A Gardener on an Alaskan Honeymoon

The Alaskan honeymoon is over and I'm back at my dining room table writing another blog post. 

There are lots of orders to pack and things to get done. With only a few days of summer left I'm embracing each and every one with much love. It's been a great year for me—and an amazing summer. 

An Alaskan glacier.

Going to Alaska was a bit of a surprise. I'd never visited but it has always been a dream of mine. Back when I was 18 I'd thought very seriously of going to college there to study environment science and biology. When John suggested it—since neither one of us had been there—I was so excited.

Alaskan taiga and stream.

My father always visited Alaska in early September. (He's a salmon fisherman and that's what you do if you fish.) I never understood why he went, and why he always seemed to miss my birthday, but I understand now.

It's a place that gets under your skin. I want to return each and every September for my birthday now. I get it.

Alaskan birch forest, (Betula neoalaskana).  

We only saw a tiny portion of what the state has to offer. I have been to Texas and I can say now that they have nothing on Alaska. It would be far easier to survive down there than in Alaska. I think that's a huge part of the charm. It really heightens the senses and makes you feel alive and small in its vast landscape. 

Alaskan landscape.

There will be more posts to come. I have a party to prepare for right now and I must continue to work hard.

I still hear the sounds though of planes in my ears and my eyes are yet filled with the vast expanse of beauty which I've just witnessed. 

Alaskan landscape.

I hope to find my book about the native plants of Alaska. I oddly misplaced it before we left but since it was my honeymoon I let it go. (Don't think I just looked at plants! I won't even begin right now to tell you about the amazing food.)

Lastly, there were the animals. We saw a lot of them but we knew it would be difficult to see grizzlies in the wild since we were traveling by car. I had even mentally prepared myself to see no bears so that I wouldn't be disappointed. Then, to my delight and surprise—during the cruise out to the Kenai Fjords National Park—we saw a black bear cruising the beach of a small island not far from the open sea. I was quite pleased.

Ok. More on plant life soon. 

Plant Dreaming Deep by May Sarton

When I was a young girl I spent Saturday mornings wandering the aisles of Powell's Books in downtown Portland with my father Frank. Since my parents were very protective of their only daughter—and I was a good Catholic school girl—let's just say this activity persisted for many years.

One Saturday I happened upon a book with a title that really spoke to me. It was Journal of a Solitude and its author was the poet and memoirist May Sarton. At that time I was journaling a great deal, and of course I considered myself to be a solitude, so it seemed like a match made in heaven. I purchased it, read it, and I can say with certainty that it change my life by showing me more of who I was and who I could be. To this day, I still list it as being one of the most formative books of my early creative literary life. Considering how many books I've consumed over the years, this is quite a feat.

Imagine my surprise when just months ago I was reading some theoretical piece about garden literature and May Sarton's name popped up. Almost immediately I put on my walking shoes for the 4-mile roundtrip walk to the Powell's store on Hawthorne. It was there that I purchased this now precious book Plant Dreaming Deep.

It is a garden memoir of a place in time, a person and her life, and the town where she has come to live. As a poet, she writes patches that are striking and true. Readers at first do not know how to make sense of how the text works and fits together. These are the best books for my mind at least where there is a puzzle. We work to patch together the meaning of something so intimate, the thoughts and experiences of a stranger, and best of all, yes, there is a garden and many thoughts about what plants mean to her. More than anything, she bridges the divide that bothers me most about the majority of garden writing. She makes it personal. She is not hiding the fact that her ideas are opinions and her tastes are based on feelings and memories. She is an artist and she makes herself vulnerable. Gardening and garden design is not formulaic and it is not mimicry. I believe she would say that we have little control over our gardens at all and that for the time we have them, we should feel them at every available moment. They are gifts to us. At the garden's heart, like all great things, we will always find the subjects of life, death and change. It is for this reason we've spent so many years reflecting in gardens. It's just what humans do.

For Sarton—and for many of us gardeners like her—it's our heart and our minds we find when we garden. It is our spirit we grow and truly our souls we nourish as we tend to the soil. Not all gardeners fall into this group though, but if you do, and you're like me, I really recommend the work of Sarton.

