Author: lwcmartin@bellsouth.net

I don’t grow tulips. Our climate, in the sunny South, dictates that they be treated as annuals rather than a more permanent garden fixture as they are in other parts of the country and the world. And, I am a jealous guardian of my garden spaces – and my gardening time and energy. I think that although they are undeniably beautiful for a few weeks, they don’t offer any benefits to pollinators and they are just not worth the resources that they require.

Instead, they are my store – bought guilty pleasure. Guilty because I know that buying florist’s flowers is not an environmentally sustainable practice. Though the $5 billion dollar cut flower industry in the U.S. helps provide jobs for workers in Columbia and Ecuador where these flowers were most probably grown, the environmental impact is huge. Grown with pesticides and shipped thousands of miles, tulips are an aesthetic pleasure that I rarely indulge in.

But on this cold winter day, with guests coming for dinner, I am grateful for the sheer beauty of these simple blossoms. They lift my spirit and are, as my Mama used to say, a “tide-me-over” until my own garden flowers can provide arrangements for the table.

Though I could have chosen any number of different colors, I love the simplicity and quiet beauty of white. They’re the zen of flowers – quiet and calming. Every time I walked into the room, I was struck with the miracle of beauty, which serves little ecological purpose except to remind us humans that life and nature are a gift.

Tulips have always had that effect on people. Easily recognized tulip designs on pottery shards date back 4,000 years ago. Archeologists tell us that they were probably one of the first plants cultivated solely for their beauty. In the 17th century explorers took tulip seeds and bulbs from their native Turkey to the Netherlands were the tulip industry developed astronomically quickly. By the middle of the 17th century, “tulip mania” was in full swing and rare tulip bulbs were more valuable than gold.

There are no tulips native to North America, but that doesn’t keep us from growing these gorgeous flowers in tremendous numbers, particularly in cold regions where they come back year after year. There are a huge number of cultivars and varieties, from fringed to streaked to speckled. But for me, a vase of simple white tulips on a winters day brings the greatest pleasure.

When I moved to my home nineteen years ago, the garden looked quite different from the way it looks now. A large, grassy area was surrounded by some shrubs and lots and lots of English ivy.

As I began pulling out the ivy, I discovered many plants that had survived its strangle hold. Among these was Arum, a beautiful mottled green leaf that put out an interesting white spathe in spring and a terminal cluster of red berries in late summer. Obviously planted by some other gardener years ago, I was pleased and fascinated by this glossy leafed beauty. I carefully nurtured it, clearing away ivy and weeds to give it a good place to grow. And, I joyfully shared my bounty with friends, singing the praises of this beauty. (I’m sorry. I’m sorry!)

That was then. What I didn’t realize at that time was that arum, native to Europe and Asia, can become an incredibly invasive and persistent pest that is dastardly difficult to get rid of. It took about 17 years but one day I walked out and realized that things were out of control. I had a field of arum underneath my Mom’s maple tree and it was choking out everything else so I got to work.

First I just pulled at it by hand but the stems broke off at ground level. I reasoned that without leaves, the plant would soon die. Not so. Next I chopped at it with a hoe, reasoning that if the small corms were damaged they would not survive. Not so, they just multiplied.

The biggest problem is that the Arum corm is found about four inches deep and if you don’t dig down to get the entire bulb, the plant is just going to grow and multiply. You can’t just pull it up by hand, you have to dig. And, if you put your hard-earned bulbs and leaves in a compost pile, they’ll simply root and you have to start over again. In comparison, English ivy is easy to control.

To make matters worse, this plant euphemistically called Italian Lords and Ladies, is also poisonous, making it useless to wildlife and uncomfortable for gardener’s to touch. So as you’re digging and cursing to get rid to this royal pain in the neck, be sure to wear gloves.

I have to admit to being slightly obsessed with this white rooted monster. Even if I believed in using chemicals in the garden, which I vehemently do not, herbicides seem to have little effect. It just has to be dug and eliminated by hand. Whenever it’s not freezing cold or pouring down rain, I go out and dig up a few bulbs and place them in a plastic trash bag. I’m making progress but I’m far from being Arum – free.

You might ask why I don’t just leave them – they are attractive and really, what harm are they doing? And this is my answer: Any invasive plant reduces diversity in the landscape. And diversity leads to balance and balance leads to a healthy ecosystem. And health and balance are my primary gardening goals.

