Author: lwcmartin@bellsouth.net

The ideas have been imagined and executed – or abandoned. Everything has been woven, stitched, baked, written, painted, or stuffed. Each grandchild has made a gift for a parent.

Everything has been wrapped and placed under the tree and what took weeks and weeks of preparation was happily and thoroughly opened in cheerful abandon in a matter of minutes. We are not a family who carefully opens gifts one at a time to ohh and ahh. More likely, we’re the sort of family to make and give gifts and at the time of opening exclaim, “Oh, I love it! I’ve always wanted one! What is it?”

With ten of us at home (and so missing those who aren’t!) there’s a lot of gift giving and general chaos ensues. I’m happy to sit back and watch. My work began in October. Everything from here on out is icing on the cake. But I do have to admit to looking forward to some quiet days before returning to the rhythm and routine of the New Year.

Part of my love of the New Year is not only looking forward but also in taking time to reflect. For those of you who read this blog with any kind of frequency (and, thank you!), it might be fun to get a year end update about some of the projects that I’ve written about.

First, the white deer is still in the woods around Lake Lanier. She is startlingly obvious. While her colleagues are almost hidden in the brown leaves and branches, she stands out like a beacon. Unfortunately, at the moment, she seems to be limping. We pray that it is not a lasting nor debilitating injury. It is still such a thrill to see her.

Okay, the whole idea of growing flax to get the fibers, spin them into thread and weave a handkerchief? Ha! Total flop. The flax seeds germinated and bloomed but that was about the limit to my success. I needed to be growing about 100 times as much as I did grow, I couldn’t get the “retting” process down to extract the fiber. I don’t have a spinning wheel…..I’ll save you further details.

But, on the other hand, the mass and mess of hand dyed silk thread that my sister brought me from Thailand? I finally, after weeks of untangling, wove it into a really beautiful scarf.

And, in spite of my dire predictions about the effects of a difficult long, hot summer, it seems as if the garden survived after all. Lenten rose, English primrose and forget-me-nots are all already putting forth new growth for the spring. Of course, time will tell if everything survived but the signs are hopeful. Nature’s ability to heal Herself continues to be a miracle to me. Let’s give Her all the help we can.

It seems that the garden (and maybe life itself), like Christmas is a happy jumble of successes and challenges. Some ideas come to fruition but the vast majority are only beautiful and functional in my own mind. Some things worked out, others did not. But I think that the most important thing is to celebrate every success, no matter how small, with joy and to meet every challenge with imagination and energy and love. As my friend the Buddhist monk told me, “when in doubt, love more.”

Happy New Year to all of you.

Among my circle of friends, there are varying opinions as to the “best” kind of Christmas tree. One of my friends can’t bear to cut down any living thing and every year, creates a Christmas tree from dead branches that she wires together to make a tree shape. She’s an incredible artist and her tree is always stunningly beautiful – and original.

Another friend, living in France, has a store-bought tree. It’s spiral shaped and collapses down to fit into a pizza box. This tree goes up and down as easily as a yo yo.

I think about this tree every year as Jack and I begin our annual discussion about our own tree. We both love our trees and have had some epic Christmas trees in our years together. And, we are in total agreement as to the kind – we are Frasier Fir fans and nothing else will do.

Where the discussion gets interesting is when we begin to talk about size. Jack, I think, would move all the furniture out of the house to get a bigger and bigger tree. I’m content with something that will at least fit through the front door. Size to me isn’t as important as all the things that go on it.

Our second “discussion” is about lights. Jack (oh horror!) suggested net lights. I thought he was surely kidding the first time he suggested it but after twenty years, I’m convinced that without me, our beloved Christmas tree would be a tangled mass of wires. Net lights indeed! Next he’ll be suggesting tinsel.

Instead, the lights go on one strand at a time and I use as many strands as it can possibly hold. (This year Jack only had to go back to purchase more lights three times!) And after the lights, of course the ornaments. Our ornaments include some fairly strange but totally beloved items. I’ve come to learn that you can hang all kinds of things on a tree and call them “ornaments.” Our collection now spans generations and is a wonderful illustration of melded families and shared memories.

