Six on Saturday: The Greening of the World

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“I can breathe where there is green.

Green grows hope.

It keeps my heart beating

and helps me remember

who I am.”
.

Courtney M. Privett

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The first daffodils of spring opened in our forest garden yesterday.

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Watching the greening of the world each spring never fails to fill me with appreciation to live in such a beautiful place.  How many people live in cities or arid lands that remain clothed in shades of grey and brown throughout the year?

Without winter, I’m not sure that I would appreciate the living greens of February so much.  At the moment, every emerging leaf and stem excites me.

I want to photograph them and watch their daily progress as new growth emerges from woody stems and muddy earth.

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Green is the color of life, of growth, of change.  The simple chemistry of transforming sunlight into living bio-energy happens only in the green.  The alchemy of transforming polluted air into pure; the creation of oxygen to fill our every breath requires green leaves to filter every inhalation of breath we take.  Green sustains our lives even as it soothes our spirit.

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This is the season when the first tentative bits of green re-appear from the warming Earth.  Perennials re-awaken and stretch folded leaves and lengthening stems, reaching for sunlight and warmth.  Moss plumps and spreads,  tiny weeds and blades of grass sprout from patient seeds.

I am glad to find them all, encouraged at the stubbornness and determination of greening life to prevail over the forces of darkness.  The old and rotting will be swept away to return to the compost pile of history, releasing its remaining energy to fuel what is vital and new.

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“Pursue some path,

however narrow and crooked,

in which you can walk with love and reverence.”
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Henry David Thoreau

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Woodland Gnome 2019

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“Green is the soul of Spring.

Summer may be dappled with yellow,

Autumn with orange and Winter with white

but Spring is drenched with the colour green.”
.

Paul Kortepeter

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Sunday Dinner: The Art of Memory

February 2017 Powhatan Creek

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“When people look at my pictures
I want them to feel
the way they do
when they want to read a line of a poem twice.”
.
Robert Frank

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March 2016

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“The Earth is Art,
The Photographer is only a Witness ”
.
Yann Arthus-Bertrand

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April 2018

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“What I like about photographs
is that they capture a moment that’s gone forever,
impossible to reproduce.”
.
Karl Lagerfeld

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May 2018

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“When words become unclear,
I shall focus with photographs.
When images become inadequate,
I shall be content with silence.”
.
Ansel Adams

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June 2017

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“Taking pictures is savoring life intensely,
every hundredth of a second.”
.
Marc Riboud

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July 2018

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“While there is perhaps a province in which the photograph can tell us
nothing more than what we see with our own eyes,
there is another in which it proves to us
how little our eyes permit us to see.”
.
Dorothea Lange

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August 2018

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“To the complaint, ‘There are no people in these photographs,’
I respond, There are always two people:
the photographer and the viewer.”
.
Ansel Adams

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September 2017

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Photos by Woodland Gnome 2014-2018

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October 2014

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“Photographers tend not to photograph what they can’t see,
which is the very reason one should try to attempt it.
Otherwise we’re going to go on forever
just photographing more faces and more rooms
and more places.
Photography has to transcend description.
It has to go beyond description to bring insight into the subject,
or reveal the subject, not as it looks,
but how does it feel?”
.
Duane Michals

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October 2014

Sunday Dinner: Vision

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“While there is perhaps a province
in which the photograph can tell us nothing more
than what we see with our own eyes,
there is another in which it proves to us
how little our eyes permit us to see.”
.
Dorothea Lange

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“How you look at it
is pretty much how you’ll see it”
.
Rasheed Ogunlaru

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“The power to concentrate was the most important thing.
Living without this power
would be like opening one’s eyes
without seeing anything.”
.
Haruki Murakami

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“The more boundless your vision,
the more real you are.”
.
Deepak Chopra

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“If the doors of perception were cleansed,
everything would appear to man as it is –
infinite.”
.
William Blake

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“Your heart is able to see things
that your eyes aren’t able to.”
.
Kholoud Yasser

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“I await your sentence
with less fear than you pass it.
The time will come
when all will see what I see.”
.
Giordano Bruno