So, I’m staging a rebellion to overthrow the “Lords and Ladies” in my garden. Viva le jardin!

It’s easy to get bogged own with all that’s going on because everything does seem “so messed up” but if you plan for great things, like flowers, then you’ll get them!

I’ve already spent a lot of time in my garden this winter because this is a special garden year for me. On Mother’s Day weekend, my garden will be on tour for the Atlanta Botanical Garden’s Connoisseur’s Garden tour. Yay! and Yikes! It’s one thing to invite other gardeners over to see your garden, they have an understanding that a garden is always a work in progress. It’s something altogether different to invite the general public, who only expects beauty and perfection. Though I consider my garden beautiful, it’s all in the eye of the beholder and it has never seen perfection.

All to say that I’m both excited and apprehensive about this gardening year. The plants, though, are quickly soothing my apprehensions as they are already showing signs of robust growth.

The only plant that is actually blooming in my garden right now is the old standby Lenten Rose. Every summer I swear I’m going to take it all out – it’s aggressive and takes up way too much space in my garden. But, every January, when I see these beautiful white and mauve flowers blooming in the pale winter sunlight, I’m grateful for them.

For most things, winter is a time of dormancy and rest but in my garden, there are plants whose natural cycle includes new growth during the cold, dark months of January and February. These are not plants whose growth is confused by January temperatures in the 70s. but who normally begin to put out new leaves during this time period. The rate of growth may be different due to unseasonably warm temperatures but I can only hope they are not overextending themselves.

English primrose, grape hyacinths, blue phlox and Eastern red Columbine are all putting out healthy new leaves, getting ready for what I hope will be an outstanding gardening year.

I have to admit that when I look at my back yard right now, it looks a little “messed up.” Most of what I see are brown leaves and dry stalks, but when I look closer, I see the flowers coming up. So, perhaps we all just need to take a breath and look for the flowers in ’22. And, when in doubt, plant more flowers!

I look forward to seeing you all in my garden in May!

Laura

P.S. My friend, Donna Claus, who owns the wonderful wilderness lodge we visited this past September is also looking toward the coming year. Even when her thermometer broke at negative 45 degrees this week, she began making plans for summer. She asked me to post the following and if you have any ideas or suggestions, please let me know:

Wanted:  someone who loves food, gardening and wilderness adventure!   A small, upscale  Alaskan wilderness lodge is looking for a chef / gardener to grow vegetables (and edible flowers!) in a greenhouse and to prepare delicious, fresh food for a small number of guests (6 – 8) each week.  The lodge is deep in the wilderness, accessible only by plane, and offers the opportunity of a lifetime for just the right person.  A monthly salary, lodging and possible child care is included, May – September.  Perfect for an adventurous individual, couple or small family.

It was early November, the time of the year that I launch into my most complicated and ambitious projects. Rooting around in my bin of yarns, I found red and white yarn and decided that I should get some green yarn and hand weave bands, sew jingle bells on them and make bell pulls for all my friends for Christmas.

Armed with the enthusiasm of the crafter and the knowledge that I had plenty of time (about 7 weeks!) I went to the crafts store, found just the right shade of bright green and bought (what I thought was) just enough for my project.

At home, I quickly warped my little inkle loom and set to work. BUT, there was one strand out of place on the loom. One. Weaving is an exacting craft and one strand over the bottom bar instead of under it meant I could not go forward. I spent a couple of hours trying to fix it but finally gave up, tossed out that bunch of yarn and started over.

Still humming “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas” I reworked the loom correctly and began to weave and the results were enough to make the angels smile. 57 inches of a long, beautiful Christmasy band. The only problem was, it was way too narrow for a bell pull. I sat looking at it a long time and finally inspiration struck! I could use it as the center of a decorative table runner, not remembering, of course that my dining room table is 60 inches long, not 57.

By this time it’s after Thanksgiving and the rest of Christmas is looming but, undeterred, I went back to the store and bought stunning green fabric the length of my Christmas band and set to work making a quilted Christmas table runner, which only took a few more hours. I sewed my beautiful band down the center and, bouncing into the dining room, humming “It’s a jolly, holly Christmas” I unfurled it down the length of the table. Almost. It just wasn’t long enough. And, worse, the single band just looked skimpy with the fabric. Frowny face.

