Kate smudges in earth, paint and life

  It's Canadian Thanksgiving here today, although it feels more like a winter holiday. Yesterday we had a big snowstorm and woke this morning to 17 cm of snow.

My son's papa is here this weekend and so I am staying at my parent's place. I took this photograph of the playhouse we had as children. It now serves as a storage shed, but it still brings back many childhood memories.

It's hard to believe that I was wearing shorts last week and had a sensation that summer was still with us. Today I feel as if we are in the middle of winter. It's a sunny and still day and quite beautiful outside. There is much to be thankful for. My son's sixteenth birthday is today and I am so thankful to have him in my life.

My apologies for not blogging recently and visiting blogs. I am going to spend this coming week catching up …

After the wind died down this evening, I sat out in the back garden and found myself thinking about the many wonderful things that have come to pass this summer. The garden has been spectacular all summer long and continues to fill me with happiness. New blooms appear daily, keeping my senses awash in colour and in scent. One of the good things about preparing for a garden tour is that one can spend far more time relaxing in the garden afterwards. All of those niggling garden jobs were done and now it is just maintenance until fall.

When evening comes, the Japanese solar lanterns create such an ambience that it makes it pleasurable to sit for hours and visit or read or, as tonight, just spend some quiet time lost in my thoughts. (I have Robin, of Bumblebee Garden to thank for putting me onto these lanterns. Thanks, Robin!!) I also have Rox,  who we dubbed my garden lighting consultant, to thank for putting up some of the lanterns in places I couldn’t reach. He joked that the only reason I was friends with him was because he owned an eight-foot ladder. Not true – we’ve enjoyed many a glass of wine in the back garden this summer.

Several family visited this summer and I have many good memories of these visits – they often involved sitting in the garden. My friends regularly visited and sat in the back garden on hot sunny days and evenings and there was much laughter and fun.

I’ve also discovered my love of photographing the flowers in the garden. I sometimes wonder if the flowers enjoy all the attention or are they silently thinking, ‘Enough, already’? ‘My blogging has taken a backseat while I take endless photographs, learning more about my camera and becoming familiar with Flickr. I’ve made many new friends at Flickr and have loved getting to know the many generous and thoughtful people there.

This summer, I’ve been especially thrilled as my new daylilies and lilies bloomed.

If I had a bigger garden, I can see adding many more of each to the garden.I realise how much I’ve gained from reading the blogs of all my blogging friends. Not only have I benefited from all the collective wisdom and advice about growing and tending plants, but also I’ve read many thoughtful and inspiring posts that has given my life an added depth and richness. Nourishment for my soul through all seasons …

This post is for you, Ellen, of the entertaining, thought-provoking and eminently readable blog, Our Friend Ben. Ellen’s blog is well worth visiting. I guarantee that you’ll be glad you did. Thank you, Ellen, for nudging me gently back into the blogging world.

At right is one of my most cherished flowers, made many summers ago, by my oldest niece, Sarah. One summer, we spent endless hours crafting all manner of flowers, animals and objects out of FIMO. We intended to sell all of our items on the main street of a town near our family cottage, Fort Qu’Appelle. My mum put a stop to that though, so I’ve ended up with a lovely and treasured collection. Sarah’s younger sister, Vanessa, also crafted many objects as well.

I apologise for not having done much blogging for several weeks, since I was busy preparing my garden for the Regina Secret Gardens Tour which was held from 18 July through 20 July. The Tour is a successful fundraiser for a wonderful local modern dance group, New Dance Horizons. It was an exhilarating and fascinating experience. The Tour was well organised and has been a popular summer event in Regina for the past eleven years.

It was with much trepidation that I prepared to open my garden to the public. There seemed endless tasks to accomplish which I am now  happy to have behind me.

My garden has always been an intensely private space for me and has rarely had more than a handful of people in it at one time. Contemplating strangers wandering about was disconcerting and a bit of an internal struggle.

Several days before the Secret Gardens Tour was to open, the participating gardeners and friends of New Dance Horizons had a pre-tour. It was so much fun getting to know other gardeners and having an opportunity to see their gardens. I anticipated that I would have a chance over the Tour weekend to spend time going through these gardens again. 

