Wordless Wednesday: The Garden Year Begins—Again

Iris 'Katharine Hodgkin'.

Galanthus nivalis.

Helleborus orientalis. 

Helleborus orientalis.

Helleborus orientalis.

Agave utahensis var. eborispina and Pyrethrum 'Robinson's Mix'.

Wordless Wednesday: Walking in Winter

My First Citrus Lesson—and a bunch of other stuff from California

Wintersweet aka Chimonanthus in bloom.

Yesterday our friend—and host during a portion of our trip—took me to visit his friend's tree nursery in the city of Napa: Main Street Trees. One of the first things we saw was this amazing Wintersweet shrub in bloom and immediately I knew I wanted to use some of it for an ikebana arrangement. 

Even on the dashboard I loved its angularity. 

Later, after driving north to the vineyard in Kelseyville, I assembled this ikebana with some pine and pretty dried out roses that had overwintered near the winery.

But I'd mentioned in the title of this post that I'd had my first Citrus lesson, right?

The candied pieces at the bottom of this image are from a Buddha's Hand. 

It was amazing to try so many fruits I'd only seen pictures of in books.

This was a lime that my friend rolled around in his hands to release its oils. The scent was heavenly but we didn't eat it. I was more than content just to stare at it.

As you can see, our hostess was incredibly generous, and best of all, she served a blood orange—one of my favorites.

Beforehand, we'd walk through the labyrinth of trees at the nursery with their Bengal cat. I'd never seen one in person before and I have to admit that I was probably a bit more into the cat than I needed to be but I do miss my own herd back home.

This is Willow, their German Shepard. Oh!, plant people and their pets. I get it and I imagine you do too.

This is not the best image, but I had to add it. I found the juxtaposition of an olive tree and a Sequoia to be a bit like the famous surrealist quote taken from the Comte de Lautréamont's Les Chants de Maldoror: "Beautiful as the chance encounter of a sewing machine and an umbrella on a dissecting table."

It reminded me to always think over plant associations.

 

There were bees—lots of bees, and I heard hens, but unfortunately, we had to run so I didn't get to visit with them.

Just as we were about to leave, I snapped an image of this timber bamboo. That stuff really is incredibly beautiful.

During my drive I kept thinking about this picture I'd snapped while visiting. It was my eldest niece's 20th birthday yesterday and she has a tattoo of a California poppy. Seeing the roses only reminded me of home: Portland, aka the City of Roses. I didn't drink any of the wine, but I liked the label, and besides, wine is the connection now between the two states we go back and forth between. 

Hours later, I made this ikebana for my niece's 20th birthday. Like myself, she loves dark and mysterious things that are a bit quirky and I knew she'd love this slightly dark olive and pomegranate arrangement.

Ciao from Lake County, California...

Unusual Winter Berries

This plant is one of my current favorites. Though its official name is Melicytus angustifolius, it has no common name, yet! Purchased at Cistus here in the Portland area, it was something my husband chose due to its unusual appearance. (How else can a woman take her husband plant shopping?) I would love for it to have a common name other than: That-Plant-My-Husband-Picked-Out. Since Snowberry is already taken, I may want to call it Winter Pearl Shrub. No matter. I just adore it and cannot wait for it to grow more. (I am picking a few berries for seed. Hope to grow more of these.)

Winter Color

Sedum spathulifolium.

This Sedum is native to the Pacific NW and is typically found in areas which tend to be higher, drier and sunnier than our valleys usually are during the winter. I took this photo at the Gordon House last winter, but I have several at my home too. The red color in the winter is quite striking, and obviously, this plant can survive in the valley if planted with care.

Winter Reds, not Blues

Our Yuletide Camellia is in bloom just outside our front door right now and I am stuggling to find the energy I need in order to do the same thing. Sometimes I wish that my own bloom could just pop up one day, on queue, with no fuss and maybe a little boost of fertilizer. For years now it seems that new medical problems have appeared almost daily. Each one bringing with it problems I never seem to be prepared for, but this winter, things aren't too bad. I simply wish that I had the ability to stay stable enough now for a schedule that might be consistant and steady. Life becomes very difficult when you are living with chronic illness and all you dream of is a little bit of time away from yourself and the pain. It is hard to imagine what you put others through, but in my case, I couldn't be luckier. My husband is wonderful and we both seek out solace in the soil. Maybe next Christmas I too will bloom and beat the camellia to its punchline. Then again, maybe it will happen sooner.