Legend tells us that the first Christmas tree was created in Germany in the 16th century when a theologian was walking home late one night and saw the stars twinkling through the branches of the evergreen trees. He decided to try to recreate this at home and cut down a tree and used candles to mimic the stars. And the rest is history that is repeated all over the world, every year.

The Christmas tree is the center of our celebration and when I think of our large and diverse family, I picture us gathered around the tree, missing the ones who aren’t with us, laughing and loving and hugging as we open gifts and share this wonderful time together. And I guess, really, even with net lights, our tree would be a wonderful backdrop for all this love.

The family spent Thanksgiving at Lake Lanier last week. I was the first to arrive and barely made it up the driveway. No, it wasn’t snow or rain or mud, but a layer of leaves so thick you couldn’t tell the driveway from the yard.

Poking around in the garage, I found an old rake and after dusting it off, went outside to see what I could do. Let me tell you, raking is a very satisfying activity – especially the first five minutes. It provides instant gratification. You can tell exactly what you have done. Of course you can also tell exactly what’s left to do. All in all it took me about an hour and by the end of that time? I was a little tired but surprisingly soothed by the rhythmic action – and the quiet swoosh of the leaves as I raked them into the woods.

Most of the time, I’m happy to live in the city. There are a lot of benefits – we can walk to fabulous restaurants, we have great neighbors whom we see daily and (the best), most of our extended family lives here as well. BUT, there are drawbacks, the most fierce of which for me is the noise level. I’m not opposed to sound. I spend many hours a day making or listening to music, I love a good conversation and for goodness sakes, when the grandkids come to play, I’m the loudest of all. But incessant noise is definitely a downside of city living. And, much of this in my neighborhood comes from leaf blowers and lawn mowers.

Let me be honest, though. I am not yet to the point that I’m ready to take on raking all the leaves in our extensive yards. I just can’t do it. Which makes me part of the problem. One solution would be to get rid of all the grass, which would also eliminate the need for a lawn mower. But, I kind of like grass and it’s hard for the kids to play soccer tiptoeing through the tulips.

Another solution is a rake. Not for me, but aha! for my twelve year old grandson. I tracked him down one day and set out to convince him of all the great benefits of raking. It’ll make you strong! It’ll soothe your soul. You’ll be outside in nature. You’ll be helping out your poor old granny. I added a few more selling points and was surprised and pleased to see that he was standing watching me intently. And actually, never even protested or argued.

I was encouraged. So I finally asked, “so, what do you think? I’ll even buy you a brand new rake!” (smiley face). He kept looking at me, then pulled an earbud out of his ears. “What? did you say something?”

Sigh. Back to the drawing board on that one. I’ll go to Plan B – his nine year old sister! Ha.

Saturday was an utterly dreary day. As I looked out through the pouring rain, the only bright spot in the garden was my Mama’s Maple tree. And it was brilliant – fiery red leaves were a welcomed sight on this rainy day.

This tree had been her pride and joy. I can remember her standing at the front door looking into the woods in front of the house, exclaiming “Kids, come look at my burning bush!” And all five of us would run to the door to look, oohing and ahhing and commenting on the brilliance and beauty of the leaves. I’m not sure any one of us cared about the tree the way my Mom did, but it wasn’t the tree that we were celebrating, it was Mom and her unparalleled enthusiasm and awe for beauty in the natural world.

I transplanted this tree from my parents’ yard 13 years ago and though it took a few years to become accustomed to its new home, it’s now my own beacon of light and beauty. And I am so grateful for it. I love the tree, of course, but more, I love the memories that come with it. My mother, too, was a bright spot on many a rainy day for me and this tree reminds me of that.

I am so grateful for my mother’s legacy, her enthusiasm for life and her unflagging desire to share that with everyone she met. Like this maple tree, she was fiery and brilliant. Though I have lots of photographs of her and a lot of her artwork, it’s this tree that makes me remember my mother most vividly.

Now, when I call to my own grandchildren, “come and look at my burning bush!” They come and they ohh and ahh and I know that it’s not because they love the tree but because they love me. And, I hope that some day, they’ll be calling to their own children to come and look at the miracle of a maple tree in its autumn glory.

And I love the fact that this tree, somehow, connects us all, that generations that never knew one another have this shared experience of loving the sight of this tree.