Little did I know then, that nearly 500 people would visit my garden, beginning last Friday evening. As a night garden on the Tour, I had spent much time arranging to have enough lighting so that the garden would be visible when darkness fell. I was so happy to find Shoji solar lanterns from a Canadian garden supply store. The lanterns were a huge hit, casting beautiful light and shadows in the garden and on the stenciled garage wall. I had help from my friend, Rox, who I dubbed my garden lighting consultant.

I had planned to take many photographs during the weekend, but found that I spent all my time answering questions and having lively discussions with the many gardeners who toured my garden throughout the weekend. 

Since the Secret Gardens Tour ended, I have spent most of my time sitting in the garden and enjoying it. Thankfully the Tour was last weekend, since we have since had a torrential rainstorm with hail and the next day, a thunderstorm that partially flooded the basement. The garden is looking somewhat battered, but many of the flowers (above left, the Evolvulus glomeratus ‘Blue Daze’  and, above right, the Salvia guaranitica ‘Black and Blue’) are blooming with abandon.

Now I have a renewed appreciation for the amount of time and effort that goes into opening one’s garden for a public tour.

 
When the gardener slowly ambled near, we put on our best display and silently willed her to look our way.
“Begonias,” she muttered, “I haven’t had any in my garden for at least twenty-five years.”

“That’s why,” we gently pleaded, “you must take us home and become reacquainted with our beauty.”

The gardener felt drawn to our beautiful soft white blooms and our lovely burgundy-veined leaves. We truly are vastly different from those she remembered upon first planting begonias.  As she dug through her memories, she had a clear vision of those long ago planted begonias. They often had reminded her of kindergarten-aged children silently lined up waiting their turn for the bathroom.

Always one to experiment with plants different from her usual favourites, the gardener chose us and happily planted us in a lovely deep purple-collaged flower pot. Knowing that we must wow her with our carefree existence and our innate loveliness, we are intent on putting on a beautiful show.

It isn’t exactly a chore since we drape nicely over her pot, opening initially as pale pink flowers and gradually transforming ourselves into multiple white blooms with a pale green-tinged centre.

We have vowed to keep flowering throughout the summer. Perhaps, if we are fortunate, we shall return indoors in autumn to keep the other tender plants company.

What we enjoy most about our gardener is how she weaves tales about her plants. It was a special evening, as she sat out on the porch, regaling us with stories of our origins. She told us that we were first discovered in 1650, by a South American explorer, Francisco Hernandez, and that we travelled over the high seas to Europe where we fast became favourites in scientific botanical gardens. Thankfully, we avoided any daring pirate ships.

According to one source, most tuberous begonias, of which we proudly claim membership, can be traced back to the four original species discovered by the intrepid English plant hunter, Richard Pearce. Thankfully, he came upon us in Peru and Bolivia in 1864.That perked us up – we’ve a long and illustrious pedigree. Perhaps that’s why the tango and Choro music the gardener plays on the mandolin resonates so well with us.

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 Every morning this past week, I have gone out to my front garden and buried my nose in the hauntingly-beautiful fragrance of the Dianthus superbus (aka pinks). I could look at the deeply-fringed flowers of this pink forever. Luckily, for me, I have several clumps of this flower in my garden.

I came across this flower many years ago when it was in bloom and purchased one. Looking back, it was one of the flowers that inspired my gardening passion. It is easy to grow, if given a light, well-drained soil. It does particularly well in this climate, where high humidity and heat are not a problem. If deadheaded regularly, the flowers last for much of the summer.

On a warm summer’s evening, there are few pleasures quite as delightful as breathing in the scent of these pinks. It is truly intoxicating. While I love most rock garden pinks, these are, by far, my favourites. I have never understood why this particular pink is so rare in gardens. My solution is to grow it from seed which is, thankfully, easy to do.

Pinks, which also include the ubiquitous carnation, have a long and rich history. They received the name, Dianthus, by Linnaeus in 1737, from the Greek, signifying divine and flowers. The common name, pinks, is thought to have originated from the look of the petals – as if they had been cut by pinking shears. Pinks were called gillyflowers for centuries – their name originating from the French, girofle, which means cloves (alluding to the clove-like scent of the flowers). In her book, The Language of Flowers, Marina Heilmeyer talks of how the French army during Napoleon’s time wore pinks in their lapels to signify their bravery.