Behold! An Artist's Studio has Grown in the Garden

For the last month I've been working very hard to make this studio possible for a good friend of mine. Years ago when I first moved into this house I'd wanted this space very badly to be a writing studio. After I went through that phase, I'd hoped to clean it out and use it for my Etsy businesses, but like many things in life, it just didn't quite work out as I'd hoped.

I can say now (with complete certainty) that cleaning out that space taught me a great deal about myself and my divorce. In each and every object I could see and feel a memory or two and I'd find myself taking mental steps backwards, revisiting these memories, going deeper into my former life, and this allowed me to review repeatedly both my own unhappiness and the many arguments which had occurred. 

This was an incredible experience to say the least, and in a strange way, I'm very happy it took place. 

Mona—the youngest of the 3 black cats—trying her hardest to remain as feral as possible until she can no longer take the wet cold. At that point she'll move into the basement to remain toasty warm all winter. 

The garage/studio is now free of all of those objects and I'm free of their bad memories. The process truly had me working through some intense emotions and for weeks I was physically exhausted by that process. I'm finished with that for now—except for some ongoing trash removal—but otherwise, I've found a great deal of closure. 

Begonia hemsleyana from Cistus Nursery.

For the first time in months, I finally feel like I'm getting closer to my new life and this is an exciting time for me. I've turned the corner and have finally moved past the chaos and am back outside again in the garden.

Rhododendron sinogrande amongst little friends.

I enter there and find that my garden sanctuary is now covered in mysterious autumn mists with a sprinkling of yellow and red leaves that are lifted and spun around by the crisp, sharp winds that punctuate the rays of tilted October sunbeams. 

.Aspidistra elatior.

Often these brisk breezes take me completely by surprise—especially when I am somewhere in the shade.

Great creeping Coleus that I hope to overwinter indoors as a houseplant. Why not!

It has always amazed me how differently I feel about the shade at this time of the year. Whereas it was my friend just a few weeks ago, now it's become the dark alley I don't want to be caught in for fear of some unknown impending danger. (OK, for me that might just be some foot cramps and purple fingers but those can be at least a tiny bit irritating.)

Hardy Cylamen. 

During the last few weeks of summer I allowed myself to fully enjoy my back garden with many friends—both new and old. I'd never done this before and will always remember the late night conversations drinking wine beneath the stars. Like many other gardeners I'd made the space to be lived in, to be enjoyed, to laugh in, and to grow in—that finally happened for me, so now, as I move on (and possibly away from here), I can do so knowing I grew in this place. 

That is what is important to me. I grew. They grew. My friends and I all grew together. It may take a village to raise a child, but I think that growing together as a group of individuals makes something much more vibrant and alive—much like a natural ecosystem. We all have our part to play and are necessary to one another.

I grew as a woman and as a person in my garden this year and it's thanks to the plants I planted which supported us all as people searching out in the dark for meaning and substance.

Lithops. 

Soon I will be posting more about the houseplants as they move indoors again.

As always, I'm returning more and more to my peacock sense of fashion.

Virginia Creeper, (Parthenocissus quinquefolia).

And this peacock gardener is enjoying the riot of autumn colors before they're gone. Sure, not everyone is a huge fan of Virginia Creeper but it does provide the most amazing fireworks-like finale in the garden.

I often sit out in the cold now with the little cat and she takes it all in with me.

The hummingbirds talk to us, and I am happy to have them since they also look at me through the back window in my music/plant/writing room on the mornings when I sit down to write.

More on my own creative indoor studio next time...

(And yes, more to come on indoor plant labor-i-tories soon!)

Silver Falls State Park: Returning to the Wilderness

Yesterday, for the first time in over a decade, I returned to the Oregon woods by going for an 8-mile hike in Silver Falls State Park. It was my first significant long-distance hike in a long time and it went so well that I'm excited to think I'll be able to delve deeper into more remote areas of my region as time goes on and my health and strength continue to improve. I very much want to re-enter the wilderness areas that so captivated and inspired me as a young girl to become the free spirit I am today.

North Falls, part of the Trail of Ten Falls.