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“At the moment of vision,
the eyes see nothing.”
.
William Golding 

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Photos by Woodland Gnome 2014-2019

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“You get what you focus on.”
.
Chris Hutchinson

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“After all, … your eyes only see
what your mind lets you believe.”
.
Paul Jenkins

 

Sunday Dinner: Gardening

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“If you wish to make anything grow, you must understand it,
and understand it in a very real sense.
‘Green fingers’ are a fact,
and a mystery only to the unpracticed.
But green fingers are the extensions
of a verdant heart.”
.
Russell Page

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“The green thumb is equable in the face of nature’s uncertainties;
he moves among her mysteries
without feeling the need for control or explanations
or once-and-for-all solutions.
To garden well is to be happy
amid the babble of the objective world,
untroubled by its refusal
to be reduced by our ideas of it,
its indomitable rankness.”
.
Michael Pollan

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“It is easier to tell a person what life is not,
rather than to tell them what it is.
A child understands weeds that grow
from lack of attention, in a garden.
However, it is hard to explain the wild flowers
that one gardener calls weeds,
and another considers beautiful ground cover.”
.
Shannon L. Alder

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Photos by Woodland Gnome 2018

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“It was such a pleasure to sink one’s hands into the warm earth,
to feel at one’s fingertips
the possibilities of the new season.”
.
Kate Morton
*
With love, to the JCCWMGA Class of 2018
*

 

Time to Travel, Time to Reflect, Time to Plant, Time to Return….

Siletz Bay, Lincoln City Oregon

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“The sun rises each morning to shed light
on the things we may have overlooked
the day before.”
.
Tyler J. Hebert

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Siletz Bay, as seen from the other side along Highway 101

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It has been more than three weeks since my last post of Forest Garden, and probably long since time that I should share with you a few of my adventures.   As friends likely knew, I’ve been away, visiting some of my favorite places and spending time with some of my favorite loved ones.

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Depoe Bay, Oregon, where everyone watches for whales.

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I spend weeks preparing for the trip, and then leave home at o’dark thirty for the airport to catch one of the first planes of the morning out to Chicago.  It is worth the effort, as I’m collecting my luggage in Portland by West Coast lunchtime.  Then the long drive to the coast through some of the most beautiful scenic routes in the country, and I instantly feel ‘at home’ again.

From the beautiful Willamette Valley, where the leaves had already turned scarlet and orange to the rocky central Oregon coast, where they mostly hadn’t, I was enchanted by the beauty of every mile.

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We stopped to shop for produce and pumpkins on the way north to Tillamook.

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I spend the week with daughter and her family, marveling at how much little one has grown since I last saw her and catching up on family news.  There is time for walks on the beach, drives through the mountains, breakfasts together, playground time, and time spent exploring the beautiful Connie Hansen Garden.

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Little one loves the beach, and we found the perfect place for her to play safely.

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I love waking and ending my days listening to the pounding of the Pacific Ocean.  This time, we were blessed with calm, sunny weather.  Aside from one foggy evening and a bit of rain, the days were bright and comfortable and the ocean perfectly peaceful.

The weather was always right for whatever we chose to do.  If you know the Pacific Northwest, you know how blessed we were with this stretch of beautiful weather in the middle of October.

There are favorite places to visit and new ones to explore.   I learned a few new ‘locals’ shortcuts’ this time, and had a wonderful time on the hilly twisty roads of this stretch of coast where the mountains touch the sea.

And finally, for the first time, we spotted whales below Cape Foulweather.  We are always watching for whales at the coast, and this time there was a pod of them in the ocean far below us.

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The whales are just below the surface, and the frothy white on the surface is from their breathing. You may see their shadows below the clear blue sea. This is the view from Cape Foulweather along Highway 101.

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We soaked in the view while also keeping up with an energetic four year old!  She was much more interested in thoroughly exploring the park than in looking at whales, but I managed to still capture a photo or two.

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The view from Cape Foulweather, one of the highest point along this stretch of Highway 101 headed south towards Newport.

