Living in the Frozen Shadow of Winter Sunshine

What will survive this cold?

The weather is a cold right now, yet I've barely noticed since I've been working 50-60 hour weeks. While eating earlier today I peeked outside and saw that things didn't look quite right. I give up. It can grow again. I will grow again. I'm really grateful for the ongoing changes in my life.

Before the cold hit, I stuffed the garage full of plants. Part of me wasn't sure if I should bother, but I did it anyway. I'm a creature of habit.

At least I did it at the last minute, and of course my employer called to see if I could cover a shift for someone else. I felt rude saying that I had to save plants when someone needed an assistant during the final phase of their life but I'm learning to state my needs too. They understand. That's one of the things I really like about what I'm doing.

A longer post is coming soon. I've been cooking a lot for my other job and I have some recipes of my own to share. Food writing is fun, and of course there were some floral arrangements from Thanksgiving.

More on that though this weekend...

The Lightly Frosted Garden in January

Tree textures: curly willow (Salix) and Doug fir (Pseudotsuga).

It is not a bad thing—at least in my mind—to wake up to a frozen world outside. 

Just a few of my many houseplants in my office/plant room.

With the cold comes sunshine and I can embrace them both so long as the heater is working. 

Pieris japonica 'Valley Valentine'.

With a warm coat and several layers of clothing you're likely to find me outside now looking around. 

Spiderweb frozen in time on a Camellia sasanqua 'Yuletide'.

Ok, maybe this is a gentle time during the winter for us and I have to admit that I'm more inclined to giggle at the things I'm seeing rather than groaning about the wet muddiness of it all. (That is if I am not cursing the cold. I'm not perfect.)

Clematis cirrhosa 'Freckles'.

Seeing the blue sky all day warms my heart. I adore the color blue and all that it represents. 

Even the ivy that's considered an invasive plant seems somewhat more tame and delicate with a dusting of the cold frozen dampness. 

An Epiphyllum I grew from seed.

Indoors the houseplants are still growing. I sit beside them working while I too bask in the warmth from the heater and I take advantage of the lights intended for their growth.

Some old homes don't have a lot of windows to let the light in, but I make do. 

Taming the Beasts

Snow on a big leaf Rhododendron.

The snow beast roared its tiny little head this morning. Now it's gone. 

That was the easiest beast to tame this past week although the cold temps are still sticking around—unlike the snow. 

Just about finished with the seed starting spreadsheet for 2013. I think I'll be starting about 450 different types of seeds. The bowl of basmati rice pudding with almond milk, raisins and orange flower water really helped me get to the end of the project this year. It was a great reward for a difficult job.

My seed sheet is now complete and is accessible by clicking on the link above.

It was a difficult beast to put down because I'm challenged by the fact I still don't know where my garden will be in the future. This beast is not yet purring but I will make it purr.

I know that I'm a woman who sorts seeds. It's what I do. Last year I didn't get to participate in this dull and slow process so doing it this year made me feel more like me.

Some people use Nyquil, others use Icelandic Schnapps.  

The flu is everywhere right now and I hope with all of my heart that I'm able to escape it.

So far, so good. I'd much rather watch others deal with this creature. It's not one I'm well equipped for, but I think with a bottle of this stuff, at least I wouldn't care if I caught it.

I have a friend who chose to use this medicinal treatment involving Icelandic Moss Schnapps (http://www.fjallagrasa.is/en). The moss used is actually the lichen Cetraria islandica but it was hard to tell just by looking at the shriveled and dried up chunk of plant life inside of the bottle.

This is the little fur beast who inspired this post. Sometimes animals shock and surprise us. This is my partially feral garden cat who, after 7 years of hiding in the basement, now demands to sleep with me at night. With the other two geriatric cats currently restricted to the main floor she is able to hop the fence and run upstairs to jump onto the bed each evening.

Having seen her as a feral cat for the past 7 years it's wonderful to see her change. Somehow she's broken through a trust boundary and I'm thrilled to see the change.

I cannot help but believe too that my newfound calmness and focus has helped her feel safer around me. Before, I believe I was far too frantic for her. Life has really changed a lot since the divorce.

She has changed too.

 

19th century vase with thistle, Japan. Portland Art Museum. 

I've been working diligently to feed the creative drawing and designing animal inside of me. It's strange to feel the craving in my belly for this sort of thing, but it's there and it's starving. 

As usual, I'm drawn more and more to Japanese designs. It fascinates me to no end to be so enamored of such simplicity when I'm such a complex and complicated person. As I enter into middle age I'm noticing that I crave simplicity more and more. I want to be at peace so I will feed the beast what it wants.  

Discovering low-sodium dried sardine dashi has made me very happy. Making a hearty miso soup has been a great boon during wintertime. 

Oh, and by the way, I simply cannot stop cooking. I guess I'm literally feeding the beast too!

2013 is going to involve more cooking and I hope to grow more produce. Of course I don't expect to grow it all myself but I want to make a concerted effort with those around me and in my gardening life to learn more about food. As someone with severe sensitivities it's now no longer such a chore and it has simply become more and more a way of being for me. 

I might as well do it very, very well—for my wellness and for me. 

Wordless Wednesday: Last week was cold and clear...

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!)

When You're Not Really in the Garden

These last 3 weeks I've meant to be here more, and I've meant to be in my garden, but the medical requirement to walk 15-20 miles per week has been taking up a lot of my time. 

Just a few weeks back, I had the pleasure of walking 6 miles during a really great thunderstorm. Yes, this was classic Portland in the spring.

From the Hawthorne District, I could look back and see where I'd come from and at this point I was a bit worried about the rain that was coming. (Mt Tabor is the green hill you can see far off in the distance.)

By the time the rain started to pour, I was already well on my way home.

Wet and cold, the sky continued to darken but the sunset was nice that night.

Rosa 'Golden Showers'.

When I go on my walks, as I round the corner for home, I can now see my roses blooming more and more frequently. Sometimes I think of my garden as one big neon billboard exclaiming some really colorful person lives here. I like it this time of year as the jungle begins to take over and there is a different world outside my window. 

Oftentimes I see gardens that I think look nice, but are too patterned. I might have a jungle, but these lines really fascinate me because they boggled my brain a bit. I'd rather have a jungle.

Always before reaching home I wander the reservoir at Mount Tabor Park to get in some extra miles. It is such a beautiful place to walk. I walk over the hill you see there in the background and reach home that way. It is such a wonderful place to live. 

This past Sunday I walked to the store to purchase ingredients for a lemon tart I was making for a party later that evening and I ran into what I later discovered was a swarm of bees. It was just waiting here until the group could determine where to go. What an amazing thing to watch. One moment it was there, the next it was gone. I wish I could have seen them at the moment when they all flew away.

Later that same day, after the tart was partially completed, I walked over to Portland Nursery to purchase some heirloom tomato plants from myself and a friend. Along the way I spotted this old mattress frame being used as a trellis support. This isn't exactly my style, but I do love its lines and conical rust-colored squiggles as the grid floats there in the air.

Yes, I am sure this post is a bit random, but when you're not really in the garden, so often you are, aren't you?

Spring Walk: Blooms, Bones, and Blue

Flowering Currant (Ribes). 

Anemone.

Yes. It snowed last week. 

Tulipa.

Japanese Maple bones (Acer). 

Huge Japanese Maple bones (Acer). 

Same huge Japanese Maple bones as seen from the side (Acer). 

Blue sky ahead above the willow arbor (Salix).