In England, pinks were generally shunned by the aristocracy, which gave rise to pinks being regarded by the lower classes as flowers standing for bravery and love.

Awe is what the soul feeds upon.

( Fay Weldon, What Makes Women Happy, p. 96)

Photograph taken on 21 Jun 2008 in my back garden.

The Columbines have definitely been intent on increasing their numbers this spring. And why wouldn't they? It always helps to have enough dance partners attending the annual spring fête. Many showed up this year to create a dance well worth watching as it unfolded for days on end.

Columbines will always have a pride of place in my garden. I love the way they appear wherever their hearts' desire. The fun part is that one never quite knows what colours they will be – from pale yellow and white flowers one spring, lovely blue flowers appeared the next. 

This year, the 
dark mauve/blues predominated with a few magenta and shell pinks emerging as well.

As with all flowers in my garden, the conversations between the Columbines have been entertaining and have made for some fascinating eavesdropping.

I discovered that, even though my plants are not long-lived and self seed merrily, they are well aware of their long histories and their medicinal uses for centuries. 

They love the way their name originated and enjoyed hearing me read to them from  Marina Heilmeyer's book, The Language of Flowers (p. 20):

There is no clear explanation for the Late or Middle Latin name aquilegia the monks gave to the columbine. The term may derive from the Latin aquila, the 'eagle', because the spurs of the flower resemble an eagle's hooked beak and talons. The shape of the bloom's nectar gland does slightly resemble a dove, hence the English name columbine (from Latin columba 'dove'). This in turn led to the flower of the columbine taking the place of the dove as the symbol of the Holy Ghost….

The plants quite like knowing that they were planted in monastery and castle gardens alike, as early as the twelfth century, both for medicinal purposes and for their beauty.

When I told them of their importance as a protection against evil spirits and as an aphrodisiac, well, they were most content.

Of course, they said, we could have told you that just as easily. They were quite aware, said they, that people saw a pentagram in their flower shapes and that's how their ability to keep evil at bay originated. 

They also were delighted to discover that William Morris had a particular fondness for them, planting them in his gardens and including them in his designs.

 Finally – I have rhubarb in my garden courtesy of my parents prolific rhubarb plants. Last month I mentioned to my parents that I'd like a small chunk of one of their rhubarb plants. I love watching rhubarb grow and love eating it. More importantly though, I wanted to have a part of their beloved garden in mine. That same day, my dad arrived bearing a big chunk (pictured here). I was so pleased and decided immediately to plant it among the roses and the Black Elder bush growing in the front garden. Rhubarb likes sun and that seemed the best place.

Suddenly I found myself rethinking my front garden. These days, I have been preoccupied by the question Michael Pollan so bluntly asked in his book In Defence of Food: Do you know where your food comes from? Rather a simple question I thought until I began thinking carefully about all the foodstuffs we eat. So I am determined to grow more of my own food. I'm starting small this year and adding several herbs and veggies to my front garden. Next year, I will rent a plot in a community garden and start a bigger vegetable garden.

What's not to love about rhubarb? It grows incredibly well in this harsh climate, faithfully appearing every spring. I love walking the dog down our back lane and looking at all the rhubarb growing in so many gardens and in the lane.

What I especially love though, is having long-held memories come floating back. I can so clearly remember my mother picking rhubarb and presenting us with short stalks and a small bowl of sugar. In those days, our sugar consumption was pretty limited, so this was a treat of monumental proportions. My older sister and brother and I would lick the end of the rhubarb and carefully twirl it in the sugar. We'd spend what then seemed an eternity slowly sucking on the sugar as it mingled with the rather tart taste of the rhubarb. It was a little glimpse of heaven for each of us. And then we returned to our play.

When my dad presented me with some huge rhubarb stalks (60 cm/2 feet long) on Wednesday, I immediately knew what I would do with them. I made a rhubarb and strawberry crisp (pictured here), liberally flavoured with cardamon, mace, ginger. cinnamon and nutmeg. I added some unsweetened coconut and a handful of walnuts to the oats, flour and brown sugar mixture. The aromas wafting through the kitchen helped ease the work of wet vacuuming the downstairs carpet, flooded from all of the rain we've had.

I'm looking forward to sharing this dessert with my friend Kerry tonight – another big rhubarb fan. Served with plain yogurt or vanilla ice cream – a wonderful taste experience.