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On my visits to Lincoln City, I’m always happy to visit the Connie Hansen Garden to see what is growing, what has changed, and talk with the garden volunteers.

This time I was able to visit with a volunteer who is working on a major new ‘white garden’ installation.  She was still working on the soil while I was there, but I was keenly interested in her plans for planting.  And now I’m looking forward to seeing how it is coming along next year.

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A beautiful collection of heathers and heaths grow in the lower section of the Connie Hansen Garden Conservancy.

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The garden’s first owner, Dr. Connie Hansen, established many extensive collections of her favorite genera.  There are Japanese maples, Rhododendrons, many sorts of ferns, Oregon natives and at one time Iris.  A few Iris are left and a new bed established a few years ago.  But her main collection of Japanese Iris were sacrificed when the parking area was laid, after her passing, when the garden became a public Conservancy.  All of the work in the garden is still done by volunteers.

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There are many water features in the Connie Hansen garden to help manage the water that runs through this property from the surrounding neighbors’ yards.  The soil throughout the garden is nearly always moist, and so raised beds are important to grow many of the plants successfully.

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As I explored and enjoyed this beautiful Oregon garden, I was reminded of the work waiting for me at home.  October is a very busy gardening month in Virginia as well as in Oregon.  I thought of the many bulb orders I was waiting to collect and plant on my return and the chores to be done before the weather turns.

Digging the Caladiums and preparing them for winter storage was on my mind and on my ‘to do’ list as soon as I returned home.  They don’t like temperatures much below 50F, which is why they thrive in Florida, survive in Virginia’s summers, but are not grown in Oregon.

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Even in summer, Oregon nights along the coast are often too cool for heat loving plants like Caladiums, Colocasias and Alocasias.  But there are so many wonderful things they can grow year round that we can’t.  My daughter’s pansies still looked perky and fresh after growing in her garden over the past year.  Her garden is cool enough for them to grow right through the summer.

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Gunnera is related to Rhubarb, and grows to its full potential in the Pacific Northwest. This plant would likely wilt in a Virginia summer.  I don’t see it in cultivation in our area.  Ajuga carpets the ground beneath it.

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We savored every day and made the most of them all, but eventually it was time to pack for the trip home.

Those last few days were fraught with a bit of worry, because Hurricane Michael had swept through our area as a tropical storm with high winds, tornadoes and torrential rain while I was away.  I stayed in touch with friends and loved ones in the storm’s path through Virginia, and knew that our area was hard hit with downed trees and power outages.  I was nervous over what I would find waiting at home in Williamsburg.

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Hydrangeas along the coast were still gorgeous. This one grew beside the doorway where I stayed. 

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And of course, I was concerned about our own Forest Garden.  My partner spent hours and hours cleaning up and chatting with neighbors about the damage and their clean-up efforts in the days after the storm, and he was a bit vague about how much damage we had.

I knew the trees had survived, although some branches were lost.  Some shrubs had blown over, and the wind had had its way with the perennials.

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Sunset on my last night in Oregon along the beach behind where I stayed.

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The journey home was long, and it was well past midnight when we pulled back into our own drive.  I couldn’t see much, but I saw that the Dogwoods and shrubs by the drive were still standing.  My partner had done a beautiful job with his clean up and there was little left to see, except piles of broken trees along every neighborhood street.

It took several days for me to really ‘see’ what was missing- what had been edited from our familiar landscape by the winds.

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After TS Michael blew through, this was left behind in our community.

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But life is as much a process of editing as it is of adding.  The adding usually brings joy, and the editing may bring relief, or may bring sorrow.

I am finding that as I travel further along the path of my own life’s journey that editing is a fact of life.  We all find comfort in ‘simplicity’ at different stages in our lives.  Editing is required to find the promise that simplicity can hold for us.

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Broken and weathered trees are simply part of the landscape along the coast. There is a beauty to them, and a clarity to these windswept landscapes that I love.

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The days since my return have been filled to the brim with planting, planning, reflecting, writing, and the normal business of life.  I have a few projects underway that take time to bring to completion.

It is a very busy time as we use these fine October days to the utmost, before the weather shifts.  November awaits, and then winter will settle over the garden soon enough.

