I’m in such need of spring blossoms that I popped into the shop of a local grower today. She had gorgeous blooms. And as I gathered a loose bunch, a bucket of Hellebores caught my eye. Don’t mind saying that I thought three dollars a stem for Hellebores was a little pricey. Just then I remembered that Lenten Roses grow in my own gardens, and I bee lined home to cut some.
Fragrant Hellebore with ‘ Blue Lady ‘ Hellebore thrown in for good measure.
You are looking at an informal arrangement of various Hellebore varieties from my garden. At the going rate of three dollars a stem, this baby would set you back $51.00, and I’d be on my way to being a rich woman!
I put in a backyard pond–which is a story for another time!–and wanted plantings around it that were low maintenance. Decided to try a variety of grasses and sedums and put out a call to fellow gardeners who were thinning sedum now that the weather has cooled. Donations of cuttings came in in spades. I remembered that pumpkins can provide all the nutrients sedums need to grow, so I bought a Peanut Pumpkin, because I love the texture, cut sedum stems, and made a fall arrangement that is both beautiful–to my mind!–and beneficial to next year’s garden.
Found a gorgeous Peanut Pumpkin at a favorite place in Baltimore County called Misty Valley Farms that grows amazing pumpkin varieties.
I attached moss to the pumpkin with hot glue. The moss will act as a medium for growing roots and a sponge when watered.
I hot glued eight different varieties of sedums to the moss. They will root in the damp medium and take nutrients from the pumpkin as it begins to decay. Once the season ends, I’ll put the pumpkin outside to rot. The sedum will grow like a weed, and the pumpkin will turn into rich compost. Win, win!
Just returned from Negril, Jamaica. Had the opportunity to eat at Zimbali’s Mountain Cooking School and tour their organic farm with the head gardener. Mangos, sugarcane, bananas, pumpkins, coconuts, plantains, papayas, all grown there. And then the farmer drew our attention to a little ground plant called Mimosa purdica. It’s known in other countries as “Tickle Me” plant, but in Jamaica it’s name is much more sinister–“Slave Steps.” The horrible name refers to the island’s colonial past. If an enslaved person tried to escape a plantation, his or her path could be followed, because once disturbed, “Slave Steps” completely folds shut. A path of closed foliage indicated foot traffic that could lead to the poor soul trying to escape.
Big storms hit this afternoon, and in anticipation, I cut all my lavender in the cool of the morning before the plants warmed and released their fabulously-scented oil. Walked back in the house with three huge bunches I couldn’t get my hands around. Made a number of bouquets wrapped in simple twine for neighbors, my daughters, and other girlfriends. After tying the knots, I like to clean up the stems with shears so that the lengths of the stems are the same on both sides of the twine.
Fell in love with lavender when I lived in Aix-en-Provence one summer. The South of France is said to have the scent of lavender in its soul. I know the smell creates an oasis of clean and calm for me.
Weeding, cutting the grass, edging beds, and watering are incredibly rewarding and relaxing. Outside work creates moments of Zen for me, much like meditation does for others. The peace and quiet of working alone outside is heaven.
And then this happened.
This is Spud. She likes nothing better than to lie in a sunny spot in the grass or in our raised vegetable bed and oversee my gardening endeavors. I find her overly judgmental most of the time. It’s my fault really. I made a tactical error by having her outside with me while I fertilized my roses. I scratched around the bushes before fertilizing, and I should have known better. Since I had been scratching, clearly it meant that when I went inside, Spud needed to finish the job–by digging a pit and exposing the roots. It was all I could do to control myself. I’ll just consider it aeration. But she’s still fired.
There is a Celtic term, Anam Cara, meaning spirit friend. For me, Anam Cara is a place. It’s Richwood, WV, a stone’s throw from the amazingly beautiful Monongahela National Forest.
Richwood is the hometown of my good buddy Jeromy, whom I’ve visited for thirty years and with whom I’ve mule packed, swum in Rudolph Falls, canoed at midnight on Summit Lake, fished, and hiked. Breathtaking views and flora do my soul good.