Wordless Wednesday: Regrowing Backbone

Dianthus superbus.

Cow Parsnip, Heracleum maximum.

Cow Parsnip, Heracleum maximum, as "whisk".

Stylophorum lasiocarpum.

Campanula punctata.

The willow arbor gets a serious makeover. 

Where's the fire? Smoke tree, Cotinus, with Lychnis coronaria.

Centaurea montana. 

Yucca filamentosa.

Still working on the backbone of the garden. 

Growing On

Japanese maple (Acer japonica) in my backyard.

I'm still feeling a lot like this seemingly vulnerable leaf on one of my Japanese maples, but as days have passed, and the leaves have all opened up, the leaf no longer sticks out. I'm taking this as a sign. As it lifted up its head to the sun it was enveloped by the support of other leaves around it. 

In the garden I am comforted.

Salmonberry (Rubus spectabilis) growing above the Pacific Ocean.

My trip the the Pacific a few weeks ago also had me viewing an understory of nearly nothing by salmonberry bushes and their blooms. I tried for far too long to get a nice shot of their hot pink blossoms but the wind was simply too much. Instead, I did capture this berry.

Morning glory vine (Ipomoea) on a tombstone in Oysterville, WA.

In my photos I also found this lovely rendition of a morning glory vine on a gravestone. I don't believe I've shared it yet. Eternal blooms fascinate me more and more as I age. What flower would I want on my headstone? Why? I am such a plant nerd it's impossible to choose just one. Besides, in the technological world we live in I'm much more likely to desire something akin to a slideshow. Oh! I am so ashamed at times to be so spoiled by the world around me. We're lucky I think.

Dudlyea brittonii seedlings. 

Many of the seeds I was unable to plant last year made it into production this year. Above you'll see one of my favorites. I cannot wait to see these grow up. They are such beautiful plants.

Unknown Agave I grew from seed.
I guess these little "friends" area telling me that it's time for the plant to be moved to a larger pot. 

It is time to repot older plants I've grown from seed. This is a plant that really spoke volumes to me when I looked closely at what it was saying to me. "Plant me. I need more space. If you don't, I promise to break this planter. It is weak. I am not." Ok, maybe I'm totally exaggerating.

Me last month pruning the willow arbor while waiting to be picked up to go out for the evening. I can prune in a linen dress. Wow, the things we learn when we wait impatiently...

Being able to climb up onto a ladder to prune was a huge undertaking for me. In the past I would have been too dizzy to do this but not anymore!

Hellebore plant (Helleborus orientalis) pregnant with seeds. 

Collecting seeds for my Etsy shop Milton's Garden Menagerie has started all over too. Even though I am still not 100% about where I'll be going next in my life, I do know with complete certainty that I want seeds to remain—and plants too!

Cuttings from my Begonia boliviensis I grew from seed. The propagation goes on and on...

Wordless Wednesday: Starting Some Seeds

"Go Seed Hunting!" said that little voice inside of me...

Just over a year ago, it was at this place (and nearly to the moment), when I knew my life was going to change in a big way. It was as if there was such beauty during that precise moment, in that place and time, that something opened up deep inside of me and I heard that little voice screeching loud and clear as it went in for the kill.

The Bloedel Reserve. 

I see now that for many of us—especially for those who design landscapes and even our own gardens—these are the sacred moments we want to experience. We live and breathe to hear these little things inside of ourselves, to feel out gut instincts. We use them to help guide us forward whether we're ready to go or not.  

Two Deer Ferns (Blechnum spicant) at The Blodel Reserve in Washington.

I want my next garden to have soul and at this point I will stop at nothing less. But until then, there is still a lot yet to do in my current situation.

This is a Red Cedar (Thuja plicata) woven pillow by artist Sue Skelly that was for sale at The Blodel Reserve gift shop last summer.  

Some of these photos here are ones that I've not yet posted. Then again, maybe I have but I just don't remember. I have a lot that was swept up into my iPhoto box during the past year. I hope to finally start to break these out now. Let's all just pretend and ignore that they're so "last season".

Acapulco Salmon & Pink Hyssop (Agastache) at Dragonfly Farms Nursery. 

Fantastic garden structure at Dragonfly Farms Nursery.

There will be more and more of these in the coming weeks and I will try my best to recall what was going on at the time. A lot changed for me though at the Garden Blogger Fling up in Seattle last summer and I regret not having posted many posts but I was going numb in preparation for the marital amputation.

That's something which has become clear now, and there's no turning back...

