A Garden Grows in Brooklyn

"While you were out ..."

2009-08-03T14:01:00.006-04:00

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Wisconsin -- farm days

2009-08-01T20:48:00.014-04:00

We spent lots of time on Clario Farms, the organic farm owned and run by my sister-in-law Claire and her husband Mario (and 7-mo-old Nina does her part, too). Weeding, and picking strawberries, raspberries, beans, patty pan squash, and lettuce were all novelties for us, and we threw ourselves into it with a will.

[Click on any image for a larger view.]

Nice red barns.

Evening approaches.

A pailful of strawberries, destined to be mushed and served on pancakes.

Where raspberries come from -- raspberry factories. I mean plants!

Beautiful sun-warmed raspberries -- lots never make it into the house. Sometimes temptation is too hard to resist.

Living in clover.

Beautiful, healthy hollyhocks. I'm so jealous. Kewanee and Door Counties have been experiencing drought for two years now, so damp leaves are not a problem. Well, it is a problem (we passed a sign that read "Pray for rain.") but not for the hollyhocks.

Lambs, destined this fall to become lovingly raised, free-range, grass-fed chops and roasts. Place your orders now! (Seriously! Visit http://clariofarms.com/?p=50 .)

Not forgetting Nina!

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Wisconsin -- pretty amazing

2009-08-01T20:22:00.010-04:00

Summer in Wisconsin can be great -- if you manage to avoid the humidity. This summer, we did -- in fact, it was unseasonably cool. But we had a wonderful time. One of the best finds this time was Cave Point County Park in Door County. As Owen put it, "This place is pretty. This place is amazing."

The park is on Lake Michigan, which is slowly wearing away the limestone, built up eons ago as coral reef.

Owen got to spend time with his cousin Anna, who was born 3 days after him. They always hit it off, though they don't see each other often. I wonder how they will get along next year, when they are 13, and then 14, 15 ...

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"Het is dood"

2009-07-21T16:56:00.009-04:00

That's right. Say it: "'Ut iss dode." Which, in Dutch, means, it is dead.

What is dead? This. The dogwood tree. Het is echt dood. It is truly dead.

And this, the mountain laurel. Zo dood als een pier. As dead as a worm, except that our worms are NOT dead!

Why, why? I ask myself. I think that they both wanted "partial sun, partial shade," and what we gave them was a Sonoran-like micro-climate in the summer, though with several hours of shade, and alpine winds in the winter.

And why, why, why in Dutch? When I was a kid, I lived in Holland for a year or so, and at odd times, Dutch expressions come to me. It was hard for me to admit the awful truth, but when the truth forced itself on me, it did so in Dutch. Deze boom is dood. En dit is ook dood. This tree is dead. And this is dead too.

Another expression that pops into my mind now and then: Mag it heb ... May I have ...? Mag it heb een koekje? Ja? Dank u!

Mmmmm, stroopwafel!

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Easter, belatedly

2009-07-21T14:56:00.012-04:00

I've fallen behind a bit -- quite a bit. With two books underway, I got a little busy. But now that I'm on vacation with my new little netbook, it's catch-up time. So, Easter. It was a gorgeous day and we went to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden to take in the magnolias.

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Crocus

2009-03-17T08:32:00.006-04:00

At my last Chinese brush painting class, I felt inspired by the newly hatched crocuses.

This calligraphy means "spring" "flower".

The moment calls for a haiku, I think:

and after such a year
the first crocus
in its usual place

-- Anita Virgil

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Signs of Life

2009-03-16T11:25:00.020-04:00

Spring, again. Were it less than twelve months since the last time we saw green shoots pushing up through winter dirt, would we be as delighted? Another instance of the human psyche and the earth's cycles working in perfectly-evolved harmony.

First to bloom, as usual, is the ground ivy, generally considered a weed. For a pest, it's pretty.

Also making an appearance, a few crocuses (croci?). I just learned that saffron is actually crocus pollen. However, apparently it's the pollen of the fall crocus. I think the pollen of spring crocuses may be toxic. I'm not going to test this theory myself, however.

The hollyhock emerges.

Also, some tulips.

And daffodils, and hiacynth.

And the sedum. It starts out so sweet-looking! By late summer, it's all bulked up.

Signs of trouble: all those pods are morning glory seed pods. All those black specks are morning glory seeds.

I'm tempted to bring out the shop vac and deal with them once and for all. Hmmm ...

photo courtesy of Pacific County Historical Society and Museum

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The Dharma of Caring

2009-02-22T17:06:00.033-05:00

photo credit wpclipart.com

This post isn't really about gardening, except in the sense of life, death, renewal, loss, that sort of thing.

This month, an essay I wrote is appearing in a small Buddhist journal called The Mindfulness Bell. This publication is put out by the Order of Interbeing, which practices in the tradition of the Venerable Thich Nhat Hanh. This is the tradition which I practice in. The essay is about my experience of caring for a friend who was dying from brain cancer.

Some definitions for those who are unfamiliar with Buddhism:

sangha -- a community of practitioners who meditate together and support each other

dharma -- the teachings of the Buddha; truths about the nature of life, reality, and our consciousness

dharma sharing -- the practice of speaking from your heart about the joys and trials of your practice, and of listening deeply as others speak; the period of time set aside for this sharing during each sangha gathering, which is all but unique to this tradition

tea ceremony -- in this tradition, the special format of certain sangha gatherings, during which we share tea and food (nuts, orange slices) mindfully together, and then share songs, stories, paintings, poems, etc., in order to "water seeds of joy."

boddhisatva -- a being who commits him- or herself to relieving the suffering of all other beings, through deep understanding and compassion

.............................................................................................................................................................

