101 Gardens To See Before I Die

I'm still working on the complete list, but definitely one on my "must see" gardens was Thuya Garden & Lodge in Northeast Harbor, Maine. It only took a small fortune to secretly bribe each of my children to let me take the most delightful afternoon of our vacation to steal away for a self-indulgent day trip. Designed by notable, and self-taught, landscape designer Charles Savage, Thuya Garden offers a splendid perennial border garden in the fashion of Gertrude Jekyll's famed English gardens. Absolutely, this would be one to remember.

Through the front gate, the first evergreens I noticed were none other than two overgrown Picea glabra, Dwarf Alberta Spruce -- the same plants ubiquitous to gas station landscapes and grocery store garden sections, and most definitely the last plant I would have expected to see at Thuya.

(Note: There is not a place in the modern world for "garden critics," so as a general rule, I try not to be critical of plant selections or garden structure of other designers. Rather, I work to make myself consider more thoughtfully what the designer was trying to accomplish. I may still not like the idea, but at least I can appreciate what someone else did.)

Then, I walked on a short path to the perennial gardens. At first look, I thought the mix of colors was too intense, too varied and too unplanned. I had expected a progression of colors cool to hot, but felt a bit disappointed when a lovely mix of blues, violets and whites was missing a small taste of yellow to bring out the intensity of the palette. Instead, a ruddy orange peered between some meadow blues and creamy whites. A stand of brilliant red Monarda stood straight and tall next to a massing of steely blue Echinops ritro. Why would anyone one do that?

Taking a deep breath, I continued to walk and look. The beds are not borders, but rather very long, stand alone beds that can be viewed from all sides. Just as soon as I thought again about the missing yellow, I made a turn and my view became exactly that, a wash of yellow throughout the garden with the cooler colors just a complement. The ruddy oranges and vibrant reds were perfectly sited and gave me pause to consider the pleasure of enjoying a beautifully planted garden.

Walking back through the gardens (to the loo), I found the gardener's shed. I must confess I was struck by a strong sense of shed-envy. An old wooden wheelbarrow, tools all aligned and upright against the wall, all hidden behind the main gardens, but yet still very much a part of the garden.

Only then, and much to my surprise, I found the reason for the dense and blobby Picea glabra - a perfectly framed view (denser than a holly which might not survive the harsh winters, more compact and proportional than a larger spruce) with a tease of the perennial beds - and one that would be most often, and perhaps more appropriately, enjoyed by the gardener, not the garden visitor.

Stealing Tomatoes

Technically, I didn't steal my neighbor's tomatoes. My 12-year-old son was charged with keeping them watered while they are away. I don't know many boys that age who either (a) know how to water a garden properly or (b) have the attention span to water a garden properly. Of course, I went along under the guise of supervising, when what I really wanted was to check out their vegetable garden.

You see, I'm green with veggie garden envy.

I just cannot seem to work out where to place the vegetables in my own garden, which is chock full of shady spots that would be ideal locations for eggplant, peppers, squash, maybe even some potatoes -- if only there was some sun. My sunny spots are full of perennials and shrubs and a tiny little lawn (got to have some negative space). As a designer, it just makes no sense to plop down a vegetable garden without a completely well-thought out long-term plan, perhaps a complete re-design. And, I must keep a few open spots for fancy new cultivars of perennials and shrubs that I want to try out before adding to a client's garden. How can I just stick a couple of tomato plants next to my late summer blooming Chelone lyonii 'Hot Lips'!

My interest in growing food has expanded. For clients, one of my first questions is how many kinds of herbs and vegetables they want to grow -- I always try to work food plants into the design or incorporate their existing kitchen garden into the overall plan. I know it is important for my kids to learn how to tend a garden (other than pruning roses and dead-heading annuals). I relish fresh and tender produce. So, I will plot out a spot for fall greens. I will have a new vegetable garden in the garden next spring (I've got all winter to plan). For now, I'll just keep volunteering my son for watering jobs around the neighborhood so I can have some home-grown, juicy tomatoes.

Note-able

There must be a part of my brain that is circa 1957.

We had just returned from a delightful weekend at the beach with friends. I sat down at my desk, pulled out some precious notecards a friend gave me for my birthday, and started a few quick personal notes to express our heartfelt thanks for a most delightful weekend. And then, "da-ding," I heard the alert that I had new emails. What I saw both horrified me and then, also made me pause and think, was I actually grateful? My husband had sent an email "thank you note" for the weekend to our hosts. To their work email addresses. From his work email address. Before I could get the stamp on my perfectly crafted, handwritten, personal expression of gratitude. Ugh, men.

He actually took the time out of his busy morning, after returning from a four-day weekend, to thank our friends.

Should I be mad or glad that he beat me to the punch? Should I feel guilty for cringing that he sent a note via email? Should I really care?