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I’ve spent too little time just enjoying the beauty and capturing it in photos.  I try to remember to snap a photo here and there in an odd moment, but have been at a loss to string them all together in a way that makes sense for a decent post.  I’ve not abandoned Forest Garden, just taken a bit of an extended break.

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With a little help from my friends, we’ll get those hundreds of bulbs planted soon enough!

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And now it is time to settle back into something like a routine.  Perhaps a revised routine to reflect the changing of the seasons.

I have more stories to tell, and perhaps we’ll get to them one day soon.  But for now I’ll leave you with an image I took this morning.  Something beautiful, something that shows me that life goes on, no matter how odd the journeys we make, no matter what storms may come our way.

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Our Camellias have come into bloom, just as they always do. They survived the storm with buds intact.

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Woodland Gnome 2018

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Sunday Dinner: Transposition

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“The divine laws are quite simple –
they state that every ending is the new beginning.
This world isn’t ruled only by two forces –
the Creation and the Destruction.
The third force – Transformation –
the force of Nature, exists too,
and is, in fact, the blend of the other two.”
.
Tamuna Tsertsvadze

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“What transforms this world is — knowledge.
Do you see what I mean? Nothing else
can change anything in this world.
Knowledge alone is capable of transforming the world,
while at the same time leaving it exactly as it is.
When you look at the world with knowledge,
you realize that things are unchangeable
and at the same time are constantly being transformed.”
.
Yukio Mishima

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“Scared and sacred are spelled with the same letters.
Awful proceeds from the same root word as awesome.
Terrify and terrific.
Every negative experience holds the seed of transformation.”
.
Alan Cohen

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“He was trying to find his footing
in a world both familiar and foreign”
.
H.W. Brands

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“Nobody really metamorphoses.
Cinderella is always Cinderella, just in a nicer dress.
The Ugly Duckling was always a swan, just a smaller version.
And I bet the tadpole and the caterpillar
still feel the same, even when they’re jumping and flying,
swimming and floating.

Just like I am now.”

.
Holly Smale

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“Light precedes every transition.
Whether at the end of a tunnel,
through a crack in the door or the flash of an idea,
it is always there,
heralding a new beginning.”
.
Teresa Tsalaky

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Photos by Woodland Gnome 2018

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“We must live in the radiance of tomorrow,
as our ancestors have suggested in their tales.
For what is yet to come tomorrow has possibilities,
and we must think of it, the simplest glimpse
of that possibility of goodness.
That will be our strength.
That has always been our strength.”
.
Ishmael Beah

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Wild Life Wednesday: Evening Pollinators

A moth drinks deeply from Comphrey flowers.

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Long past dinner time, as dusk settles over the garden, tiny flickering moths and fat bumblebees are still foraging for nectar.

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Two moths share these sweet Physostegia virginiana.

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We were just coming home, and camera in hand, I went to have a last look at the garden.  These little moths were fluttering so fast they weren’t much more than a blur to my eye.

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I was amazed to find them everywhere this evening, on so many different plants.  Their wings blurred like the fast beating wings of a hummingbird, or a hummingbird moth, and I wasn’t quite sure what I was seeing in motion.  One might imagine them to be tiny fairies, playing from plant to plant.

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The garden still whirred and chirped with life this evening as darkness gathered.  Most of the paths are still closed off with tumbled perennials after our days of wind and rain.  I had to lift and push past and step carefully over to find my way around.  It needs a bit of tidying again, but the creatures don’t mind.  They probably prefer this wildness.

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But the sun shone brightly today.  The air, not quite crisp, was cooler and no longer oppressive with humidity.  With Florence well past, we are feeling lighter, brighter, and a bit more optimistic.  We left home by mid-morning, heading north to see what we could see.

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Cane Begonias have covered themselves with bright flowers, finally, now that the season draws to its close.  These flowers offer sweet nectar, too.

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I forget sometimes, how much wildlife calls our garden home.  This afternoon we found a golden turtle waiting for us by the garage door.  I wonder if he’d ventured out of his usual hiding places to sample some fallen grapes while we were away.