When I became seriously ill, the first thing I reached for was plant-life. Gardening was for me my way out of an excruciatingly painful situation that destroyed me. Once I finally had accepted that I'd lost my fight and had to live with what was chronically (daily) occurring inside of my own body I had to let go of many things I held near and dear to my heart. In just a single plant I saw the freedom of the wilderness I was raised to believe in as both an Oregonian and descendant of many pioneers. Gardening then continued to help me as I rebuilt and grew back to who I am today. 

So, yesterday I drove far away from my garden (the place that has been my safety zone for so long), and I went back to feel the source that bound me together during the most difficult period of my life. As my senses took it all in, that sensation of being calm and at home took over. I walked right in the front door and didn't look back until I was finished and it was time to return to Portland.

(Following are some of the 10 waterfalls from the Trail of Ten Falls and some native plants too.)

South Falls.

Lower South Falls.

Vine Maple (Acer circinatum).

Western Maidenhair Fern, (Adiantum aleuticum).

Vine maples in the woods in autumn.

Piggy-back Plant, (Tolmiea menziesii). 

Lower North Falls.

Double Falls. 

Middle North Falls.

(Not one of the named falls. Just a bonus.)

North Falls.

North Falls with native Licorice Ferns (Polypodium glycyrrhiza).

Rattlesnake Plantain—a native orchid of the PNW, (Goodyera oblongifolia).

Sexy Wild Wildflower Moments (The Touch-Me-Not)

Common Jewelweed a kind of Touch-Me-Not, (Impatiens capensis). 

This is a post about something that's a common experience, and it's probably happened to you too.

Gardeners and plant people see the world differently, but we're human after all, and many of us can also be sentimental in how we see the world around us. Sometimes this can help us when we're not feeling so comfortable. It's through these stories we often find our own release and can be set free again.  

Here's my story. 

Anthropomorphizing isn't just for poets, or maybe it is...

Sometimes we just see wildflowers, but at other times, we grab them and want to hold onto them and own them. So often they are ephemeral and delicate and once picked they droop and fade quickly. They're not often as sturdy as other plants. And yet, that's what makes them so special to us. 

Our human desire to capture that brief momentary beauty can be a rush that evokes in us a kind of lust for something we can never truly possess. 

And wildflowers are necessary to us because they are not the shrubs or trees in our lives. They are something far more special and their beauty touches us much differently. 

If I were a wildflower, I'd be a Touch-Me-Not. In my moment I don't just droop over and let my seeds trickle out, or worse yet, blow away in the wind. This is not the showiest of seed heads, but it's energetic and active.

I am a seed collector and I've grabbed many wildflower seed heads—but only after their blooms had faded and the plants were near gone.

This summer I reached out and grabbed a wildflower and it faded quickly and when I went back to look inside for seeds, there were none.

Someone had been there long ago to drain the plant of its seeds. So now I'm walking away empty handed—but with the memory of the momentary pleasure of the bloom.

Imbued with the Spirit and Strength of Nature

It has been at least a month since I've written anything substantial about gardening or plants here on my blog. Funny to have been so silent, but I've been rediscovering so many things about who I am, and I think it's safe to say, I have been growing a great deal.

Some days I feel like that vine that ate the garage last summer. I'm blooming and blooming and I just cannot stop growing and reaching for the sunshine.

Lan Su Chinese Garden in downtown Portland, OR. I introduced some amazing new friends from Paris to this Stumptown gem last month.

Much of what's been happening has also felt a lot like suturing a wide open wound. Long ago I forgot where I was going, even where I wanted to go. I only recently realized that most of my adult life has been based solely on what I was able to do within many physical and personal limitations. I hated it.

Pomegranate bloom at Lan Su Chinese Garden.

I am free of those restraints now for the first time in my adult life, and the rediscovery of myself has been a very complicated process. It wouldn't have been possible either without all of the friends who've come back to help me with all of their love, support and feedback. Many of them had mourned the loss of who I'd been for very long and I cannot explain how amazing it is to see their excitement and emotion right now. 

This Yucca filamentosa aka Adam's Needle is one of the first plants I ever germinated. It was important for me to really enjoy its blooms this year. 

Ever since I can remember my life has been imbued with a love and interest in nature and plants. Embracing this part of myself has been a big part of my recent activities as I've sought out many different kinds of activities beyond the garden gate. It is difficult to describe how these activities have been guided, but that's because it's been a day-to-day thing.