Of course I care. Whether it was my mother (I'm sure it was) or her friends or the etiquette lessons we had during debutante season, somewhere along the way I learned that it was necessary to write a personal note of thanks when receiving gifts or hospitality from others, even if you thanked them in person. So, I keep stashes of cute, funny, elegant or simple cards and stationery ready at hand to fire off timely little notes with just the right sentiment. A couple of my friends started a company and have some very clever ones I like to keep handy (https://www.thera-wear.com/shop/note-cards.html).

And even when I'm not timely with my notes -- I'm not as efficient as I like to think I am -- I still send them because it's better to thank someone late than to never thank at all. (I was ridiculously late sending a note to my friend who sent me these cute notes with recipes on the back!)

My husband has watched me, or perhaps just slept next to me, sitting in bed with my lapdesk, a favorite pen and little stack of cards and write away. My address book is the old fashioned kind with a pale yellow toile fabric cover, worn a little at the corners, each entry written in pencil because people move frequently in this day and age. It is updated each January after the flood of holiday cards help me make sure everyone's address is current. Yes, I handwrite holiday card addresses, too.

So back to my question, mad or glad? I tossed out my own note -- our hosts had already replied back to him via "reply all" -- and wrote a new one, addressed to their children. They were probably imposed more upon since they had to share their rooms and toys and entertain our children. I'm choosing to be glad, though I've pulled out my husband's personal note cards, dusted off the box top, and left them next to his bedside table for the next time he wants to write a thank you note.

Are Our Gardens Like Our Friends?

I'm off for a few days to spend time with my cradle buddies - two women whom I don't really recall ever meeting. I don't remember the first time we played. I don't remember when they spent the night at my house for the first time. We have just known each other forever -- since we were in the cradle.

With these two pals, I am my true self, comfortable, confident, funny -- at home. These two grew slowly over time into mature, healthy friendships. They do not need daily or even regular communication to make them strong, just a little nurturing once every year or so. They are not like some friends that wonder why you haven't called or emailed in six whole days, or who don't know why I left Texas or how many brothers I have, or who want to talk too much about school, kids, carpools.

I wonder, are our gardens like our friends?

My garden was feeling a little crowded, so last weekend I dug a new bed near my perennial "test" garden and transplanted some day lilies. My perennial garden needs lots of regular, boring maintenance work. Dead head, thin, cut back, water, fertilize, pull some weeds, re-edge the border, pull more weeds, water, fertilize. Beautiful, but not for long without more attention from me. I'm working in more multi-season perennials, with variable bloom times, and pulling out those that just don't perform. Oftentimes, I squeeze in a new plant here and there to see how it blends with others, how long it will last, if it likes being in my garden.

One of my favorite spots, though, is an old garden bed I started not long after we moved into our house. It's shady, under an old dogwood tree, full of perennials and small shrubs that bloom at different times of the year. Some of the perennials are evergreen, some start perking up in early spring, some peak in late summer. As fall begins, they turn into a carpet of golds, reds and oranges. Like a dear old friend, it's my favorite garden to tend, yet it needs very little tending.

I have some wonderful friends in my everyday life. We've not known each other for too long, but with some attention, our friendships will continue to bloom. With some, our commonalities of school, kids or work will dwindle and as such our friendships. Every now and then, I find myself weeding out an acquaintance or two who might not fit. And I feel lucky to have a few who are working their way towards old shade garden status.

A Sweet Potato Salad of a Month

May has been like one of those summer salads that includes everything but the kitchen sink and turns out amazingly delicious. Our "May" recipe starts with soccer, softball, gymnastics, tennis and dive team. Toss in final exams, a few new work projects, birthdays, mother's day, graduations and add a confirmation, first communion, stir in 15 or more rainy days and needless to say, it's just a big mess of a month. Aaahhh, beautiful.

Thankfully, the end of the month served up some gorgeous weather for a light summer dinner in the garden with family and friends. My dear sister-in-law planned the perfect dinner party menu for me, complete with recipes and detailed advice on how not to mess it up.

Delish!

Crab Cakes with Remoulade Sauce
Sweet Potato & Black Bean Salad with Honey-Lime Vinaigrette
Chicken Satay (Ina Garten's recipe)
Simple Green Salad
and of course, THE Cake (see previous post)

Are you hungry now? The sweet potato salad was completely new to me (and my guests) and is absolutely worth a try - recipe courtesy of Monica Cobb, Beaumont, Texas.

Sweet Potato & Black Bean Salad with Honey-Lime Vinaigrette

Vinaigrette:
In a jar, mix, shake well, then refrigerate for a few hours -
Juice of 5 limes
2/3 cup good olive oil
4-5 Tbsp. honey
1 jalapeno pepper, seeded and minced
1 tsp. garlic powder
1 tsp. paprika
1 tsp. kosher salt
1 tsp. fresh ground pepper
1 tsp. chili powder
1 tsp. cumin

Salad:
5-6 large sweet potatoes, cubed to 1-inch with skin on
1 medium red onion, minced
2 packages cherry tomatoes, halved
2 cans black beans, rinsed and drained
1 bunch cilantro, chopped
3 avocados, cubed, with extra lime juice to prevent from turning brown

While cutting sweet potatoes, soak cut pieces for a few minutes in cold water. Then, boil sweet potatoes until just fork tender (do NOT over cook). Drain, then spread in single layer on pans and drizzle COLD vinaigrette over the sweet potatoes to stop the cooking process. When sweet potatoes are cool, gently toss them with black beans, cherry tomatoes, cilantro, onion and any remaining dressing. Add avocados and sprinkle with additional fresh cilantro before serving.