Sangha as Refuge: The Dharma of Caring for Alison K.

by Lauren Thompson

I never knew Alison K. when she was well. By the time both she and I were regularly attending the Rock Blossom Sangha, in Brooklyn, New York, she was a few months into a diagnosis of inoperable brain cancer. Her tumor was a glioblastoma, the worst kind. According to the statistics, she had a year, at most two years to live. She was forty-one.

This would be my first intimate encounter with the reality of death, with the reality of someone I knew dying. For the sangha, it would be our time to experience most poignantly what it means to take refuge in sangha.

Having brain cancer is difficult enough. For Alison, the difficulty was compounded by the facts of her family situation. She was living alone at that time. Her parents had both died years earlier. She had two sisters, but one was unable to help, and the other was able to visit only periodically. For reasons known best to Alison, she had decided to grant three close friends the medical, financial, and legal powers of attorney. They all loved her and were deeply committed to her care, but even as a group they couldn’t meet all of her emotional, spiritual, and physical needs. And so the degree of refuge that Alison sought in sangha was profound. As her illness progressed and her needs grew more intense, the compassion that arose within the sangha, both as individuals and as a body, was just as profound. For me, the experience was one of watching a miracle unfold, as beautiful and poignant as a lotus flower.

Like a flower, this bud of compassion unfurled in stages. At first, only one or two members were involved in her life outside of sangha. For most of us, our involvement consisted of listening deeply to her words during dharma sharing. She shared all of her pain and confusion, her fear and occasional joy and ease, and for me, as for many, her need was sometimes overwhelming. I felt a strong impulse to close her out, to guard myself from her pain. I felt the discomfort of strong aversion, and also the discomfort of disapproving of my own aversion. Was I really so selfish and weak that I would turn away from a sangha sister who was dying of cancer? At times I felt such distress that I could barely sit still.

But the practice of deep listening helped me through these storms. Week after week, the instructions for dharma sharing reminded me to observe my reactions without judgment, to simply bear witness to her truth, to listen for what may not be said in words, and to attend to everything with great gentleness. After some time, I found that my response had changed. As Alison spoke at length about her life’s present conditions, I heard the heart message beneath her words: “I suffer. Please help.” And the bud of compassion began to open.

It was then that I was able to reach out personally to Alison, and it was then that our brief but intense friendship began. One fall afternoon we met for tea, spending hours in conversation that dispensed with the usual preliminaries and small talk. We connected very deeply. Within weeks, Alison’s condition would worsen, and through the winter and spring she spent more time in hospitals and hospice than out. Her capacity for language began to deteriorate, so that at times conversation was not possible. Yet our connection remained strong; in fact, it became only stronger. What she needed was for me to be fully present to her, and during my brief visits, often no more than an hour once or twice a week, I found I was able to offer this. Whether that meant laughing over a movie with her, staying with her through times of confusion or distress, or holding her hand as she slept, it was tremendously rewarding to be with her in this way. It could also be draining and upsetting. I learned I had to take care of myself, as well, in order to take care of her. Layer by layer, the petals opened.

As Alison’s condition worsened, many others in the sangha were also drawn to be personally involved. Some offered regular companionship. Others helped to move her belongings into storage when she had to leave her apartment. Some visited as they could, or provided occasional transportation; others offered support to Alison’s closest caregivers. Some simply held her in their thoughts.

And Alison expressed her gratitude for it all. A precious memory for the sangha is a tea ceremony which Alison attended in the fall. Alison began by sharing how thankful she felt for the support she had received, the friendship, the love. Then she sang a song for us all. It was a setting of the Beatitudes, which she sang beautifully in a low, warm, alto voice. “Blessed … blessed … blessed are the poor in heart, for they shall be comforted ….” She sang with her eyes closed, her hands crossed over her chest, as if her heart could not contain all that it must hold.

As the months went on, Alison would at times be able only to whisper “Thank you” or “So sweet,” or smile her luminous smile. Even if the most she could do was gaze into our eyes with warm intensity, she found a way to convey her gratitude.

We found that, even if we were only marginally involved, caring for Alison required that we shed expectations. Her condition would worsen and then dramatically improve, so we never knew what to expect from any visit. One day, she may be quite talkative. The next, she may be almost comatose, as her heavily medicated body stabilized after a major seizure.

Our sense of how much longer she might live was in constant flux. She moved back and forth between supported independence and hospice, between functioning and incapacity. Each transition felt like the end of one era and the beginning of another, but how long that era might last was anyone’s guess, even the experts’. “Don’t-know mind” was the only frame of mind that could contain this fluid reality. There was no definite future to plan for together – the customary illusion of “the future” could find no fixed mooring under circumstances like these. There was only the present moment.

We in the sangha all contended with the feeling of helplessness, of having to accept that we could not give Alison what she really wanted, a reprieve from early death. And much as we might wish to offer our comfort, we couldn’t know how she would receive it. She might greet us warmly and ask about ourselves. Or she might barely waken. Or, for others more than for me, Alison might display the impulsive fury of a frustrated child, straining every fiber of her caregivers’ patience. We consoled each other, in person, by phone, and through an e-mail care circle, that our loving presence could be only helpful. We also encouraged each other to take breaks, to give only as much as we could without feeling resentful.

