dormant. I bought some incredibly rare plants so that I can collect their seeds. (Oh, and while we were gone, the last 100 or so packets of seeds arrived.) 

The cats are happy, the weekend foster kiddos are getting along ok, and now it is back to the garden show. (I will show you the treasures after the kiddos go home on Sunday night. I don't want them poking their eyes out with my new metal garden pieces and plants.)

Here are some more amazing pictures from the really great container garden area of the current Northwest Flower & Garden Show.

Carnivorousness at its best.

Naturalistic plantings with every nook and cranny planted.

I loved this water feature.

Potting bench.

Potting shed.

Gorgeous!

Garden bed. Flower bed.

Sweetest dreams.

Too funny!

I noticed this just before I walked off. It made me giggle.

I really want to make some cement/concrete pieces myself this year.

This was a really cozy setting.

This is a really cute idea.

Two of the container garden displays had beverages on display too for the gardener's pleasure. My husband the winemaker completely agrees. 

It's another planter gutter.

Air plants on furniture—with Puget Sound out in the distance and Pike St Market.

Air plants on plant.

I think that I only have a little bit left about the amazing seminars so more tomorrow.