Dink

Katie, my sweet stepdaughter, has had many nicknames growing up. Dink. Noodle. Katie B. On Saturday, she’ll be Katie B. no more, taking a new last name as she marries Erik. Of course, her father Cliff and I are looking back as we look forward. A frame with pictures of Katie in our various gardens needs adjustment and dusting before our guests arrive, and I sigh with nostalgia. I guess no parent approaches the wedding day of a child without asking, “How did she grow up so fast?”

Below is Katie in full dinkness at age 2 1/2, with Farewell-to-Spring (Clarkia).

Hello-to-Joy. Always.

Bonk

Sife has climbed to the top of the aged tree and apples hail down on us, bonk, bonk. My nephew Jack and niece Allegra are here this weekend, and we have plans for apple pie, apple cobbler, applesauce. We begin filling a red plastic tub with fruit. The higher the level of apples becomes, the more grandiose becomes 11-year-old Jack’s plans for the bounty. “We can take them to the city and sell the pies. We can sell the applesauce.” His mind is full of simple equations, simple conversions. Apples equal money; money becomes Pokemon cards.

The apple tree, ignored, abandoned, was

spared this year when the tree guy came to do some cutting and clearing. Cliff and I were undecided about what to do with it. Tree Guy said, “It’s kind of poetic.” Who can cut down a poem? The apple tree rewarded us amply. So I, in turn, must give it haiku:

Old man apple tree
Drops fruit with young abandon.
Gather warily.

Just Peachy

I'm always melancholy when I return from a visit with my ailing mother, so I go to the garden for solace and cheer. My favorite garden colors - peach, apricot, soft oranges - are still present in the roses. Royal Sunset dependably climbs its rustic support, redwood branches wired together, surrounding a bird feeder I made of California license plates (unfortunately, we never remember to fill that feeder). Just Joey is taking a rest, but Polka is still blooming, clambering enegetically through the tea tree.

I am spending way too much money on the garden, but I think today perhaps some retail therapy is needed. I won't buy jewelry or clothing - I'll buy bulbs (actually, corms) of Watsonia 'Early Dawn' from Willow Creek Gardens
http://www.willowcreekgardens.com/

Tomorrow I'll feel guilty about my
extravagant spending, perhaps, but today
I need a treat.

Traveling Tomatoes

Friday morning I harvested some of our heirloom tomatoes. Husband Cliff and I put them in a box and drove from Santa Cruz south to North Hills, California, to give them to my elderly mother while we visit her. My dear departed father absolutely loved a good tomato -- toward the end of his life he dreamed of them. He also loved the poet Keats, so on his 85th birthday I parodied one of his poems and called it Ode to Dad's Tomato Dream:


He dreams of
A thick, red, ripe tomato slice on

A bagel thickly smeared with cream cheese

A sprinkle of kosher salt.

Aaahhhh....

With whom can he share the wonder of his slumber's fruit

Whence in the very temple of Delight

His strenuous tongue

Burst Joy's tomato against his palate fine?

(apologies to Keats)

The poem (with photo of my father) still hangs on my mother's refrigerator. The tomatoes we brought, in honor of my father, were part of this morning's breakfast. Cliff sliced an Orange Russian 117. Mmmm...yes, tomatoes are indeed a fruit, so sweet.

Like memories.

Milkweed Reverie

I have been watching Golden Milkweed this season. A new infatuation with gold-colored blooms led me to gasp with joy at the nursery when I came upon two of these milkweeds. I emptied my coinpurse and made them mine. I’ve never had much luck growing milkweeds, but these have kept me happy and rapt all summer and fall. Golden milkweed attracted gold aphids; how come nobody warned me about these? I hosed them, I sprayed them. Then I accepted then. I learned to recognize the tiny white eggs on skinny stalks beneath the milkweed leaves, amongst the aphids, as the eggs of the green lacewing. I learned to trust the lacewings. Eat 'em up, lacewings, you go, you grow, be fruitful and multiply. I now watch the aphids with detached interest. In the meantime, pods formed on the plant. Distracted, I barely noticed, until they dried and burst. The big reveal: gossamer peppered with rich brown seeds in enthusiastic rows, ready to fly in random formations far and wide. I grasped as much of the milkweed silk as I could in my hands, some of the fluff and slippery seeds whisping away. I felt rich. It is fine stuff, elegant and abundant. I can glut myself in its downy tenderness. The seeds promise more, more, more...

"The milkweed pods are breaking,

And the bits of silken down

Float off upon the autumn breeze

Across the meadows brown."

--Cecil Cavendish, The Milkweed

Still Life With Hose

Who knew that I needed a purple hose? There is a part of my garden I call the Purple Party, layered with Night Owl and Burgundy Iceberg roses, a wine-colored mugwort, passion flower, salvias. I'm wasn't that crazy about purple, but it has insinuated itself into my garden. And now that I have a purple hose, I can't figure out how I lived without it. I picked some Japanese eggplant and one red yard-long asparagus bean, and this still life could not be passed up.

Clematis Craziness

So what do you do when you have 30 plus clematis plants waiting to be planted in your garden? Don’t ask me how it happened, but it had something to do with Chalkhill Nursery closing and selling their plants for ½ price. I was somewhat random in my ordering – whatever inspired me that day got ordered, and it is not necessarily what I might choose now. But here they are – here WE are – and I must do what is difficult for me sometimes. I must decide which plant goes where. And, because clematis types have different needs for pruning, I must devise a method for keeping track of my madness – what is planted where. I must say, overwhelm is my mantra today.

Yesterday I planted Clematis rehderiana (Cowslip Scented Clematis) behind a sprawling Salvia nubicola. The salvia is pale yellow with maroon markings; the tag on the clematis says the flowers will be scented, bell-shaped and straw yellow. The clematis should be a good match for this splendid salvia, which is easy to grow and gives me pleasure through the fall. The clematis should bloom mid-summer through early autumn, which will also time well with the Perfect Moment roses nearby. It may grow to 25 feet – am I creating clematis chaos in an already impenetrable flower bed?