The challenges were many, but the gifts were many, too. I know that for myself, time I spent with sangha sisters and brothers whose visits happened to coincide with mine often led to long, intimate conversations. Being with Alison awakened in many of us the sense of how precious every moment with another being truly is. Knowing this, how could we be anything but completely authentic and kind? For me, these encounters provided moments of deep healing of the terrible loneliness that had always left me feeling set apart and unknown. Through Alison’s dying, I had fleeting glimpses of interconnectedness with all of life, of true interbeing.

Certainly the clearest experiences I had of interbeing were with Alison herself. During one visit in early spring, she was alert and eager to communicate, but her speech was confused. Still, her heart intent was very clear. She insisted that I not leave until I had some “Christmas.” She knew that wasn’t what she meant, and after a few moments she landed on the right words: ice cream. An aide brought us each a cup of ice cream, and when she couldn’t finish hers, she offered it to me. I told her that more ice cream would probably upset my stomach. She held her cup out to me, saying, “Then eat it carefully. I’m giving it to you carefully. So you eat it carefully.”

As I took the cup, I was moved almost beyond words by her offer, which was indeed full of caring. She seemed to be passing to me, not just ice cream, but her life, asking me to enjoy for her the portion that she would not be able to enjoy herself.

“Alison,” I said, “you are a good friend.”

“Yes, but no,” she said. “You don’t understand. I really like you. No, not like. I mean, I don’t want to be …”

She started gesturing broadly with her hands, and I suggested, “You don’t want to be all lovey-dovey?”

“Right,” she said. “But I love you. I really do.”

“I love you, too,” I said, “I do.”

And for many moments there was only silence between us. There was a communication then that was not really between “Lauren,” with one personal history, and “Alison,” with another. We barely knew each other on that level. It was a connection of our very being. It was a moment of such joy and sadness. It was the most beautiful gift. A “Christmas” gift indeed.

When I was ready to leave, she patted her bald scalp and said, “Next time we have class, I’ll wear my hat.”

I smiled. “You mean next time I visit?”

“Yes, that’s what I mean.”

“You look lovely just like this,” I said. I kissed her forehead, said good-bye, and left. That was our last conversation. Within a week, she passed away.

I knew Alison well for only six months. I knew very little about her family or her relationship history, or what kind of music she liked. But through her dying, I caught a glimpse our fundamental interbeing. Along with others in the sangha, I felt that I was able to step, now and then, in the footprints of the bodhisattvas, responding with compassion to Alison’s condition, which was, ultimately, the human condition. I sensed, moments at a time, how precious life is. I saw how sangha can be a boat that carries us safely to the other shore – it carried Alison, and it carries me still. This is the dharma of caring for our sangha sister, Alison.

Alison K. passed from this life on March 27, 2007, at the age of forty-two.

Alison on her 42nd birthday

Lauren Thompson, Compassionate Eyes of the Heart, practices with the Rock Blossom Sangha in Brooklyn, NY. She is a children’s book author, presently working on an adult memoir on her experiences with Alison K.

Copyright (c) 2009 Lauren Thompson

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Wisconsin, Land-o'-Snow

2009-01-05T09:14:00.014-05:00

This December we traveled to Wisconsin to visit family. Why else would we be traveling to Wisconsin in December? Like last year, they are getting dumped with snow, which is very pretty, except for having to plan your driving for the pauses between storms.

One highlight of the trip was our time in Algoma, just south of Door County, where my sister- and brother-in-law, Claire and Mario, have a farm they are managing organically. (Visit ClarioFarms.com for a tour.)

Their latest crop: a baby!

Meet Nina Helene Micheli, ten days old:

(Click on any image for a magnified view.)

The temperature was in the single digits, and the 40-mph-wind gusts were fierce, but we still managed to walk the property once or twice.

The cows were willing to venture from the barn now and then. The cattle are being raised for meat, so no milking is involved. Claire and Mario also raised a few lambs last year.

The chickens are still laying eggs. Of course the rooster takes all the credit.

It's a pretty area. Nina will be lucky to grow up there. She's already got a farmer's sense of timing -- the clever baby knew to be born during the slow season. Not many veggies to be harvested in winter!

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Chinese Brush Painting

2008-12-15T12:35:00.018-05:00

I have been learning Chinese brush painting, which has brought me a lot of joy. This year I decided to make holiday cards out of small paintings. Here are a few of them.

[Click on any image for a magnified view.]

Wild Orchid. This is a traditional summer subject, but I used it for the holiday cards because I like the simplicity of the traditional composition.

Dragonflies. Often a subject conveying summer, but it also conveys the Buddhist sense of the ephemeral nature of life. Mostly, I just like the strokes used to paint them.

Plum Blossoms. This is a traditional winter subject. Apparently plum trees often bloom during winter, amid the snow.

These will all be sent out to friends and family, so soon I won't have them anymore. Goodbye, little paintings, may you spread joy as you travel.

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Yellows and browns

2008-11-08T12:52:00.013-05:00

Fall has come, with rain.

I feel a haiku moment coming on ...

A leaf falls
Lo, another leaf falls
With the wind

-- Basho

Painting by Baitei, 1734-1810, Japan

However, some garden denizens refuse to succumb to a gloomy mood.

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Happy Birthday to me

2008-11-07T12:43:00.007-05:00

A November rose for my birthday.

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A Glimpse of the Future?

2008-11-01T17:55:00.007-04:00

I hope not! No, this was just me on Halloween, 2008.

