Author: lwcmartin@bellsouth.net

I think gardening must be contagious. After laughing about her “black thumb” for years, my friend Ruthanna has suddenly decided she wants to be a gardener. Though a skilled pianist and incomparable music teacher, Ruthanna has never really learned to play in the dirt.

Ruthanna and I spend a lot of time together, usually with me hovering over the piano keys and her patiently correcting, gently nudging and even occasionally shouting out loud in praise (or horror or disbelief). So when we switched roles, I knew it was time to settle the score as I began teaching her all about the joys and challenges of gardening and she started looking at me with a slightly dazed look. It was a fun and funny experience for both of us.

Ruthanna had a blank page, a yard with only grass and foundation shrubs so she was happy with anything I brought her. We talked about soil and sun and watering, the three major keys to gardening, and a few minor elements such as color, grouping and mulch.

It only made sense to share with her things that do well in my own garden so I dug and potted and filled my car with lenten rose, Solomon’s seal, Japanese painted fern, green and gold, and blue phlox for the shady areas. Black eyed Susan, Japanese aster, bee balm and summer phlox are for the sunny spots.

Together we incorporated a lot of soil conditioner into her red clay, then carefully transposed the plants from the car to the garden beds. Some things looked a little wilted and may not make the transition, others looked as if they had been there all their lives.

It’s such a thrill for me to share plants. Many of the plants I gave to Ruthanna came from my mother’s garden. I know that when I walk through Ruthanna’s yard and see these plants thriving and blooming, it will make me think of my Mom and how happy she would be to see what she started.

We ended on a high note . Even newly planted, the composition looked lovely. But I know that the success of Ruthanna’s garden will depend on her. The key to a well tuned garden is diligence and practice – and a good friend to share it with.

So, I had this idea. I really want to create a piece of cloth from start to finish, from planting a seed to weaving the cloth. I already have the loom, so really all I need is a field of some kind of fiber, a spinning wheel and a few instructions of how to get from a seed to a handkerchief. Seems reasonable to me!

The first step was determining what kind of fiber to grow. I decided on flax, to make linen. A little research quickly confirmed that the Eurasian species, Linum usitatissimum was the correct choice. Wow, what a plant and well named because “usitatissimum” means “most useful” – and is fun to say! Not only is this plant very attractive with its blue flowers, but it has been used for both food and fiber for tens of thousands of years. Excavations from a cave in the Fertile Crescent showed flax fibers that had been spun, dyed and knotted, dating back 30,000 years.

Wild blue flax, Linum perenne, is native to the western United States and blooms profusely from Alaska to Southern California and east to Kansas. Native Americans used it to make rope and cords, though were not thought to have used it in weaving.

Common flax was extensively cultivated in ancient Egypt. Spun and woven into linen, it was used to make sails for ships and to wrap mummies for burial. Flax became an important crop in both Europe and China about 5,000 years ago. During the Middle Ages, the region of Flanders became the center of the linen industry in Europe. Flax was also brought to North America by the colonists, who developed a thriving linen industry which lasted until early in the 20th century when cotton cloth quickly replaced the more expensive linen.

Flax is supposedly easy to grow from seed so I ordered 100 seeds (I’m not trying to start an industry I just want to “grow” a handkerchief) and planted them in a sunny spot. So far so good. They are up and growing. I’ve babied them, making sure they stay moist but abundant rainfall has helped too. I can’t wait! I go out first thing every morning to check on my little seedlings.

In between watching my seedlings grow, though, I’ve done a little more research about how you actually make yarn or thread from flax stalks. It’s umm, humbling. and okay, a little intimidating. There are several steps including retting, breaking, scutching, hackling, spinning and weaving. And all that is possible only if the seeds grow, thrive, bloom and turn into nice, straight stalks. I have a long way to go.