What to do, what to do. I had too much time invested to give up. I tried adding fabric to the end but that didn’t work, so I decided just to leave it short and put placemats over each end. Then I decided that really, I needed additional bands on both edges. Back to the store to buy more green yarn, which they didn’t have but I found three stores later. Muttering “Blue Christmas” I went back to the loom, which I warped correctly the first time! and began weaving. My loom only can make 57 inches at a time, so I had to do everything twice to get bands for both edges, which I did by December 15th.

With the theme from “The Grinch” running through my head, I sewed the bands on the edges of the stupid, short table runner and stuck it on the table. I didn’t even turn around to see how it looked. Whose idea was this anyway?

But then, what was I going to give to my friends? December 21, I go back to the store, get red, white and green yarn, go back to my little loom, make SURE I warped enough yarn to make a nice wide band and began to weave again. Success! By Christmas Eve I had woven a long enough band to cut and make four beautiful bell pulls. Oh but who knew jingle bells were part of the supply chain problem? After going to several very crowded stores, I finally found a wreath of bells, which I cut apart and sewed bells on the bands. Done! before midnight.

Some projects simply go together more smoothly than others but I’ve found that crafting is much like childbirth, once you’re actually through it, you look at the end product and sort of forget about the pain of getting there, So, I know that come next November, I will probably have another idea for another project and start the whole process over again. Only, I don’t think it will be weaving! Maybe a three story gingerbread house with caramel sugar windows you can actually SEE through. Can’t wait!!!!

My sister and I just returned from Oregon where we were visiting family. It snowed just enough to look beautiful and feel festive without being enough to interrupt travel. We left right before storms brought inches of snow with the promise and threat of much, much more.

So, here we are snuggled back into our homes in Georgia, where the temperatures are predicted to be 70 on Christmas Day and I know that the only white Christmas I’ll enjoy will be from the white lights and the absolutely beautiful white flowers I brought into the house for decoration.

Jack and I have entertained a lot this holiday season and, to do it as safely as possible, we rented a tent that covered the back patio, essentially making an extension of the house. At first the tent people said a 20′ x 30′ tent wouldn’t fit into the space but I had been out there with a tape measure a dozen times and I knew if they placed it “just so” it would fit! With quiet and gentle (?!) persuasion, I encouraged them to keep trying and it finally fit, more or less perfectly.

A tent is an awkward space to decorate but with lights strung around the top and on the small trees in planters, it looked festive. I picked up large branches, put them in large glass containers and put more lights on them to brighten up the corners.

But of course, it was the flowers, both inside and out that provided the finishing touch. I covered an old iron spiral plant stand with greenery and put pots of flowering cabbage and white violas on it and accented the whole thing with small pots of red kalanchoe.

Inside the house, on the buffet table, I opted for a more sophisticated look and put two dozen white roses beside gold candles and gold wire trees. The look was elegant and beautiful.

Not all white is the same color, of course. Most white flowers are either tinged with pink or yellow or green. Carnations, with their stark white ruffled petals are the exception. For whatever reason, bright red flowers of all types were in short supply locally so I use the ones I could get sparingly and as accents.

I love all the colors of Christmas but perhaps most of all I appreciate the cool, quiet elegance of white, perhaps because it’s the closest I’ll get to celebrating a white Christmas.

I hope that you and your loved ones have a wonderful and safe holiday season. Thank you, as always, for reading this blog. I love writing it. Happy holidays!

For reasons unknown even to myself, I am enthralled with the idea of creating tiny things out of woodland materials and making furniture and houses for the fairies. Let me hasten to add that although I’ve been making fairy homes and gardens for many years now, I have yet to actually see one of the “wee folk.”

But, while my own house still begs for decoration and there are still many presents left to make, buy and wrap, I ignore all the things that need to be done and scurry off to my art studio to spend hours making sure the fairy house is perfect for Christmas.

Although the fairies obviously always prefer to be outside, I move them indoors during the holidays so that my bigger friends and guests can enjoy their beautiful home as well. Think Architectural Digest on a scale of 1″ to 12″.

This year, as a special surprise for the wee ones, I made them a piano. The main frame is covered with bark and moss and was fairly straightforward. But the keyboard! what a challenge. I tried and discarded many things for the keys – stalks of grass, pebbles, bark, lichen…..none of it quite worked. The key (so to speak) was two spaghetti noodles, cut to length, and 27 grains of black rice. Using tweezers and a magnifying glass, I was able to satisfactorily reproduce a piano keyboard. I made a banjo too (out of a halved hickory nut) and I keep listening for them to make magical music but so far, it’s been a silent night.