But there he was, waiting, as we got our of the car.  His neck was fully extended as he watched us approach, trusting that he was welcome there and safe.  We were glad to see him, and a bit surprised as well.  He usually stays well-hidden in the undergrowth lower in the garden.

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Bumblebees share the Rudbeckia, even into the night.

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From the tiniest skinks waiting on the windowsill, to the hummingbirds resting on a branch beside the kitchen window, we are surrounded by beautiful creatures here.

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This dragonfly stopped to watch me photographing flowers yesterday, and waited patiently as I captured his image, too.

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They are already up and foraging when the sun rises, and others still busily flying about into the night  Their comings and goings remain cloaked in mystery to us.  We see only tiny slices of their lives.

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We’ve seen hummingbirds still feeding on the ginger lilies late into the evening.

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And  we hear their music deep into the night.  Owls call, geese sing to us as they fly low over the ravine and over the roof.  There is a low melody of insects playing lullabies after sunset.  Then songbirds begin greeting the morning well before dawn.

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Hardy Begonia naturalizes in shady spots in the garden.

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These are the familiar sounds of summer drawing to a close, a celebration of life, even as the seasons change again.

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Woodland Gnome 2018
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“There’s an exact moment for leaping into the lives of wild animals.
You have to feel their lives first, how they fit the world around them.
It’s like the beat of music.
Their eyes, the sounds they make, their head,
movements, their feet and their whole body,
the closeness of things around them –
all this and more make up
the way they perceive and adjust to their world.”
.
Richard O’Barry

 

Moss: Let It Grow

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I love plush, moist green moss.  And I am always interested in reading about how other gardeners grow their moss.  Imagine my delight to come across a beautifully photographed feature on Dale Sievert’s gorgeous Wisconsin moss garden in the Fall 2018 Country Gardens magazine.  If you love moss, please treat yourself to this issue.

“The color green engenders a great sense of tranquility,

peace and serenity.” 

Dale Sievert

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I am always looking for simple and effective ways to get moss to grow both in shady spots in the garden and also in pots.  The keys to good moss growth remain steady moisture and reliable shade.   Wonderfully, moss spores are often carried on the wind, ready to grow when they land in a place that offers the moisture and shade that allow them to grow.

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A moss garden I constructed in February of 2012 using stones picked up on the beach in Oregon.

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The first stage of moss growth looks more like algae than like typical moss.  It is low, smooth and moist looking.  From this, the buds and rhizoids will form, soon growing into recognizable moss plants.

If you live in a wet area, you likely see this early growth of moss on brick and stone and clay pots quite often.  If you love mosses as I do, you might also be looking for ways to assist this process to get moss established exactly where you want it to grow.

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And I think I just discovered a new way to encourage moss growth that doesn’t involve organic milkshakes made with beer, buttermilk or yogurt.  Some writers swear by the efficacy of whirring up moss with one of these in a blender and painting it onto stones and walls.  Others say they’ve only ended up with a smelly mess.  I’ve put that experiment off to another day!

But I noticed recently, that the perlite topping off the soil mix of some newly potted up little trees, has turned green.

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I potted up these rooted Acer cuttings within the last month, and moved them out to a shady spot on the deck to grow on.  You can imagine my delight at seeing a fresh green sheen on the perlite!  Is this an early growth of moss from airborne spores?

Think of perlite as ‘popcorn rock.’  It is volcanic rock that has been super heated to more than 1500F, where it puffs up and expands, now riddled with airways.   Perlite is light, soft and fine grained, making a valuable addition to improve texture and drainage in potting soil.

It is also very good for rooting cuttings because it holds moisture so well, while also allowing air to permeate the soil.  This helps to prevent rot in the stem and new roots of the cutting.

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So it makes sense that moist perlite is a great medium for growing moss.  It isn’t a smooth base, like so many gardeners recommend for getting transplanted mosses established.  But it is a wonderful material for the moss rhizoids (not roots) to anchor onto as the plant develops.

Remember that mosses don’t have any roots.  They absorb moisture directly through their cell walls into the structure of the plant.