Wish me luck. I’ll let you know how this project progresses, even if the grandkids stampede the seedlings in their Easter egg hunt enthusiasm. Really, it’s not the handkerchief I’m after. It’s the joy of looking at something such as a seed and envisioning all the things that it can become. I see a handkerchief. You probably see something different. I don’t think it really matters what you envision as long as you can see fun, promise or beauty in something as small as a seed.

If purple is the color of royalty, I am living in a kingdom! My garden is wave after wave of shades of purple from 10 different kinds of spring blooming plants. Ranging from fuchsia to violet, from lavender to grape, my garden makes me think of the Jimi Hendrix song, “Purple haze was in my brain….”

The backbone of my spring garden is, and always has been, the incomparably abundant and beautiful creeping blue phlox. I can’t understand why everyone does not plant this in mass profusion. It is everything you could want from a plant: perennial, semi-evergreen, abundant without being invasive, beautiful flowers that last 3 – 4 weeks, early blooming, easy to grow, maintenance free……shall I go on?

In and amongst the phlox are other native plants. Virginia bluebells are a bit past their prime by now but still offer gorgeous purplish blue bell shaped flowers accented with bright pink. Another “Virginian” is Tradescantia virginiana, spiderwort, which, though native, CAN become overly aggressive so I put the vast majority of these in the back where I have little else planted. Of course our small and slightly invasive purple violet is everywhere. I’m not sure whether my little forget-me-not is native or not. It looks very similar to the mountain forget-me-nots of the American West but I’m pretty sure my woodland plant hails from England. It is an annual but reseeds so freely that I always have a large number of them popping up in unexpected places throughout the garden.

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Other purples in my garden are definitely non-native but are welcomed never-the-less. Pansies are putting on a great show in the planter boxes, thrift is spilling over the rock wall while ajuga creeps down the hillside with brilliant spikes of purple flowers. Scilla and grape hyacinth both come from bulbs that have now spread remarkably well under the branches of deciduous trees.

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I wish my 3 year old grandson, George, could see my garden because he has always, throughout his young life, loved purple. When I called Oregon to speak to him on the phone over the weekend , I told him about all the purple flowers in my garden and he said, “I don’t like purple anymore. I like pink!”

Ha. I’m not falling for that one! As soon as I plant a pink garden, he’ll like yellow. Nope, I’m sticking with purple. I love my kingdom.

Somehow, hundreds of years ago, there arose a superstition that if you fed columbines to lions in the spring, they would receive extra strength and renewed vigor. I have to admit, I’ve never tried it myself but this, like many of the superstitions surrounding plants sounds absolutely fascinating.

Our small red and yellow native Columbine looks a little different from the columbines native to Europe (where this superstition originated) but all columbines share remarkably similar genetic material. This manifests in many different ways; the result being different flower forms, shapes and sizes.

These variations have occurred, in part, to accommodate pollinators and the evolution of columbines can be easily traced based on where they grow and the most common pollinators in their particular region.

For example, the long spurred columbines, whose spurs can measure 10 inches or more! are almost exclusively pollinated by the hawk moth whose tongue measures an astonishing 9 – 11 inches long! Hawk moths are common in the southwestern parts of North America, where the long spurred Columbine is also common.

Our own red and yellow Columbine has more modest spurs, measuring only a few inches long which makes it perfectly suited for pollination by the ruby throated hummingbird, which is found exclusively in the eastern United States. Interestingly, the red and yellow Columbine also has a higher sugar content in the nectar, adding to its appeal to the hummingbird

Columbines with short spurs are pollinated by bumblebees. Both short spurred columbines, such as the lovely blue Colorado Columbine and bumblebees are prevalent in the same regions.

In addition to being an important pollinator plant, our native red and yellow Columbine and is a wonderful wildflower to grow in the garden. It needs well drained soils and partial shade but seems to be tolerant to a fairly wide range of growing conditions. These are prolific self seeders so once you get one plant established and happy, even though a single plant only lives 2 – 3 years, you should have columbines for years to come. Which may come in handy IF your lions seem sluggish in the spring time! Even without the lions, this is a super plant to include in your garden.