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Catskills again

2008-09-01T13:18:00.002-04:00

In late August, we went back up to the Catskills, so that Owen could attend the Finale of the Wayfinder Experience camp. This time, we stayed near Phoenicia. Owen had a great time, and Robert and I did too>

We spent a lot of time in Woodstock. Robert made a new friend, Mike Esposito,who is something of a local celebrity. His history is classic Woodstock -- stopped in Woodstock in 1968 and never left -- and makes for a good story. These days, he fixes up old bicycles and sells them to the tourists, keeping his own schedule. I love the sign in the window of his barn; "Hopin' for Business." He's a sweet guy, and the time that Robert spent talking bikes with him and sorting through his barnful of parts was the highlight of the week for him.

What I got out of it was time to check out the shops, and a Lotus bicycle I spotted in Mike's barn. I love the Lotus I have been riding, which we bought for $15 at a Goodwill-type store in Oshkosh, WI, but this one has a lady's frame, and I like that.

Another day, we spent a few hours on the Hudson River.

The hills in the background there are the Catskills.

The sky was beautiful.

Once we were back at the house, Robert liked to take a swim in the pond at the bottom of the road. It was too cold and mucky for me.

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A Day in Brooklyn

2008-08-08T12:03:00.025-04:00

Brooklyn has many charms, even beyond my vest-pocket garden. Here is Prospect Park, on a lovely day in August.

Last summer I did a painting of this view.

I also really like the sky at this time of year. Prospect Park sky:

Windsor Terrace sky:

Issa says:

like blue sky
the summer kimono
I'm wearing

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August Doings

2008-08-03T12:48:00.028-04:00

More action in the garden, in spite of the heat. We've had high 80s, sometimes 90s, with high humidity, for what feels like weeks and weeks. I think it has been weeks and weeks. Today, at least, is truly lovely -- 82o, very low humidity. Thank you, all buddhas and bodhisatvas in the ten directions!

[Click on any image for a magnified view.]

The clematis has now bloomed. One bloom. That's all. Did I do something wrong? I don't know. Everything is blooming less than it has in the past. I'm going to blame it on global warming, pandering to the uber-rich, and the war in Iraq.

Speaking of wars -- are you in the CLEMatis or the clemATis camp? Fine Gardening magazine says CLEMatis is correct. The dictionary (and the staff at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden) say both are correct. I'm following Fine Gardening, because I am a fine gardener, n'est-ce pas?

Other new faces:

Toad Lily (Latin Tricyrtis). This is one of my truly exotic plants, as it is native to Japan. Hence its placement near the fountain. I moved it forward a bit, and it seems to relish the extra light. I plan to save the seeds and see if I can get more plants going next year.

Also newly blooming is the Liriope, aka Lilyturf. Apparently it is an aggressive spreader. That's why I put it amongst the lamium. They can fight it out. (Sorry for the combative subtext in this post. What is that about? Hmmm.)

The nasturtiums are struggling along, blooming and then getting blasted by the heat. I've moved most of the plants to shadier spots. The flowers have an interesting structure.

The fountain grass is blooming. I am probably allergic to it. Oh well.

A bloom emerges:

Lost in a fountain grass world:

The daylilies are still going strong.

Each flower lasts for one day. In the morning, I go out and pull off the finished blosoms. All that photosynthesis, osmosis, respiration, transpiration, and what-not, for a day's bloom.

This is what the butterfly bush looked like in May:

This is what it looks like now:

This is what it's all about:

The fig tree next door also has grown quite a bit. Soon we will have ripe figs.

And how is the morning glory doing? Just fine, thanks.

We have a new addition to the hardscape. Someone down the street is cleaning out their garage and discarded this ladder. I've leaned another part of it against a wall of the house. Not sure what I'm going to do with it. Robert suggests using the two halves to build an arbor. I might just let a clematis or climbing rose have its way with it. Still thinking.

Finally, sunflower siblings.

Click here for a slideshow of the images from this post.

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But What About Mitsie?

2008-07-22T10:58:00.012-04:00

I know you've wondered about Mitsie, even begun to worry. How is she? Where is she? Doesn't she live at this blog any more?

Your concern has been appreciated, and I'm here to tell you that Mitsie is fine! She's right here! She's happy you asked!

The truth is, though, that Mitsie is not enjoying this heat wave. She's making the best of it, trying not to complain. Mostly, she is just trying to keep cool.

Lying on the floor, under the big ceiling fan in the living room, sometimes works.

Until it gets boring.

Under the table makes for a nice change.

Under the table, facing the other way is an option as well.

When all else fails, she can always have a wash.

Then there's under the china dresser.

Maybe now Mom will leave her alone?

(Okay.)

(To give due credit: the last photo was taken by Owen. Nice one, O!)

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July Glory

2008-07-20T12:52:00.025-04:00

Mid-July is always a peak time in the garden. Too bad it's usually too hot to spend much time back there.

[Click on any image for a magnified view.]

The borders are filling in. This year, I've finally got the height I was aiming for. Maybe too much height, not enough middling and low? (Click here to see what it looked like in May.)

I haven't mentioned the liatris yet -- also known as Blazing Star or Gayfeather. It is an American native. An interesting note: "Another old common name for this plant is Colic Root, alluding to its medicinal use as an antispasmodic for the intestines among other uses." I'll be sure bear that in mind.

The daylilies are in full-throated chorus. I don't know why I love these guys so much. I'm so happy I found this particular yellow. The variety is Hyperion, in this case from White Flower Farm.

The globe thistle is coming into bloom (if that's what you call it -- coming into fuzz?)

The rose report:

The sunflowers sprang into life while we were away. Here is one of them.