Random chance encounter I found between a plant and some pavement while walking home from the grocery store not long ago.

 Then there are those beautiful moments I'm having now,

My precious Hollyhock (Alcea) grown from seed from seeds purchased at Frank Lloyd Wright's Hollyhock House in Los Angeles, CA.

as I mix them in with my past,

I love the color of Alpine strawberries (Fragaria vesca) almost as much as I love their taste.

and I remember the simple pleasures too.

Coastal Goldenrod (Solidago simplex ssp. simplex var. spathulata).

Recently I began to think about my precious seeds, and the seed hunting, and the plant IDing.

This summer I've not yet had a road trip to look for seeds. Planning one for later has been in the back of my mind, on that perpetual back burner with the pile of other things, back behind all of the practical things I need to do right now—or else I should have done months ago.

The lovely annual Alternanthera. 

This week I will begin collecting some seeds around here at home. I'm working again too on adding items to my Etsy store and am thinking about what kind of job will potentially work for me—though deep down I just want to play with plants and write. This should probably come as no big surprise to anyone who knows me! I have some options now though and am working on scenarios that will help me to live with the dignity I'd like as someone with a chronic illness.

"Somewhere" in Mendocino County, CA.

So I'm mentally ready to prepare for such a journey back out into the woods and wherever else I land and I hope to hit the road this October. These trips are fun for me to plan.

Yes there is the ocean to see too as I go into California, but there are also friends in San Francisco, Los Angeles (I've not yet seen Lotusland) and (fingers crossed) the Garden Writers Association Annual Symposium in Tucson, AZ. (Come to think of it, I've never been to one of those either.) The drive home from there could be all new to me and that would be nice to venture more into the Rockies a bit.  

Something says to me that arriving in Tucson by car might be just what I need. 

And somewhere out in the desert I hope to hear from somewhere deep inside of myself, "Thank you for listening. Thank you."

Will Walk for Seeds

A few weeks ago I attended an event hosted by the The Hardy Plant Society of Oregon entitled "Seed Collecting: Where the Wild Things Grow with Steve Newall". Reflecting on the experience—that of meeting and listening to the exploits of a real seed collector and seed grower—has been good for me.

Sitting down to talk with Steve was really centering for me since due to my current life situation I've been a bit uneasy in general. Everything in my life is still swirling around but my love and interest in seeds is always there in the middle of it all. (Imagine my comfort in knowing that seeds are immovable in this windy storm and I cling to them and they make me feel so good. It's so silly but it's all true.)  

To talk to someone who truly understands me was really soothing during a time in life when there are so few healing balms other than self-inflicted silence and self-discovery. These things might sound great, but when it really matters, and a lot is on the line, there can be a frightening bleakness to the darkness as you sit watching and listening to it while your impatience grows. The seeds that germinate in this darkness are scary to me, but I am patient enough now to sit through the process even if it's really hard for me to sit still sometimes. 

How do you tell the people around you that you want to create a life where you're able to run off and collect seeds when you feel like it? It's not like I do this for science! I am an Amateur Bot-ann-ist after all. For me it's just this compulsion that comes from deep inside that drives me to love seed propagation and I just cannot get enough. 

I was told it was, like, a skill. How odd!?!

So seed spotting is now what I jokingly refer to as my super power. Too bad I'm not a super hero though...

Asclepias speciosa seeds I collected last year.

If I could I'd spend all day working and thinking about seeds. How I came to this, I'll never know. Maybe it's genetic so I'll just thank my forefathers and foremothers.

Ricinus communis seeds from Loree over at Danger Garden.

But this past week I had another major HAE swelling attack from all the activity and emotional stuff going on in my life. I anticipated it though because I knew that driving 6 hours by myself was not a great idea—especially after walking over 20 miles last week. 

It made me doubt I could be a seed hunter, but that doubt passed rather quickly and I redoubled my efforts by getting some advice from my chiropractor. I'm now targeting key muscles groups that are weaker than they should be and I'm hoping this will help me to overcome some of the exhaustion I've been experiencing. (Never underestimate the pain that can be caused when one group of muscles repeatedly overcompensates for another.) 

Staircase at Mount Tabor Park. I trotted up these stairs for the first time last week at a pace I was almost proud of and it felt great.

So during this "rest" week I've been sorting and cleaning the house—including my workspace—and it's obvious how strongly I've resisted dealing with a lot of my own personal things up until now. I'm grasping them though, both literally and figuratively, and am thinking more and more about seeds as summer has started and there will be more and more of them soon.