My mother had a casual but beautiful garden and one of her favorite plants was the little English cowslip, Primula veris. This is NOT to be confused with the candy-colored primroses that are ubiquitous in the garden stores these days. Sporting neon colors of pink, blue, red and who knows what else, these short lived bits of plugged in color would have looked ridiculous in my Mom’s naturalized, spring time garden.

The lovely light lemon colored blossoms of cowslip are one of the first garden flowers to appear in spring. This plant is native to fields and meadows throughout Europe and Western Asia and is a common hedgerow plant in England. It has always been appreciated for its early bloom. Both the genus name, Primula (meaning “firstling of spring” and the species name, veris (meaning spring bloom) refer to this early appearance on the garden stage.

The Spanish used the raw leaves as salad greens. The English used the blossoms to flavor wine and vinegar. The Celtic Druids were said to have put the blossoms in potions to increase the effectiveness of other herbs.

The plant is not too commonly found in nurseries and garden centers here but if you do see it, you should snap it up. It is a thoroughly satisfactory plant. After it blooms, the leaves continue to grow for a few months then begin to fade away in the heat of summer. Seeds can be harvested and replanted in late summer. Perhaps a better way of propagating this is by dividing established plants.

My mother used this low growing clump forming plant to line the pathway to her next door neighbor’s house. It was a perfect choice for this as the plant spreads slowly and retains it’s basic shape for years, but more than that, I just think that Mom wanted to walk down a primrose path.

The cowslips in my garden are divisions from my mothers. Partly in tribute to her and partly because I like walking down a primrose path myself, I have lined the walkway to my art studio with this little plant – and think of Mom every time I see these harbingers of spring.

Well, “lunch” is quite an exaggeration. It was more like a morsel. A tiny morsel that my grandchildren, Rivers and Ellie and I shared. It wasn’t the nutritious value I was after but the experience.

When Rivers and Ellie and I had a discussion about how the American Indians used to eat off the land, gathering herbs and killing game, Rivers, with all the uninformed confidence of an 11 year old said, “I could do that. Easy.”

With raised eyebrows I suggested that we try it out, just for a snack and the three of us went into the backyard. I’m not into killing game of any kind but I AM into gathering plants. I don’t have any vegetables planted yet so we were in for a (relatively) authentic experience. What I do have is an impressive display of a tiny little plant called Spring Beauty. If you’ve ever gone to the Appalachian Mountains in early to mid-spring, you may have seen what looks like acres and acres of this plant. It is tiny, growing only 2 1/2 – 3 inches tall on slender grasslike stalks but what it lacks in size, it more that makes up for in quantity.

The blossom is white with intricately detailed dark pink veins or sometimes they are all pink. I have written about Spring Beauty (Claytonia virginica) on numerous occasions so I knew that they come from an edible tuber. What I did not know, because I have never actually dug one up before, is that these tubers are also very small, about the size of a chickpea. Also, what I did not know is that one tuber sends out numerous flower stems laterally. This means that the (tiny) tuber is not directly underneath the flowering stem but can be as much as 2 – 3 inches away, obviously underground.

It took us a little while to figure out how to find the tubers but when we had a few gathered we took them inside to wash them off and try them out. In my book, Wildflower Folklore, I wrote that the tubers, “raw, have the sharp taste of radishes and when baked, have the taste and texture of baked potatoes.” So we bit into our harvest and stared at each other. After swallowing Ellie said, “It doesn’t taste like anything!” and we agreed. Then we decided to bake them and, probably not very authentically, stuck the remainders in the microwave. We added a little butter and tried again. I can’t say that it tasted much like anything except butter, but at least it was softer.

At this point I’m waiting for Rivers to ‘fess up and tell me how incredibly difficult it would be to dig up enough Spring Beauty tubers for a meal but instead he’s eyeing the banana bread muffins on the counter and I could feel “lesson time” slipping away.