I always plant the type that have several heads per plant. In their appreciative exuberance, the squirrels tend to knock down the tall, regal, single-head variety. Then there's nothing left for me to appreciate. With several heads per plant, it's just the flower that rips off when the squirrels decide to hang from it as they gorge (and quarrel) -- the plant is free to keep on blooming.

The campanula -- a short variety.

I planted a taller variety this spring, but it doesn't seem to be thinking about blooming this year.

P.S. We've begun to lay out the pavers, with the help of our friend Douglas. The Tower of Power remains, however. It's just too hot to be moving heavy concrete chunks to the front and heavy concrete pavers to the back. But it will get done, eventually ...

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Bluebirds

2008-07-18T09:00:00.011-04:00

photo by Ken Thomas

This is a tale about a bluebird family, and my dad.

My dad lives in Massachusetts with his wife, Marge, in a house with floor to ceiling windows, lots of antiques and oriental rugs, and some land. They too are passionate about their garden, but it's a different kind of garden -- a vegetable garden. We exchange photos and news about roses, peas, columbine, and potatoes. And birds. They've got finches, and jays, of course, and turkeys, and until recently, bluebirds.

photo by Bill D, Alpharetta, GA

Last year, they were so pleased to see that a bluebird couple had moved into their bluebird nesting box. They watched as the pair built a nest, then as the female brooded on the eggs, and as they worked to feed the chicks. Dad and Marge grew very fond of the birds and were thrilled when the original bluebird couple returned to their nesting box this spring. Eggs were laid, chicks were hatched, and all was right with the world.

Then one morning they found the male bluebird lying dead near the house. Other than being dead, it looked unharmed; they guessed that it had flown into one of their windows. They watched for the female and saw that she was still around, feeding her noisy chicks to the best of her ability. But after a few days, she was gone. Soon there was no noise from the box. My dad told me about climbing a ladder and cleaning out the box. No bluebirds have returned.

photo: free license, Wikipedia, by "Basil"

He said they felt sad about it, and he sounded sad. Thinking about it, I feel sad, too.

To the bluebirds, I bow.

Click here or here to hear the bluebird's song.

bowing figure by Ed Silverton, UK

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Wilderness as Garden: Garden as Wilderness

2008-07-17T13:48:00.011-04:00

There were lots of wildflowers up in the Catskills. Most of them I can't identify. I know that the first is chickory.

Even in the wild, you find bindweed behaving just as it does in the garden: bindingly. And beguilingly.

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Catskills Live Up to Reputation: Blogger

2008-07-16T15:00:00.084-04:00

We're back from our much-anticipated week up in the Catskills. The house was nice, the rain held off, and we all had a good time. So far, the relaxed feeling is still with us.

The Catskills really are very beautiful, and a few snapshots can't do it justice. Nevertheless, here are a few snapshots.

[click on any image for a magnified view]

Owen spent the week as a day camper at the Wayfinder Experience, which took place at a site near near the Ashokan Reservoir. We gave Owen his own disposable camera, but he was too busy having a wonderful time to remember to take any photos, so we don't have much to show. But this will give you a sense of the kind of place and experience it was:

If you live anywhere near the Catskills, and you or a child age 11 and up are interested in living out heroic fantasy for a week, I highly recommend the Wayfinder Experience [click here].

High Point

While Owen was thrashing about with a styrofoam sword, Robert and I had some time to ourselves to explore the area. We soon found that our total of 45 years in the city had soured us to long driving trips on hilly, winding roads, so we didn't venture too far. Our biggest hike was along the High Point Trail. It was supposed to be our starter hike, just to break us in; but what we thought would be a short jaunt took almost six hours, and really wiped us out. Fortunately we were carrying a good lunch and lots of water.

There always seemed to be a stream nearby.

Worlds we passed along the way:

We didn't reach the top; once we finally had a view, we stopped, rested, ate lots of the wild blueberries that grew all around, and headed back. I was too beat to pull out the camera to take pictures of the blueberry patches. But it was the taste that was the most memorable anyway. The berries were intensely flavorful and sweet, so much better than the cultivated berries we bought later in the trip.

Fireflies

The house we rented had a big yard, and at night it was lit by a galaxy of fireflies. I experimented with keeping the camera shutter open for long stretches of time (1, 4, 5, 10 seconds), and this is the best I could get:

Ashokan Reservoir

Ashokan Reservoir is the source of drinking water for the city of New York. Several small towns were displaced in order to create it, similar to Quabbin Reservoir in Massachusetts, and, I suppose, to many reservoirs across the country. Nonetheless, it's very beautiful, and draws lots of trout fishers as well as bikers, rollerbladers, and walkers.

[Click on the 360o panorama below to get the full effect.]

Kaaterskill Falls

On Saturday, we visited the popular Kaaterskill Falls, the tallest set of waterfalls in New York State and one of the primary inspirations for what became the Hudson River School of artists.

Kindred Spirits, Asher Durand

I doubt that Asher Durand or Thomas Cole envisioned rock climbers rappelling off the walls. Nature appreciation sure has changed over the last 180 years.

Can you spot Owen and me in this photo?

Another from above:

Saugerties Lighthouse

We also visited the Saugerties Lighthouse, overlooking the Hudson River.

It is accessible by boat and by a trail, part of which is submerged at high tide. Indeed, the Hudson is tidal up to Albany. (It is brackish until Poughkeepsie, I heard.) We walked the trail and then had a lovely swim in the cove.

There is a nice deck shaded (and stained) by mulberry trees. The lighthouse has two bedrooms which can be booked as a bed-and-breakfast, as a way of funding the lighthouse's upkeep.