Upstairs is the dining room, with a table set with lichen plates and acorn cups. The entree this year is purple beauty berries. Yum!

On the next floor up is the bedroom where one of the fairies has kicked off his peanut shell boots and stacked them neatly beside the bed. A half-read book is on the bedside table.

Up on the roof, Santa’s sleigh and 5 tiny reindeer wait for Christmas Eve. Of course Rudolph leads the way.

Overlooking the whole house, as they should, are the angels. These heavenly hosts stand guard, making sure that all within are safe and know that they are loved.

Whether they’re made of feathers and pinecones or something more heavenly, we can all use an angel watching over us. I hope that your own angels keep you safe and well loved throughout the holiday season and beyond.

The moon has been spectacular this month. Though I wasn’t fortunate enough to see the moon eclipse, I understand that it was a wonder to behold. I’m not the only fascinated with the winter sky. My friend, Donna Claus, who lives in the wilderness in Alaska wrote to tell me of her nocturnal adventures. I’ve posted parts of her letter here. Though this woman and I share many interests and passions – gardening, family, quilting – our world’s could not be more different. I know you’ll enjoy Donna’s letter – her life is fascinating and she’s a good writer!

Nov. 3
I have no idea what awakened me last night.  It could have been one of the dogs curled around our bed.  The window is still open to the cold air  and the dogs hear what is going on outside, graciously keeping me posted. Lately there have been wolves talking in the night.  The dogs get agitated.  Their cousins are calling.  In the night I go out with them just in case their cousins are close by trying to lure them to dinner. 

 Interestingly, I heard no wolves when we emerged from our cocoon of warmth into the chilly Alaska night.  I was head down heading out, trying to get my parka hood up over my hair.  I don’t put on clothes but simply put my parka on and it needs to cover well.  I do that so I don’t fully awaken but the nylon down parka shell is cold wherever it touches so  I am fully awakened by a thousand tiny needles of cold anyway.  Evie, Bander and Mally are at my feet. They are big dogs,  bent on protecting me from……   the Northern Lights.  On a scale of 1- 10 they were probably 7 this night, which still overwhelms me.  I have witnessed their majesty so often and in so many degrees of greatness that it is hard to get higher than 7, so my bar is high for them.  

Finally the dogs bound off to do their thing and I stand with my hood thrown back to simply to stand still and gaze  in awe.  It is the official start of my winter, that first night when the lights make me stop and stare.  They went on for hours which is unusual.  I sat in a lawn chair and simply absorbed them while periodically going in for hot tea or to do a chore in the glorious peaceful deep of the night.  

There was no need for a flashlight or headlamp.  There were no clouds and the moon is almost new so it gives off little light as it skids across the lower quarter of the sky, The Milky Way glows, like trillions of tiny white winter decoration lights. I can see the space station, planets blinking red to green to white, and right over Orions Belt, a dancing purple Aurora.  Then it speeds away, gaining life and soon the entire sky is filled with curtains of dancing light.  Some people say you can hear them.  I don’t know if you officially can, but it is sure easy to imagine that you can!!!!!

We have a bit of snow on the ground so it reflects the night sky up helping me to dance around, yelling and waving my hands delighted to be alive.  There is nothing I enjoy more than seeing the canvas of the sky painted with the moving lights of winter.  

It all started when Jack and I were celebrating a special occasion at Kyma, a wonderful Greek restaurant close to where we live. While Jack was exclaiming over the really great food, I kept staring at the large glass vase which held a tree – with an infinite number of roots, all grown in water.

The roots looked like an intricate weaving, coiled and curled on each other. I don’t know how long the plant had been in the vase but it was there to stay – like a pear in a bottle, there was no way to extract the rootball through the narrow neck of the vase. But why would they want to? The tree looked healthy and the entire effect was beautiful.

I decided right then and there that I would root plants in water in interesting vases to give to my friends for Christmas. What a great gift for someone who may not remember to consistently water a houseplant . No watering necessary! Changing water every couple of weeks is a good idea but not entirely necessary, and adding a drop of liquid fertilizer helps too but for the most part, this is a maintenance – free living gift. And, in the meantime, they make a truly delightful holiday decoration.