I can think of nothing better to pass on to my children and grandchildren than my mother’s sense of awe of the beauty of the natural world and a deep seated love of everything living and growing.

I hope that each of you has a wonderful day of love and gratitude. Happy Thanksgiving.

Winter showed up in my garden last week. Jack Frost put to sleep any lingering thoughts of summer and my tender plants turned dark and limp over night. The difference between 32 degrees – and not – is the difference between life and death for many plants.

Fortunately, there are hardy annuals that don’t seem to mind the cold. Chief among these are the pansies. What great little plants! I can put them into the garden in October and, unless we have a sustained Arctic blast during the next few months, they’ll persist through winter and get a running start to perform beautifully in spring. I’ll finally dig them up to put in summer annuals in May.

Some of my friends and family think that I’m a bit over-the-top obsessed with flowers and plants. Ha! Compared to William Thompson, gardener to Lord Gambier, a British naval commander, I am quite sane and reasonable. This man spent thirty years working to hybridize the small viola native to England to create the modern pansy. He was a legend in his own time (and obviously ours!) and by 1833, there were over 400 different named pansy cultivars. Today, there are countless varieties of both the large petaled pansies and the smaller violas.

The original little wildflower had many common names including Johnny-jump-up, hearts’ ease and tickle-my-fancy. Violas, then pansies, have always been associated with thoughts of love. The heart-shaped leaves were eaten to cure a broken heart.

The name “pansy” is from the French word penser, meaning “to think,” because the French believed that the gift of pansies would make your lover think of you. According to the Victorian language of flowers, pansy means “to think of love.”

In addition to all this, both the leaves and flowers of pansies and violas are edible. The small viola blossoms make an excellent garnish for a salad or a beautiful decoration on an iced cake.

A Georgia garden would just not be the same without pansies. They are the colorful backbone of my winter garden. Okay, I may have gone a little overboard this fall, putting pansies in every nook and cranny, but who can resist? Not that I’m over-the-top enthusiastic about flowers or anything…..

It’s inevitable. If you’re a writer and a dog lover, at some point, you’re going to write about your dog. I could probably resist if I had any dog but I have Sadie! World’s best dog. Ha (ask any dog owner and they’ll tell you their pet is the best.)

Gardening is a pretty solitary activity so I’m always grateful to have Sadie’s companionship as I spend endless hours in the garden. She never argues, doesn’t whine, is unfailing enthusiastic about – everything! and is just fun to have around.

Sadie and I have an unwritten agreement about her place in the garden. Her part is to not dig big holes, to try to step lightly on the plants, to not eat them and to chase squirrels and chipmunks. My part is to give her food, water, take her for daily walks and provide as much love, time and attention as I possibly can.

For the most part, Sadie keeps her part of the bargain. She’s a Wire Haired Pointing Griffon, a WHPG. She was bred for hunting so chasing anything that moves in the garden is part of her nature. I can’t say that she’s ever caught anything. Ever. But it doesn’t keep her from trying, which is all fine with me. She also has a light step and a gentle mouth, which is great both for the plants and for any visiting grandchildren.

The only time Sadie and I have words about her being in the garden is when she has friends over to play, like her “cousin” Friday. In a frenzy of joy and chasing madness Sadie forgets all about our unwritten agreement and just goes nuts. So, play dates are held at the nearest dog park. It works.

SPCA suggests that you don’t include plants that are harmful to dogs in your garden. In theory this is an excellent idea. In actuality, I’d have to dig up my whole garden to comply. Azaleas, aloes, arum, black walnut, boxwood….and on and on and on. And those are only the “A’s and B’s.”

In all of her nine years, Sadie has never eaten anything in the garden that made her sick. Other dogs might. In general, whether or not you can successfully garden with a dog depends on the dog – and the gardener. Paths and fences help, raised beds or containers for delicate plants help as well. But, basically, it just depends on the dog. If she’s a digger, a fence jumper, a strange-thing-eater, you’ll probably not co-exist in the garden very well. Fortunately for me, Sadie seemed to be bred not only for hunting but for gardening as well. Lucky for both of us. Best dog in the world.