Will they remember the afternoon at my house when we dug up tubers, trying to feel what it would be like to live off the land? I hope so, but you never can tell. If you want to try it, come on over! And if Spring Beauty tubers aren’t to your liking, maybe there will be some banana bread muffins left on the counter.

Happy Spring!!!

I was away last week, spending spring break with my children and their children and when I returned home, spring had broken out all over my garden. Although I am happy to see so many of my early spring favorites popping into bloom, it is the bloodroot with it’s stark white petals and golden centers that I find the most thrilling.

In a way, I feel like I’m cheating to enjoy seeing the bloodroot right outside the door. I should have had to hike up and down the mountainsides, crawling on my knees to see this, the first of the wild spring treasures to appear. Instead, I can easily see it from the comfort of my kitchen chair.

Undoubtedly, the American Indians who lived in our region appreciated bloodroot for its beauty, but it was also an important part of their medicine – and war! chests. Break open the root and stem of this wildflower and you’ll immediately see how it got its name as blood red sap begins to drip on your fingers. Cherokees and other tribes mixed this sap with either black walnut oil or bear grease and used it as war paint and to dye baskets and blankets.

Algonquin and Iroquois Indians made bloodroot into teas and tinctures to treat a variety of ailments, including colds and congestion, rheumatism and fevers. The potential of this folk medicine created interest in western medicine and the plant was tested and found to contain useful medicinal elements. Although extracts from bloodroot were at one time included in some toothpastes and mouthwashes, this practice was discontinued when dangerous side effects developed.

Like many medicines, bloodroot is potentially toxic and dangerous. So, how did the American Indians apparently use it safely? While western medicine focused on identifying individual bioactive compounds, traditional medicine included the entire plant, resulting in a mixture of chemicals that may be more effective and less harmful than isolated elements.

Much research is yet needed to determine the safety and effectiveness of the plant as medicine. In the meantime, just rejoice in its beauty and sing Hallelujah that spring is around the corner.

It is about this time of year that I begin to hope and pray that we don’t have another hard frost. With just a few warm, sunny days this week, my garden is popping out all over. Forget me nots, English primrose, violets, spring beauty are all putting forth a few brave blooms. But it is the saucy, bold and stunningly beautiful saucer magnolia that is in full and vibrant bloom right now – and the one that is most susceptible to losing all that beauty if we have a late frost.

Saucer magnolia is a hybrid between Japanese ( or Mulan) magnolia and a white flowering magnolia native to central and eastern China. This species was grown in Chinese Buddhist temples as long ago as 600 AD, not for its great beauty but for the buds which were used in medicine and as flavoring for rice. The flowers were appreciated as well and were considered a symbol of purity. Even today this tree is the floral symbol for Shanghai.

The blossoms of saucer magnolia are varying shades of white, light pink, magenta and purple-pink. Surrounded by thick, fuzzy sepals, the buds are protected from the cold – until they burst forth into bloom. The bark is a smooth gray and the leaves, which only appear after the tree has fully bloomed are leathery and bright green. Mature trees grow to be about 25 feet tall.

Our own great southern magnolia is huge in comparison, growing 80 feet tall with a spread of as much as 40 feet across. The creamy white blossoms usually have six petals and are highly fragrant. Another native, the cucumber magnolia, is found in eastern forests and was at one time substituted for quinine to treat malaria or typhoid.

I love all the magnolias but have a special fondness for the “saucy” saucer magnolia for braving the uncertain weather of early spring to bring us such a magnificent show.

Isn’t is grand how many of the wonderful things in life come from plants? Tea, wine, beer, and of course, coffee! Coffee has been known and appreciated for many, many centuries. At first the rather bitter fruit was mixed with animal fat and eaten as the equivalent to today’s “energy bar.” It wasn’t until the 13th century that beans were extracted from the fruit and roasted to provide a beverage similar to what we enjoy today.