Most of us know that ivy and sweet potato vines will root readily in water but there are so many other plants that put out interesting – and sometimes colorful – roots. One of my favorite is lucky bamboo which produces an abundance of bright orange roots. Philodendrons, too, seem happy to live in water.

For many plants you can take a stem or leaf cutting and just put it in water and they will take root. This was a popular method of propagation for my grandmother’s generation and I can remember a shelf of jelly jars with rooting from all kinds of houseplants. It takes a while for the roots to start growing, I thought my stem from a fig tree would never root, but after several weeks, I saw a tiny hair emerge and from then on it continued to grow steadily.

Being a little impatient – and knowing that Christmas is only a month away (how can that be!) I decided to hurry up the process by dividing both philodendron and anthurium plants, cleaning the roots the best I could and putting the divisions in water. This has worked great and my plants are all vased up and ready to give.

This isn’t exactly the science of hydroponics, but it’s the same idea. I’m wondering now if I can grow big, beautiful heads of lettuce in water under the grow lights. Or tomatoes! or…. wow, the possibilities seem endless. The idea of hydroponic farming is a far off dream. For today I’m glad to have my little row of living Christmas gifts and to be firmly rooted in the here and now.

Jack and I recently gave our bathroom a much needed facelift. With the new look, I decided to paint a mural on one of the bathroom walls. I started, of course, while Jack was still at work. It’s just much easier to explain projects after I’ve started them instead of before. It was a multi-day project though, so before Jack came home from work that first day, I painted a sign which said “Work in Progress.”

I think I need about a dozen of those signs. I look around the house and think, “Yep, I could use one of those signs here, or there, or there.” But where I should make a permanent “work in progress” sign is in the garden.

When I first began gardening, decades ago, someone told me that the only “finished garden is a dead garden.” Thankfully, I can say that my garden is definitely not finished!

Even now, in the middle of November, as I walk around the back garden I am amazed at the work in progress. Half the garden, it seems, is already getting ready for spring. English primrose, creeping blue phlox, grape hyacinth, and forget-me-nots are all putting out new growth, seemingly okay with the cold, wet months ahead. They do it every year, so I’m assuming they’re okay with what’s to come. For everything there is a season.

I, too, am getting ready for spring, taking out a lot of plants, such as English Ivy, lenten rose and autumn fern, which have exceeded their allotted space and are crowding out other things. I’m dedicated to the idea of planting more natives for the native pollinators so I’m pulling out aggressive, invasive plants that offer little use to the ecosystem, making room for plants that serve an environmental purpose.

I’m happy that I live in a place where I can get out and garden almost all year long, though I, too, am aware of the wet and cold months ahead. But today the sun is glorious, the sky is an indescribable blue and the air is crisp. Today, I think I’ll hang the “work in progress” sign on the garden gate. Better yet, I’ll hang it around my neck!

For months now, I’ve been wondering what in the world I was going to do with all the houseplants that have spent the summer on the porch. They have multiplied prodigiously and have grown enormously, the result being that the few sunny windowsills in the house will not come close to providing enough room for these tender plants that can’t take the cold weather.

My solution was to build a tiny little plastic encased greenhouse for them. I put it on the side of the porch so I could just roll, drag or push the heavy pots into some semblance of warmth and protection.

I was going to build it from scratch but my sister convinced me that kits from Amazon were inexpensive and “easy” to put together. And how right she was! For $75 and about 3 hours of my time, I put together my mini-greenhouse. Problem is, I’m not sure it was worth it because I don’t know if it will provide enough protection to keep the plants alive. (But, if you asked Jack, it was worth $75 to keep me busy and out of mischief for 3 hours !)

What I did not anticipate was how much I love this little greenhouse. It looks downright cozy and so far, the plants look really happy. (Of course the temps haven’t dropped below 45 yet!). All the pots are crammed in there pretty close together but some of them actually look better than they did spread out across the porch. Maybe some plants like to be crowded?

Many of my potted plants are begonias. Some I inherited, some I bought because I can’t resist their deeply textured, beautifully colored leaves. Some are in pots so big I have them on rollers, others are in “nursery” pots of the newly divided. The tiny palm and ponytail plants that I bought in two inch pots several years ago are not two feet tall and happy in their 8 inch pots.

It may not be the greenhouse of my dreams but it is toasty and charming and makes me happy. I have to squeeze in between the ferns and the begonias, but once inside, I’m glad to be part of the crowd.