As a matter of fact, I've already asked one friend to accompany me on a seed collecting trip. I've always gone by myself because I haven't ventured very far into the wild in awhile. I am going to dip my toe into that pool soon. I don't expect much, but it's the act itself that's already beginning to change me.

Lunaria annua might be a weed, but its seedpods will always be a favorite of mine. 

There are these little things that are popping up in the darkness inside of me that I've been staring into for awhile now. They are sprouting and seeking out the light. My eyes are so sore from starting into the abyss for this long, but I think it's time for me to sit back and breathe a sigh of relief.

Some of the many stairs in Mount Tabor Park. 

I walk now and it's not about the past so much, it's about my future. Funny how I see seeds everywhere I go and when I do I always think of hope.

More of the Mount Tabor stairway.

The silence that used to bother me so much is becoming more and more the memory of who I am and who I once was but had forgotten. 

Calendula officinalis seeds. 

I think of the silence often now that surrounds the life of seeds since the lives of plants are so quiet compared to ours.

So often I meet gardeners who tell me they're afraid to grow plants from seed because seedlings are so delicate and weak they're afraid they'll hurt or kill them.

This always makes me chuckle a little bit.

Aurinia saxatilis seeds.

Yes, the activity might require some patience and careful observation but never underestimate the power of any living plant or animal that wants to survive—and this might also be applicable to some of the people you know in your own life.

Someday it might even apply to you.

Wordless Wednesday: Seeds to Sort By Hand, or, When Will I Break Down and Finally Purchase Some Seed Sieves?

Before I Sow My Seeds of Love

Last week I was honored to be included in a post over at danger garden entitled "The other kind of gardener..." because it was about we seed collectors. I only know a handful of others like me but I know there are more of us out there somewhere because somebody keeps buying my seeds, and additionally, I keep trading with them too. Funny we are kind of a quiet contingent. I have no idea what any of these people even look like—other than my gardening buddy down the street.

What's even more entertaining is that Loree's blog entry actually gave me a break from my seed sorting activities. The irony was made even better by her title. She had no idea the concept of the Other was my theoretical speciality back when I was working with art history during my old academic days. Seeing myself as the other gardener brought me so much pleasure I cannot tell you how much I laughed about it all weekend.

Thank you Loree for helping me to see the light at the end of my seed packet.

These are the origami envelopes I make for the seeds I sell. For the seeds I keep I simply put them in glassine bags inside of coin envelopes. For larger seeds, I often use vintage glass canning jars. 

Fall's 3 Muses: Aconitum, Anemone, Aster

I always find myself wanting more and more of these three plants every September, and yet for some reason, every year, I forget to add new members to their ranks.

Aconitum columbianum. Plant grown from seed.

This year I actually subtracted from our Anemones by ridding the backyard of the weedy, tall, and white 'Honorine Jobert'. When a plant begins pushing me around, I have to step up and tell it to, "Step off." That Anemone stepped off alright, and stepped right into the yard debris bin. 

Luckily I have this other little beauty to look at right now and it isn't taking over 1/4 of my garden like the other one did. 

Anemone hupenhensis var. Japonica. Purchased plant.

Then there are the Asters. Am I the only one here that thinks there are too many to keep track of? Don't they begin to all look and sound alike? I just cannot tell them apart, besides, I forget far more of them than I remember. 

I think this one I will remember though. It is new to our garden this year and I grew it from seed. I almost threw it away before I left for California because I thought it was maybe a weed. I am so glad now that I let it stay! It is a North American native too.

Aster azureus, Aster oolentangiensi, or Symphyotrichum oolentangiensis. Plant grown from seed.

I thought I would add that my Ikebana a Day project on my other blog is going well. I am still assessing the value it's having upon my day-to-day affairs, and so far, it seems to have been a great idea. 

Soon I will be beginning Ikebana classes and that will improve the quality of my work and the attention I will be able to pay to my materials. So far, the arrangements have been based upon availability and ease and I want that to change. The pieces have felt a lot like sketches and that has been a fun way to warm up for the rest of the year. Overall, I truly want to see if this practice will make me feel better and, in a way, it already seems to be keeping me happier.

For some reason I am really behind on the written copy for the other blog—since I should explain what I am up to in greater depth—but I will get to that soon. I still have 11.5 months left, right? A Year of Ikebana. (I think it has to do with collecting seeds. I have been dramatically slowed down by that annual process!)