Coffee is such a part of our daily lives it’s difficult to imagine life without it. In the United States we consume a tremendous amount of coffee, but maybe not as much as the French writer, Voltaire, who was said to have drunk 40 – 50 cups a day! But Food and Wine magazine reports that the average American spends $1110.00 on coffee every year.

The money we plunk down for a cup of coffee is really the easy part. The more difficult part is in determining the cost to the environment.

The impact that coffee producers have on the environment depends entirely on how it is grown. Coffee is traditionally a plant that grows under the canopy of other trees so if it is cultivated in the traditional way, coffee has relatively little impact on the environment. Trouble came in the 1970’s when sun tolerant coffee plants were introduced. Considerably more productive than shade grown plants, these were immediately welcomed by much of the coffee growing industry. And the problem? To grow these sun loving plants, the rain forest has to be cut. To date, it is estimated that in Central America alone, over 2 1/2 million acres have been cleared to plant sun loving coffee trees.

The really good news is that there are still producers who rely on environmentally friendly shade grown trees for their beans. Of course, you have to be careful when buying “shade grown” because the amount of shade can vary tremendously from 10% to 100% shade.

Fortunately, there are a couple of watchdog organizations who make it easy to know who really is producing coffee in a sustainable and environmentally friendly way. The first is The Rain Forest Alliance which says this of their farms:
On Rainforest Alliance Certified™ farms, coffee grows in harmony with nature: soils are healthy, waterways are protected, trash is reduced or recycled, wildlife thrives and migratory bird habitat flourishes.

The second certification comes from a Smithsonian initiative and is called “Bird Friendly”. They explain it this way: Bird Friendly coffee supports fair and stable prices for coffee producers, healthy environments for communities, greater biodiversity and protection for bird habitats, and equal access to markets for Bird Friendly coffee producers.

Of course certified shade grown coffee is more expensive than most others but there comes a time when we must realize that our earth and all her myriad living organisms are priceless. So, help invest in our future, next time order a cup of “shade grown” – and don’t forget your travel mug!!

I was walking beside the lake close to our house yesterday when I came on a beautiful planting of yellow daffodils and – of course! William Wordsworth’s famous poem came to mind. when he all at once saw ….

“A host of golden daffodils, Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.”

I was delighted, not only to find my own “hosts’ but to find the poem so aptly describing the scene in front of me. And then I read the next few lines……..”10,000 I saw at a glance, tossing their heads in sprightly dance.”

Ten thousand!!!! I couldn’t imagine wild daffodils stretching out before me as they must have in mid – nineteenth century Lakes District, England when Wordsworth wrote the poem. It must have been a magnificent sight.

I was curious if Wordsworth’s daffodils were still blooming in England and the answer is yes! and probably because of Wordsworth. His poem is so well known that daffodil gardens and parks are common in the District and tourists flock there between the end of February and the end of April, when daffodils blooms most profusely.

If you’re a little confused about the difference between daffodils, jonquils, you’re not alone. Technically, they are all in the “Narcissus” genus. Daffodil is a common name for everything in the genus and Jonquils only refer to Narcissus jonquilla – but the name is misused so often it’s become (almost) acceptable for all kinds of narcissus.

Greek mythology tells us how narcissus plants came to be: Echo was a mountain nymph who fell in love with a beautiful young man, Narcissus. He was a vain youth who cared for nothing except his own beauty and spent all his time looking at his reflection in a pool of water. He spurned Echo’s love until she finally faded away, leaving another but her voice. The gods, angry with Narcissus because of his vanity, changed him into a flower who was destined always to sit by a pool, nodding at his own reflection.

Although I love Wordsworth’s poem, it is not my favorite quote about Narcissus. That belongs to Mohammed, who is said to have written:

“Let him who hath two loaves sell one, and buy the flower of narcissus: for bread is but food for the body, whereas Narcissus is food for the soul.”