Cultivation

‘I found quite quickly that nothing bored people so immediately and completely as botany.’ — Nan Fairbrother, An English Year

 

 

 

At the risk of being boring… botany and macro-photography of the plant world is something I enjoy. I am just a keen amateur, of course, but when the photography suggestion for the week was ‘Order‘… I immediately thought of seed pods. These are some recent pictures I took of my faded peony. The flowers were stunning–and I did get many pictures of those–but, to me, the seed pods are even more fascinating. (They suggest to me fuzzy slippers, strewn with the limp confetti of spent petals and popped balloon detritus, and a warm and cozy morning after a really good party the night before, which can now be endlessly discussed at leisure and over several cups of coffee while we ponder Who Came and What Was Said.)

But what, I wondered, was inside? So I sliced one in half to peek into the busy command central of future flower production.

Within these tiny packets is an irony. There are few things more DIS-orderly than an untended garden. Yet seed production in the world of plants is an example of order in the most breathtaking sense of the word.

Where the seeds go, and how they are tended is where the hand of man comes in.

‘Each family of flowers—rose, daisy, buttercup—is like a theme of music, and the different species are variations on it.’ — Nan Fairbrother

FairbrotherEnglishYearI am currently re-reading excerpts from Nan Fairbrother’s An English Year.  I return to this book often, actually, as it’s the sort of book not easily absorbed in just one sitting.

When it comes to plants, we connect quite sympathetically:

‘It was on these days that I came to know and love the country. I travelled for miles around, for an active child can go a long way on a bicycle in eight hours. I became so familiar with the trees and flowers that they were nearer and far dearer than any people. I saved up and bought Johns’s Flowers of the Field… I learnt to run down in a flora the flowers I did not know. I struggled with botany books on osmotic pressure and the history of flowering plants and the difference in structure between monocotyledons and dicotyledons.’

And perhaps, if she were alive today, she might also be slicing seed pods, arranging them in the best light, (perhaps while balancing them on her knees) and holding a little phone camera as steadily as possible to best capture an interior world and glimpses of a colorful future.

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Nan Fairbrother

Where Character Comes From

Brassy.”

It’s Friday, so I like to start Happy Hour early. Here’s a bit of Ogden Nash-esque whimsy for you:

Your brassy hues, my dear

Give us cause to wonder

Are you as bold as your hair suggests

Or did your stylist blunder?

A poem born from painful memory of my first salon experience…but as the accompanying picture suggests, brassy, coppery hues and a certain scorched, peeling appearance from desiccated matter can be quite lovely in nature. Just not on me.

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I have known some fabulous, capable hairdressers since that early experience, but I must admit something of the trauma stayed with me and thus my character Mary Ringwell was born. I did grow to like Mary a great deal as I wrote about her, and in the end, she was made to be very happy. 🙂 Here’s an excerpt from the story, which was set in the early 1920’s. I had to research a lot of the hair-styling gizmos from that period to make sure I had Mary well established.

‘The next installment of Encyclopedia Britannica had arrived, volumes E through H, and Allegra was heavily involved in the life of Victor Hugo when an excited whisper broke into her concentration.

“I’ve got something to tell you that will get your nose out of that book for a while.”

It was the arbiter of taste, Mary Ringwell, a small and lively blonde with an unlimited supply of optimism. Being the only hairdresser in town, having set up shop with the newest and latest in hair technology, Mary was also the self-styled expert in matters related to glamour, fashion, and romance. Ever since Allegra had been singled out as the most appropriate target for her expertise, a strange sort of friendship had existed between them. For Mary, it had overtones of a religious crusade, to bring some fun and excitement into ‘the poor girl’s drab existence’. For Allegra, it was more attention than anyone had ever showered her with, and for that reason she found the relationship oddly fascinating in spite of herself.’ [from A Garden for Allegra]

Enjoy the weekend!

Odysseus Was Just Here (plus a haiku)

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That one perfect drop
Shimmers with just a sweet trace
Of yesterday’s sun

Last night I strolled through the garden, enjoying the air freshened from the rain, the golden light of pre-dusk, and the intense scattering of water droplets.

In a fanciful mood, and with a glass of scotch in hand, one might call to mind history’s greatest criers, in fact and fiction. You could imagine, for example, that the mighty Odysseus had just wandered, (brooding) through the garden previous to my own visit, shedding his epic tears; lamenting his lost friends.

‘His eyes never dry, his sweet life flowing away with tears…’ [Odyssey, Book V]

Or that Dorothy Parker had just wafted past, weeping while exuding brilliantly tragic commentary, (she, crying, while everyone else is laughing delightedly at her wit) trailing long, drifty caftan sleeves and drinking gin. The largest, most lustrous rain droplets would surely have been her tears.

In truth, yesterday’s rainstorm left ‘tears’ of the happiest kind. Here are a few pictures I took in the early evening.

Pink is Deep

garden books by Louise Beebe Wilder

A selection of garden books by Louise Beebe Wilder

Louise Beebe Wilder has a lot to say on the subject of pink. The writer (in this house, the beloved writer) of Color in My Garden and later, The Garden in Color, is something of an authority.

I read her words on the subject of pink with a mingling of modern amusement (thank our snarky age of disbelief) and respectful awe.

There is a chapter on ‘Rose Pink’, but her chapter entirely devoted to the strangely unloved ‘Magenta the Maligned‘ is not to be missed. If you’re a gardener, or even an artist who works from, and is inspired by, color, there are some eye opening opinions here.

Besides, perhaps, the mysterious ‘puce’, made famous by Georgette Heyer’s books, (oh, the intrigues of a ‘puce sarsinet’)….. I had never known a color to be so despised. Apparently it is the undertone of purple that causes the problem? The problem described by Wilder as:

‘the horror of great masses of magenta phlox and tiger lilies…’ planted in old ladies’ gardens…

At any rate, ‘rose pink’ is beyond reproach in the June garden, whereas ‘magenta’? Viewed with suspicion and distrust. There is not much that raises the ire of a pleasant writer such as Louise Beebe Wilder, but she certainly vents against those, as she terms it, ‘the sins of our nurserymen who try to pass off magenta as rose pink’.

As you can see, strong terms are used against this shade of pink.

The pictures I have chosen to accompany this post are ones I took just yesterday, from my own garden. Pink is very much the color of the season around here, and I would like to think we are all innocent fluffiness in our pink associations. Nothing ‘horrible’ or ‘tasteless’.  I would like to think that Wilder would have felt safe having tea in my garden, and highly approved of this color; it is closer to what she would call ‘rose pink’, than the virulent magenta.

But in case you’re curious about the magenta prejudice from other gardeners, here are a few quotes from Wilder’s book:

‘Nearly every writer upon garden topics pauses in his praise of other flower colors to give the despised one a rap in passing.’ [the ‘despised one’ i.e. magenta]

Mr. Bowles: ‘That awful form of floral original sin, magenta.’

Gertrude Jekyll: ‘Malignant magenta’.

Mrs. Alice Morse Earl: ‘usually so sympathetic and tender toward all flowers, says that, “even the word magenta”, seen often in the pages of her charming book, “makes the black and white look cheap.”‘ — From Color in My Garden

So there you have it. Who knew? Pink is deep.