I was inspired by the light, reflections, and shadows to try to take some "artistic" photos. Once again, the camera sees too much -- I didn't notice how mucky the grass was until I uploaded the images at home. Oh well.

Click here for a slide show of our vacation pics.

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Tell Mr. DeMille ...

2008-07-04T22:23:00.032-04:00

...we're ready for our close up.

I find the small details of how flowers are put together really fascinating and surprisingly beautiful. Especially when it comes to the pistels and stamen. (I will have to ask Owen again which is which.)

[Click on any image for a magnified view.]

Verbascum (mullein)

Gaura

Cosmo (the first one came out this morning)

The sweet peas have been growing but not making buds. July is supposed to be way too late for peas anyhow, but I thought it would be worth a try to protect them more from the heat and sun.

I was rewarded with a sweet pea blossom yesterday.

Climbing Mount Fuji

We have a lot of snails in our garden this year, which probably isn't considered a good thing. But so far, it hasn't caused any problems. (However, I think I ought to read up on it before there are problems.) This snail is several feet up a mullein stalk, on its way down. I guess there's not much to do at the top of a mullein stalk: admire the view, then head back. It reminded me of this haiku by Issa:

Climb Mount Fuji,
O snail,
but slowly, slowly.

Because I like Issa, here is another of his haiku:

Approaching my village:

Don't know about the people,
but all the scarecrows
are crooked.

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Holy Moley! What's That?!

2008-07-04T21:58:00.009-04:00

The Aztecs are coming! The Aztecs are coming!

No, not quite. But it is our very own tower of power.

I mentioned to Robert about ten days ago that this summer, I'd really like to replace the poured concrete with some pavers I saw on-line at Lowe's. Next thing I know, he's borrowed a sledge hammer and is breaking up the backyard. Then he's gone off to Lowe's. Later, a huge flatbed truck with a forklift hanging off the back pulls up at the end of the street. The forklift leaves a stack of paver-filled pallets, topped with many bags of builders sand, by our stoop. And Robert and a friend start pulling up the concrete chunks with a crowbar. The result -- something prehistoric. Or post-historic, apocalyptic, even.

This is what the new pavers will look like:

I hope the Cap'n approves!

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Hollyhocks at Last!

2008-07-02T23:00:00.015-04:00

At last, I get to see what a hollyhock is all about. It's blooming!

[Click on any image for a magnified view.]

So far, I haven't noticed any scent. But they are lovely to look at.

The reliable coneflowers are also blooming, in their reliable way. As summer goes on, they get a little scraggly, but now they are crisp and lovely.

Mystery plant no longer a mystery!

It has become obvious, at last, what this plant is. A globe thistle. Of course. I vaguely remember ordering it, thinking the round heads would complement the allium seed heads. Right now there is only one allium seed head, being swallowed up by the ever-shaggier fountain grass.

Maybe next year, the effect will be more complete.

Jack's beanstalk?

Only if Jack would accept a morning glory as his stairway to heaven.

A surprise

I used to have a few mallow plants (malva) in the back where the hollyhock is, but every year they were decimated by rust, an orange-brown fungus. So I gave up on them. However, when I saw this one volunteer making a go of it, I left it. So far, no rust. It chose a lousy spot, just outside the edging of one of the beds, and it may not survive the laying of new pavers currently in progress (see next post). So enjoy it while it's here.

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What is a garden without a splashing fountain?

2008-06-20T11:18:00.025-04:00

It is still a garden. But what is a fountain without a basin into which the water should splash? It is a half-dressed guest at the wrong party. And such has been the fate of my fountain ... until now.

I bought a Japanese-style "deer-chaser" fountain, and a pump, two years ago. I had hoped to make a sort of pond out of a small cat litter tray, but it really didn't work out. I had it running anyway, but the bright blue plastic rather spoiled the effect.

Last year, I didn't try to run the fountain at all. I searched in stores and on-line for just the right bowl, but I didn't see anything I liked at a price I could justify.

Then I saw this "koi pond" on Target.com. The only problem was that it's made of cast concrete and weighs about 20 lbs. Normally, concerns about global warming would stop me from having something so heavy freighted all the way across the country. But since they were offering free shipping, those qualms went out the window (or up the smoke stack) and I clicked "buy." Now it's here, and while I wish it were a little deeper, I like it a lot.

Can you see the "koi" at the bottom?

[Click on any image for a magnified view.]

Why is it called a "deer-chaser"?

The middle bamboo tube is enclosed on the end, and pivots on an axle. When the tube fills with enough water, it tips down, the water pours out, and then the tube tilts back, knocking as it hits the prop at the back. That "knock" is supposed to chase away deer. Maybe it worked with Japanese deer hundreds of years ago, but I don't think today's deer would give it a second thought.

I like the name the four-year-old boy next door has given it: "man peeing." (As in, "It looks like a man peeing.")

[Watch the video below to see and hear the fountain in action. Apologies for the airplane sound overhead.]

I've been wondering about how to keep the mosquitos from laying eggs in the water when the fountain isn't running. I thought maybe setting one of Owen's Playmobil boats adrift might do the trick.

Ahoy!

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June issues forth

2008-06-19T18:42:00.031-04:00

Roses (or Rose, as the case may be)

After a spell of crazy hot weather, the garden is now licking its wounds, and, thanks to plenty of rain and a dose of nice weather, doing okay. (I know how concerned you were.) It's June again in Brooklyn, and that means roses.

[Click on any image for a magnified view.]

The first bloom of roses, which was plentiful and luxurious, got scorched. This time around they're holding back. There is only one rose right now.