Streamers from an outdoor concert I attended in Portland with my cousin.

I have been enjoying every moment and feeling everyday and the sensations from both all feel like gifts now as I try to enjoy as many different kinds of activities as I am able to outdoors and with friends or family. After having spent so many summers indoors, unable to walk much, this is a huge change for me. 

I am remembering what it feels like to filter and feel things other than the pain I felt for so many years from the swelling and discomfort my condition caused. I am such a sensation seeker and I have been loving all the things I've been feeling and sensing again.

May Pole ribbons from the Finnish American Folk Festival of Naselle, WA. 

I also still see plants everywhere.

The finished piece—and yes, this is what a summer sky can look like in the Pacific Northwest.

Even when I'm enjoying other things I still see their meaning and importance all around me in different communities and groups. I take note of how others care about the plants where they live. It still fascinates me to see the nostalgia we attach to things we cannot control.

I have also committed myself to seeing and doing other things too. That's why I haven't been here too much recently. I am expanding growth in every direction right now.

I am growing to retrain myself.

I will prune what I need to again later.

I felt trapped in a corner too for a long time. I think we have all had this feeling.

Plants are still at my center.

I still adore clipped shrubs very much—especially when so much depends upon the white cat beside them. 

I say this as I still see myself overlapping my love of art history and design with plant life more and more. I am imbuing meaning and emotions into so many things when I touch them—even when it's just a snapshot.

Driftwood at the Washington Coast. 

Then there is the ineffable experience of my region and its natural beauty and I have been re-experiencing my place here recently probably more than anything else. It creates a sacred feeling for me and it is silent. Everything about who I am springs from this place deep inside of me and the silence brings me much peace and calm.

A typical coastal salmon river in the Pacific Northwest. 

I am not well-rested yet, but I am working on it. Since I have at least 10 years to catch up on it might take me awhile to feel more calm, collected and self-possesed.

My father and I as I channel my own inner Jacques Cousteau. 

Spending time near water has been a high priority for me. I miss spending time in boats and this is something I plan to do more of in the future.

Two Great Blue Herons we spotted in a tree near the mouth of the river in the tidal zone.

The sounds, sights, and sensations on the water felt like home to me.

Cow Parsnip (Heracleum maxium) seeds.

I saw plenty of seeds while on my adventures too. (Of course I had to add those.)

Native Vine Maple (Acer macrophyllum) reaching over the water. 

I also very much enjoyed observing the many communities of plants along the riverbank—but that's a whole other post.

Begonia boliviensis in my garden. 

Then there is my garden back at home. I have not been in it much as I still connect a lot of unhappy memories with toiling in its soil. I buried a lot of distress and unhappiness here. There were many lonely hours spent wondering about my marriage. I also worked hard on my plants as a means to build the denial deep inside of myself of the reality that I no longer liked or even respected my husband very much. I was in denial of this fact for a very long time.

To say we'd grown apart is now an understatement since I now know we never grew or built anything together in the first place. I think in many ways this lack of a relationship is what drove me to plants more than anything.

I am currently separating these feelings from my garden.

And the cats are doing as they please...

Right now I am editing the plants. I still have no idea where I will be living a year from now, but no matter what, this needs to be done. Maybe I will be here, maybe I won't.

Oddly, I was driven to remove plants I'd planted that I'd purchased long ago because my ex had expressed some kind of interest in them.

He never really liked the garden much though, and never sat and enjoyed it much at all, and like my illness and the mortgage, it was just another burden. I am happy to be free of this black cloud now and I hope to see my garden look amazing one more time. 

The wine grapes were also some of the first plants to go.

And now as my garden is in a stage where it looks like the bedroom of a rebellious and messy teenager I stand firmly again on terra firma. Sure there are dead plants in pots like the plates of rotting food that often get misplaced beside the dirty socks in the rooms of our youth across the nation—but I am looking at this now and I am laughing. It is seriously funny to me.

Someone keeps telling me, "It's ok." As I look around at everything I just keep laughing. Here in this moment it might seem like I have a lot to do, but I'll get it done. I am pretty sure my friend it correct. No matter what, I've been through a lot, and it will be ok.