Flower Vomit

The azaleas have been in bloom in Washington the past few weeks. While I adore azaleas spread throughout a woodland garden, there are some yards that have gone a little overkill with these ubiquitous foundation plantings (like mine). I inherited a somewhat mature garden, with, no joke, over 50 different varieties or cultivars of azaleas, which in bloom, looks much like "flower vomit."

As a young child, I nicknamed my room "the flower vomit room." It had been decorated for my two older sisters, circa 1968. Painted pale pink, it had (according to my mother) very expensive 100% wool bright pink carpet that wouldn't show wear for at least 25 years (and it didn't). But my least favorite part (and no offense to the unnamed decorator), the bed linens and curtains were a blend of pinks and chartreuse and olive green, somewhat modern at that time, and to not appear overly floral for young pre-adolescent girls. It was quite out-of-style when my sisters went to college and I got my own room for the first time. I loved having my own space and not having to share a room with my rough and tumble younger brothers, but I was a tomboy through and through. Pink and I just clashed.

Pink and I still clash. My personality is much more blue, yellow and green mixed with a little dirt, er, brown. Somedays I might be a bit more red, but only if the aphids are eating my roses or my dear dog buries a bone where I've just planted dahlia bulbs. Pink is pretty and kind and gentle and delicate. In the garden, I like pink limited quantities, over there in the distance for a spot of color, or set against the backdrop of lots and lots of dark green foliage.

So my dilemna remains what to do with the wash of pink that blankets my garden for three weeks in April and May, then nothing for the remaining 11 months of the year?

Over time, a few have died giving me the chance to fill in with new deciduous shrubs with varying textures and bloom times, such as Hydrangea quercifolia, Oakleaf Hydrangea and Viburnum plicatum var. tomentosum, Doublefile Viburnum. The shady conditions and and mature height of the azaleas has offered space to experiment with shade perennial combinations -- last spring I mixed Polygonatum odoratum 'Variegatum', Solomon's Seal, Athyrium niponicum var. pictum, Japanese Painted Fern, Heuchera x 'Plum Puddin', Plum Puddin Coralbells, and Carex comans, Hair Sedge.

So, yes, I will continue to endure and appreciate the flower vomit each spring, if only as a launching point for experimentation.

Compost Hokey Pokey

Recently I gave a lecture about composting . . . to 28 three- and four-year-olds. In high school speech class, I learned that the most important part of preparing any kind of talk is understanding your audience. Even though I've had my own preschoolers, I don't understand them at all. Honestly, I don't think I've been more frightened.

Knowing that I would have their attention for about 8 minutes, I simplified my composting presentation into 3 key points:

1. Learn what types of everyday waste can be composted, while reinforcing the message that composting is important for both the plants that receive nutrients from the compost and for reducing, reusing and recycling the trash we make.

2. Understand that the ratio of what goes into the composting bin is the simple key to producing good compost. Layer 1/3 "green" (nitrogen) waste with 2/3 "brown" (carbon) waste.

3. Turning the composting bin frequently will circulate the matter, adding oxygen to help break down materials. Heat and a little moisture breaks down waste more quickly.

Boring.

The preschool has a tumbling compost bin, quite a bit of fun for the kids to spin recklessly like a carnival ride gone crazy, probably not fun if you happen to be an earthworm that got tossed in with a pile of dead leaves.

To illustrate points 1 and 2, I gathered 2 bags of waste and made two piles by the bin. Green waste included grass clippings, green leaves, some weeds I had pulled, some carrot peels, apple pieces and coffee grounds. The brown waste included dead leaves, hay (that I swiped from my neighbor's lawn, baring his new grass seed, don't tell), pine straw, egg shells (rinsed) and a few shreds of black and white newspaper. In small groups the kids helped me fill the composter with one handful of brown, one handful of green and a second handful of brown.

After filling the bin with our green and brown waste, we sang a crazy couple of rounds of the "Compost Hokey Pokey" complete with silly hand motions. You know the tune . . .

You put some brown stuff in
You put some green stuff in
You put some brown stuff in
And you stir it all around
Do the compost hokey pokey
And stir it all around
That's what it's all about

Of course, what good school lesson goes without a test! In another (recycled) brown paper bag, I pulled out items and had the kids tell me what should go in the bin and what should not. Can you guess the right answers?

Toy cars, uh, no.
Balloons, definitely not.
Dead leaves, yep.
Apple pieces, of course.
Mom's sunglasses, no.
Carrots, sure.
Weeds (no seeds), indeed so.

The wee ones scored 100%. Mission accomplished. The earlier children learn how simple it is to conserve, the more likely they will continue those practices as adults.

Have you tried composting?