I couldn’t begin to write the mathematical formula nor fully explain the scientific theory commonly called the “butterfly effect” which indicates that (as one scientist put it) that the flap of a butterfly’s wings in South America can cause a tornado in Texas. Or, as he hastens to add, the butterfly NOT flapping its wings may cause a tornado. The basic idea, though, is that minute events or occurrences (or their lack) may have consequences that are magnified and felt in an entirely different part of the world.

I thought about this as I was clipping the last blooms from my summer garden for a bouquet. Since there were still a few butterflies milling about, seeking the last bit of summer from a few remaining salvia blooms, I began thinking, literally, of the butterfly effect in my garden. How do my actions as a gardener impact the pollinators that come here? As I cut and tidied the garden, it occurred to me that maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe I need to leave every last bloom for the last lingering butterfly.

But then again, maybe I should clean up the remnants of the season. I don’t want to trick the pollinators into thinking that this is endless summer. With climate changes and prolonged seasons, pollinators are confused enough. So, what consequence does it have for monarchs who generally head for Mexico at this time of year, if I leave lots of yummy looking milkweed leaves for them? Do they settle in and get comfortable, only to perish in the first killing frost?

But then again, what if the monarchs have had a rough summer (heat, drought, extreme humidity) and my milkweed, still in bloom, provides enough nectar for them to make the trip south? Or what if my scraggly looking phlox provides protection and cover for the larvae of the painted lady butterfly?

And, of course, the same theory can be applied to all kinds of decisions in the garden. What if I choose to plant all double flowered impatiens next year? They provide neither nectar nor pollen nor protection for birds and butterflies. Will all my pollinators get fed up and leave my garden for more productive spots? Can they find such spots close by? Or, what if I left my garden looking completely wild and natural and the neighborhood association takes offense and makes me cut it all down, depriving both me and my pollinators?

I don’t know. All any of us can do is to find balance and stay in tune with the natural rhythm of the earth. I’ll leave a lot of seed heads and garden debris for the songbirds, but not enough to irritate the neighborhood association! I’ll cut back the butterfly weed for it’s really at the end of its natural season anyway. I’ll cut a few last roses and lantana blooms for the house and leave the rest.

All we can do is to make the best choices we can. All we can do is to be conscientious stewards of any kind of land that we call home. All we can do, really, is just love the earth with all our heart.

Nine year old Ellie came to spend Saturday afternoon with me, much to my unending joy! When I asked her what she wanted to do she said, “make a list!” So, together, we listed 20 things that we would like to do in the next 4 hours. Needless to say, we didn’t get through the entire list.

Her top two choices were to make and decorate a Halloween Cake and to make candy eyeballs. Everything had to be made from scratch, of course, so we took stock, made a quick trip to the store and turned the kitchen into Halloween Central.

The most fun, for her, was mixing red and yellow food coloring to turn both the batter and the icing a nice pumpkin orange. While the cake was baking, she started in on the eyeballs. Let me add a note here: My goals as a grandmother are totally different than they were as a mother. I know that cake and candy eyeballs are not exactly health foods but I also know that the real goal of the afternoon was the experience and not the product, so I relaxed and just let her make what she wanted. I also have learned, as a grandma, to back off and just let her do projects her way. I would have done things differently, would have used different decorating materials, put them on a different way but – this was Ellie’s project, not mine. It’s a continual challenge to teach her how to do things well but at the same time, allowing her the freedom to do it her way.

So, back to the eyeballs. Before you read the ingredients list, remember, it’s all about the experience. Okay, you mix 1/2 cup peanut butter, 3 tablespoons butter and 1 cup powdered sugar. Make eyeball sized balls, put in the freezer for 30 minutes, then roll in icing. The “pupil” is an M &M and the bloodshot look came from red writing icing.

Not all of the eyeballs were exactly alike. While we were at the store, we happened to see a package of ping pong balls and we looked at each other and started laughing. So, while dipping the candy balls in icing, we also decorated a couple of ping pong balls. It was spectacular!! They looked just like the candy and when her cousin tried to eat one, the whole project was deemed a huge success!!

The kitchen was a disaster. We were both exhausted. But, what fun! What joy! What an experience! What a memory we made. Eyeballs anyone!

Happy Halloween to you all.