Oh ye of little faith!

Admit it, you thought that the dogwood was a dud. You thought it was DOA and would end as expensive compost fodder. Not so fast, sister!

Maybe it was just waiting for that wave of 99-degree weather before coming into its own. If so, it will be quite happy in our Brooklyn backyard. We get lots of that 99-degree weather, just usually in August, not June.

* * *

Personally, I had no idea what mullein was capable of. I'm pretty impressed! It's got to be about five feet tall now.

Another mullein plant is a bit behind, but looking nice as well.

Gaura and friends

I didn't even know that gaura existed until Robert gave me this plant last year for Mothers Day or our anniversary or something.

This variety is called "Ballerina" and Robert picked it out for me because at the time, I was finishing up a book about ballerinas. (Ballerina Dreams: A True Story, published by Feiwel & Friends). I really like it -- sort of wild and refined at the same time. It has just started blooming.

Other friends are still getting warmed up. The hollyhock is stretching up and soon it will bloom for the first time -- I only planted it last year.

And then there is the Mystery Plant #2. Its buds are starting to form. I keep expecting to have my memory jogged -- after all, I am the one who bought it and planted it -- but I'm still at a loss.

They call me spready ...

Ah, lamium. It never holds back, it just leaps at life, and anything else it encounters. Usually I pull some out every other day or so, but I left it just so that I could take this photo and write about it here. (Pathetic, I know.)

This is what it was doing a few weeks ago. Actually, I weeded it heavily after this photo; since then it's come back, and then some.

Jolanta is my dear neighbor who first gave me a little clump of lamium a few years ago, duly warning me of its homesteading tendencies. Jolanta, if you are reading this, please don't take my good-natured rants personally. Do forgive me, as I have forgiven you. ;-)

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Of Cups and Roses

2008-06-06T20:54:00.022-04:00

About four years ago, I planted cupflower (Nierembergia) under the forsythia. Since then, it has hardly ever bloomed. Last year, I don't think it bloomed at all. It has not exactly manifested as "rapidly spreading low plants, smothered in upward facing, cup shaped white flowers all season long," as promised. I'm not sure if the problem has been too much or too little, or of what. Sun? Water? Nutrients? Working in organic fertilizer didn't help last year. Doing nothing seems to have done the trick this year. (And cutting back the forsythia.)

Cupflower in its proper glory (just the beginning, one hopes).

[Click on any image for a magnified view.]

Meanwhile, the roses are starting to do their thing. (In truth, these photos were taken almost a week ago, at the end of May, and their thing has since come along a bit.)

I always like to document the First Rose of Summer. It's always on this bush, which has particular meaning to me. When we bought this house five years ago, we closed on October 30, right before Halloween (and a week before my 40th birthday). When we got back from the closing, even though it was very late I went over to the house with the key to take a proprietary look around. After taking lots of photos of the fake-wood-paneled, shag-carpeted, suspended-ceiling-hung interior, I switched on the backyard light, waded through the chest-high weeds, and came to this rose bush -- or tree, since it was almost ten feet tall. I was amazed to see (and smell) a number of pink blooms and some buds as well. In fact, it bloomed into December. (Then it abruptly stopped, as one of the coldest winters in a long time settled in. With all those old, drafty windows, it wasn't only the roses that shivered that winter.)

Of the original eight rose bushes we inherited with the house, we now have only two, the pink and this yellow one. It blooms later and less, but the scent is so lovely. Here, it needs another five days or so to start opening.

Our neighbor's roses are already going gangbusters.
But we're not envious. Not a bit.

On the other side, our neighbors have a stunning fig tree. It produces more figs than the bunch of us can keep up with. However, the squirrels are happy to do their part.

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Aha!

2008-05-28T18:26:00.008-04:00

Mystery Solved!

Well, one mystery solved.

I have identified Mystery Plant #1. It is Pulmonaria, aka spotted lungwort. I'm not sure exactly which variety this is, but it's one with very muted speckling on the leaves, making it atypical.

The other plant remains a mystery:

Thanks to everyone who is visiting. A special hello to visitors from Japan, Hong Kong, Brazil, Peru, Norway, France, England, and Canada.

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Angels in Stone

2008-05-26T21:59:00.049-04:00

An Hour in Green-Wood Cemetery ...

[Click on any photo for a magnified view.]

Someday I might like to spend an eternity in Green-Wood Cemetery; an hour today was very pleasant. If you've never been, I recommend that you try to make the trip. Photography is frowned upon, but no one frowned upon me personally, so I kept taking photos.

Green-Wood is famous for its many angels (and parrots). We once saw a dramatic performance in which dancers dressed as stone angels posed among the tombs, occasionally perching themselves on walls and tree branches. It might sound eerie, but it was really beautiful.

Another angel from one side ...

... the same angel from the other side.

I liked this girl, too.

A view.

Another view.

The cemetery has its own views. (That's Manhattan and maybe New Jersey past the derricks through the mist.)

There are some flowers, too -- not as many as I expected. If you like big, old trees, there are lots of those.

And finally, there's "Our Fred."

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Sunny morning after rain

2008-05-21T11:03:00.045-04:00

Though presumably I have more important things to do, the sun was shining and I just had to go out and take a few photos. And I just had to post them. Forgive me. I promise to get to work soon.

[Click on any photo for a magnified view.]

More columbine in bloom.

It's interesting trying to photograph things in the garden as I really see them. The camera sees too much. When I look at this spot through my eyes (and mind and heart) ...