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That is why rain, fog and mist encourage moss to grow.  If you are trying to encourage moss to grow, remember to keep the plants and their growing medium misted and moist.

I’ve been wanting to grow a sheet of moss for a while now, and picked up a terra cotta tray recently for that purpose.  Once I saw Dale’s gorgeous moss covered stones in the CG article, I’ve been thinking about how I can replicate the effect for my own pots.  Once I saw the moss growing on perlite last week, an idea began to form to make it happen.

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A layer of perlite covers a thin layer of peat based potting soil in this terracotta tray. Terracotta also helps to hold moisture.

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I’ve poured a thin layer of regular potting soil into the terra cotta tray, and topped off the soil with a layer of perlite.  I moistened the medium well, and then went out into the garden hunting for a few clumps of moss.  Some moss gardeners recommend breaking found moss up into tiny bits to sow into a new medium.

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You don’t have to worry about having roots as you would with a vascular perennial.  Moss just wants to grow!  So I broke my hunks up into very small bits, and pushed them firmly down into the perlite before watering it all in.  I’ve set some stones among the bits of moss, hoping that by keeping it all damp I can encourage moss to grow on these small rocks.  I’d count that as a major victory in my moss growing efforts!

It is still damp and rainy today as the remnants of Hurricane Florence bring us a bit more rain even as they blow northwards and out to sea.  It is a good day for moss, and our garden is still very damp from days and days of rain.

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I have this terra cotta tray set in the shade on the deck this afternoon.  When the weather turns dry again, I may tuck it into a plastic bag or cover it with a clear plastic box while the moss establishes.  But the moss in the Acer pots didn’t get any special treatment; this may not need covering, either, as our weather cools.

I want moss to grow on these stones so I can use them as decorative accents in our winter pots.  I haven’t decided whether to simply keep the tray of moss growing for its own sake, or whether to use sheets of the moss in pots.  Either way, I’ll show you what this experiment does in the weeks ahead.

If you love moss as I do, then you may want to try this simple method for growing it, too.

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Woodland Gnome

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The Mossy Creek Pottery Garden, Lincoln City, Oregon

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“There is an ancient conversation going on between mosses and rocks
poetry to be sure. About light and shadow and the drift of continents.
This is what has been called the “dialect of moss on stone –
an interface of immensity and minuteness, of past and present,
softness and hardness, stillness and vibrancy, yin and yan.”
.
Robin Wall Kimmerer

Wild Life Wednesday: All Calm Before the Storm

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It was gently raining when we awakened this morning, but the sun was breaking through along the horizon by the time we made it outside into the new day.

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An early morning bumbly enjoys the sweetness of Rudbeckia laciniata.

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We are all very conscious of the weather here in coastal Virginia this week as we watch the updates on the progress of Hurricane Florence.  We are on high ground and so flooding isn’t a concern.  But we live in a forest, and any amount of wind can change the landscape here; especially when the ground is saturated.

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The Solidago, goldenrod, has just begun to bloom.

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It looks as though the storm will make landfall far to our south, and the track no longer suggests it might travel northwards into Central Virginia.  Yet Florence remains a dangerous storm, and is absolutely huge.  We may start feeling its outer bands of rain and wind sometime tomorrow or Friday.

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Rose of Sharon

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Which made today all the sweeter.  Do you know the Japanese term, Wabi-Sabi?  The Japanese find beauty in the transience and ultimate imperfection of all phenomena.  The impermanence and changeability of the world around us heightens our appreciation of its beauty.  We can appreciate things while feeling a deep tenderness for their inherent imperfection.

I was pondering these things this morning as I wandered through our upper garden, wondering how it might appear in a day or so after wind and heavy rain have their way with it.  Already, our tall goldenrod and black-eyed Susans lean over into the paths, making them almost disappear in the abundance of growth.

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It is my first time wandering through the garden like this since I got a nasty insect bite last Friday afternoon.  It is still a mystery what bit me, as I was fully armored to work outdoors.  It was a small bite at first, but quickly blistered and swelled up to a massive angry red blotch that stretched several inches away from the original bite on my knee.  It has been a slow process of tending it, and I stayed indoors until yesterday, hoping to avoid another until this one was resolved.