I spent a fabulous weekend exploring New York City with my daughter. I love New York. I love the art, the buildings, the bustle, the vibes, the sheer electric energy of the place. But, no surprise, my favorite place was the Union Square Market. You know what they say, “you can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the girl.” I know that technically, Atlanta isn’t really “country,” and okay, technically, I’m not really a “girl” but fortunately, this isn’t a technical blog.

Who can resist mountains of fresh corn, arranged as carefully as a lego building? or bins of fresh, crisp apples? or racks of peppers sporting every color of the rainbow? We were only there for the weekend and staying in a hotel so the lure of the fruits and vegetables was not to actually buy anything, but just to celebrate the abundant bounty of the local farms.

We are not alone in our love of a Farmer’s Market. The number of markets in the United States has grown astronomically since the 1970s when they began to become popular. Interestingly, in California up until 1977, state law forbid the sale of produce outside of a commercial market. But in that year there was such a bumper crop of peaches that farmers couldn’t sell them all. Frustrated with the law, they dumped their excess peaches on the lawn of the state capital, forcing the then governor, Jerry Brown, to change the law and the first farmer’s markets in California were established.

The Georgia Department of Agriculture established the State Farmer’s Market in downtown Atlanta in 1936. They moved it to their 150 acre site in Forest Park (close to the Atlanta airport) in 1958, where it is still thriving.

There are so many reasons to shop at a local market and now, almost all communities have some kind of market. It’s great to meet the farmer who grows your food, it helps support local farmers, the food is fresh and, more often than not, organic and buying locally greatly reduces your carbon footprint, something that we all need to be more conscious of in our eating choices.

The Union Square Market is now open 4 days a week, year round and, in addition to mounds of fruits and vegetables, sells locally produced meats, flowers, artisan cheeses, maple syrup and other products of the region. In typical New York style, it attracts hordes of people, over 60,000 a day. It was established in 1976 and is proud to be the oldest farmer’s market in New York. Though, they should not feel too proud, Borough Market in London has been attracting shoppers for 1,000 years!

So, you can have the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, Rockefeller Center AND the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I’ll take The Union Square Market with it’s treasures from the earth.

Jack and I decided, on the spur of the moment, to go camping in the mountains this past weekend. “Spur of the moment” involved dusting off all the camping gear, making sure we had fuel for the stove, food for us, food for the dog, figuring out where to go and hoping that when we got there, we could find a camp site. But we did! AND it turned out that the camp site was only a half hour walk away from the Appalachian Trail.

It’s always a treat to hike on the AT. Not only is it stunningly beautiful but you also meet some pretty interesting hikers. Jack, being the friendliest man I know, loved chatting with people on the trail, which gave me time to snoop amongst the wildflowers. Peak bloom, even for the fall flowers was long gone, which meant I had to look beyond the bloom to find berries, bark and beautiful leaves. And what treasures I found!

The most interesting was, perhaps, berries from a plant, appropriately enough, called “Dolls Eyes.” The berries look like eyes in an old fashioned China doll. Though interesting and beautiful, I wasn’t tempted to get too close for it is a highly toxic plant. Native Americans used it very sparingly as a pain killer during childbirth, but it’s a plant best left alone. It’s so toxic that ingesting it can cause heart attacks, not something I’d want growing around my grandchildren. Or dog.

Much more benign were the blue-black berries of Solomon’s seal. Though the spring flowers are small and difficult to see hanging underneath the leaves, the berries are much more conspicuous. If I had dug it up (which I resisted doing, even though I would love to have this growing in my garden) I would have found rhizomes with distinctive leaf scars which some say look like the seal of King Solomon. Native Americans ate the rhizome (which I also resisted doing) and considered it quite tasty. Nearby, I found False Solomon’s seal, whose flowers and bright red berries are found at the end of the stem.

Though Mountain Laurel plants can sometimes grow so close together that it’s impossible to walk through, these were widely spaced with enough room for light to shine through, making it look like a magical forest. The leaves are evergreen but it’s the cinnamon colored, gnarled trunks and branches that lend real beauty to this shrub during fall and winter. If we come back in spring, I suspect that it will be covered with white and pink flowers.

And, I hope we will go back in spring, for every season offers treasures and though I love branches and berries, I look forward to seeing flowers too!