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Ginger lily with orbs

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But today I was out in the early morning wetness, capturing the beauty of it, and trying to ignore the mosquitoes greeting me along the way.  I wanted to see everything and admire everything on the chance that the coming storm will shatter its early September magnificence.  It was the beautiful calm before the storm, and we have taken today to celebrate it.

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The rain was past and the day gilded with golden September sunshine when we set out along the Colonial Parkway to see the sky and watch the rising waters along the James and York Rivers.  If you’ve never seen the sky filled with enormous, rain shadowed clouds in the day or two before a hurricane approaches, you’ve missed one of the most beautiful spectacles of atmospheric art.

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Yorktown Beach, looking northwards towards Gloucester Point and the Virginia Institute of Marine Science

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The clouds are arrayed in regular, rhythmic patterns, punctuated here and there with towering, monstrous storm clouds.  The sky is blue and clear beyond them.  They float rapidly across the sky, these outer bands of the approaching storm.  These days of waiting are moody, morphing quickly from dull to golden and clear blue to stormy grey.

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One keeps an eye on the sky while pacing through the rituals of preparing.   There is an edge to the mood as highways fill with strangers moving northwards, inland, away from home and into an uncertain future.  We encountered one today at the next gas pump who needed to tell us he was traveling, just passing through, on his journey to somewhere safer than here.

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We found a nearby parking lot filled this morning with state police, huge generators, Klieg lights, and emergency response trailers.  The lot was filled at eight, but emptying out just a few hours later.  We’re still wondering where the equipment will ultimately end up.  We hope not here…

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Jones Mill Pond, near Yorktown on the Colonial Parkway

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I wondered whether the butterflies would move out ahead of the storm.  But we counted more than a dozen as we drove along the Parkway from Jamestown to Yorktown.   We saw mostly small ones, Sulphurs, but we were glad for their happy fluttering along the roadside.  We noticed the tide is already high along the way.  Jamestown Island is closed as preparations there continue.

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The rivers lap high up into the reeds, mostly covering the narrow, sandy river beaches.  The York River is already climbing the rip rap hardened banks constructed a few summers ago to protect the shoreline.  Small Coast Guard craft patrolled the river near Yorktown, but that didn’t deter a few families here and there, determined to enjoy this bright and sultry day at the beach.

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The York River, looking eastwards towards the Bay.

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The lizards were scampering around the drive and back steps when we returned home.  They’d been basking in the mid-day sun; our return disturbed their peace.

The squirrels had been at the grapes again, and we saw a pair of hummingbirds light in a Rose of Sharon tree nearby, watching us arrive.

It was too silent, though.  We didn’t hear the usual chatter of songbirds in the trees.  It was still, too.  Though the wind was blowing off the rivers, here the air hung heavy and still.

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Our Muscadine grapes are ripening over a long season.

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I believe in luck and omens, and perhaps that is why I planted a few little pots of Baptisia seeds this morning.  I’d knicked the seed pods from a plant I’ve watched growing all summer at the Botanical garden, and carried them in my pocket for weeks.

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With the seeds tucked into little pots out on the deck, I’m already thinking of the sprouts that will soon emerge.  Life goes on.  I believe that is the wisdom of wabi-sabi.

No matter the current circumstance, change is constant.  We can’t outrun it, or stop it.  Wisdom invites us to embrace it, observe its power, and find the ever-present beauty, come what may.

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This beautiful cluster of lichens was waiting for me beneath a shrub this morning.

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Woodland Gnome 2018
*  *  *
“To Taoism that which is absolutely still or absolutely perfect
is absolutely dead,
for without the possibility of growth and change there can be no Tao.
In reality there is nothing in the universe
which is completely perfect or completely still;
it is only in the minds of men that such concepts exist.”
.
Alan Watts

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“But when does something’s destiny finally come to fruition?
Is the plant complete when it flowers?
When it goes to seed? When the seeds sprout?
When everything turns into compost?”
.
Leonard Koren

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Begonia

 

Autumn’s Textures and Layers

Our Forest Garden is filled with growth this first week of September.

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Last Friday, I had the rare privilege of tagging along on a garden tour led by one of our region’s most beloved and respected horticulturalists, Brent Heath.  And he began the tour by reminding us that color in the garden is secondary to texture and form.  He reminded us that only about 10% of the vegetation in a good garden design should be flowers.  Considering that his business sells a rainbow of geophytes that bloom in every season of the year, this bit of advice seemed important to note.

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Late August at the Heath’s display gardens

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Although Brent and Becky’s catalogs may be filled with seas of golden daffodils and page after page of bright lilies, tulips, Iris, hyacinths and other garden delicacies; their display gardens around the bulb shop are more of an arboretum, filled with interesting woodies set in beautiful lawns.  And yes, within the vast green spaces grow beautiful beds of perennials.

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Brent and Becky Heath’s Gloucester display garden December 4, 2015

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In the spring we crave those crazy bright yellow daffodils and clear bright tulips, crocus, and hyacinths.  We revel in fluffy pink clouds of blooming fruit trees and early Magnolias.  But by late summer, I am cooled and soothed by layer upon layer of green.

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Oakleaf Hydrangea, Edgeworthia, Camellia, Rudbeckia, Solidago and the surrounding trees create many layers of texture in our garden this week.  How many different shades of green can you see?

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By early September, our garden approaches its maximum growth for the season.  It is filled with leaves of many shapes, sizes, and shades of green.  Tall stands of Solidago reach up for their bit of sunlight, their tops feathery and alive, shifting and shimmying in every breath of a breeze.  Likewise Cannas, Hibiscus and ginger lilies have grown taller than me, and moving through the garden feels like winding through a living, breathing maze.

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I feel sheltered and cocooned standing in the midst of it, marveling at how much has grown over the past few months.  The secret to this garden magic comes from planting in layers.  Literally, one might have several plants sharing the same square foot of real estate, that grow to different heights and that take center stage at different times of the year.  Herbaceous plants come and go with the seasons, while the woodies and evergreen ground covers remain.

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Obedient plant, Black-eyed Susans, goldenrod and other natives grow against shrubs in our front garden. This area is underplanted with spring bulbs and perennial ground covers like Vinca and Ajuga.

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But even beyond seasonal layering, we build more permanent layers with trees and shrubs of various statures, ground cover vines, evergreen ferns and perennials such as bearded Iris, and the architecture of pergolas and pots, walls, gates, paths and raised beds.  Everywhere the eye can rest offers a layer of structure.  Much of the structure is green, and every layer offers its own special texture to the mix.

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Perennial native mistflower, Conoclinium coelestinum, grows at the base of Canna and Colocasia in this sunny spot.

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“Green’ describes a multitude of shades, multiplied further by the ever changing light and shadows.  This is, perhaps, a reason to favor perennials over annuals.  Perennials fill the garden with interesting texture and color, both before and after their much shorter season of bloom.

The annuals certainly charm us in March in April when we crave color.  But by late August and September, most have begun to wane.  They show the ravages of drought and time.  If we’ve not cut them back hard, the growth may be a bit old and rangy, perhaps dying off in spots.

 

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Annual Zinnias fill beds at the Williamsburg Botanical Garden.

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But worse, annuals may not improve that much over the long coastal Virginia summer.  You lose the subtleties of change enjoyed as perennials grow, bud, bloom and fade.  I look at so many pots of summer annuals now and think, ‘Ick.’  Many looked tired out and nearly ready for the compost pile.

And good riddance, as we approach another ‘golden season’ of Rudbeckias, goldenrods, Chrysanthemums, Lycoris, ginger lilies and soon autumn’s golden leaves.

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The garden will revel in a final burst of gold and scarlet and orange before it finally settles and fades again to browns and grey; and before the first frosts of winter transform it, yet again.

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Scarlet Pineapple Sage has just begun to bloom in our garden this week, to the delight of hummingbirds and butterflies.

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Woodland Gnome 2018

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