... I don't see the mess of dark fencing against the gray rooftop of the garage below. (The blocks here are terraced, so the back neighbors are below us.) I don't see the chain link fence. I see the glowing petals, the delicate tails of the columbine. Getting up close and managing the background help, even if it does mean twisting myself into some weird, barely-balanced positions. Here the camera's image is more along the lines of what I see:

It's all very interesting, at least to me!

A moment for poetry.

Flower, bee, ant, dew ... didn't Issa write a haiku about that? Or maybe I'm thinking of Emily Dickinson.

Bee, oh bee,
how do you do
that bee thing
that you do?

Mystery plant #1.

This plant has some distinctive characteristics that should make it easy to identify. But I am still stumped. If you are having one of those aha! moments, please share. Thank you.

About which I will have more to say later.

This is lamium.

It's very pretty, it has very pretty flowers and the leaves have an interesting scent. Also known as spotted deadnettle. I will have more to say about lamium later (see under "spready").

What happens when you rake up a mess of fallen leaves, twigs, and scattered dirt, which happens to contain seeds from last year's morning glory vine, and let it mellow in the rain for a while? This is what happens.

I will have more to say about morning glory later (see under "spready," "tenacious," "dear but only to a point").

A lady at her leisure.

The sun feels good to us earthlings.

Warm spot No.1.

Warm spot No. 2.

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A Bit More

2008-05-20T10:09:00.055-04:00

Just a bit of new action in the garden this week.

Click on any photo for a bigger view.

The verbascum has started to bloom. It's also known as mullein [mull'-en]. Pretty!

The allium (flowering onion) is also blooming. I had two, but one was dug up by the dog that lives next door. He dug clear under the fence over to our side. I found the bulb and replanted it -- I hope it comes up next year. Meanwhile, I've bunged the hole with empty flower pots, until I have the time to work in some chicken wire and refill the hole with dirt.

The columbine is in full bloom now. Here is one variety. There are some purple and white ones as well, which I'll photograph and post soon.

A close-up of the cranesbill/geranium. This is a Croatian variety. It's been keeping the bees happy.

Last year I planted this Japanese painted fern, and it's come back nicely. It used to be in the shade of the maple tree, but now that the maple has been replaced with the spindly little dogwood, its spot is not so shady. Fortunately, this fern can tolerate quite a bit of sun.

Out front, I stuck in some pansies and a plant that I bought on an impulse at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden shop: Diascia. Also known as Twinspur, it comes from South Africa and is related to the snapdragon.

Mitsie's World

The big news in Mitsie's world is that yesterday evening, she caught a bird. She caught it and she ate it.

I poked my head out the back door to check on her and ask her if she wanted to come in, and she gave me one of those "Leave me alone, I don't want to come in!" meows that told me she was up to something. I looked over the railing and saw that she had already disemboweled a small, yellow-headed bird. This was disheartening for a few reasons. First, it might have been a goldfinch or some other rare visitor whose numbers are already dwindling without Mitsie's help. Also, I'd already fed her, and here she was having a second dinner -- so much for her diet.

Last time she had a bird in her clutches, two years ago, she rather fumbled the play. I came downstairs one morning after my shower to find little feathers scattered everywhere. I thought, Did Mitsie tear up a pillow? I had left the back screen door propped open, so as I didn't see Mitsie anywhere indoors, I looked in the backyard.
I found Mitsie in her secret spying spot behind the lilac bush, with her paw on a sparrow. The bird wasn't moving, and I assumed it was dead. Mitsie wasn't trying to eat it; she was sniffing it and gently touching it with her paw, as if to say, Look what I have! Isn't it nice? And it's mine!

After a few minutes, she sauntered into the house, looking very queenly -- she had just proved her mettle, I guess, and moved up a rank. I went in the backyard to look for any remains, and the bird was completely gone. There was no sign of it. I decided that perhaps the bird had been stunned and flew off (though with a lot fewer feathers than it started out with that day.)

Last time, I found the whole thing really gross; suddenly Mitsie seemed like such a beast. This time, even though she ate every bit of that bird except for the tail, I took it more in stride. It's not that different, after all, from her eating ground-up chicken that comes in a can. Except that she caught it herself. And eating it involved some work: it took her 20 minutes to pick apart the bird, while she generally polishes off her canned food in about 50 seconds.

At any rate, it's time to put her collar back on, the one with the bell. She runs whenever she sees me with it, so I'll ask Robert to do it.

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What's New in the Garden?

2008-05-14T11:41:00.061-04:00

Hi, everyone! Here are some pictures of what's going on in our Brooklyn backyard garden.

Okay, this isn't our backyard, this is the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, but it got your attention, didn't it!

Now to my garden. Here are some wide-view shots of the whole thing, such as it is. Not much in bloom yet, but things are filling in nicely! (Click on photos for a slightly bigger view.)

After a pathetic show last year, our dwarf azalea really went all out this spring.

Our latest addition to the family: a dogwood tree. Doesn't look like much, I know. It's 2 years old and about 2 feet tall. But just you wait!

We had a maple tree there, but common sense finally prevailed, and we took it down. The dogwood should be just the right size for our mini backyard.

We have two mystery guests this year!

I lost the labels for some of my plants and I don't know what they are. Do you?

Mystery plant #1:

I have 3 of them. Pretty, but what are they?

Mystery plant #2:

I have only one of these. From where I placed it, I'm guessing that it will grow tall flowers. Any ideas? (Click on photo for a bigger view.)

Now on to some old friends.

The last of the iris.

The first of the columbine (aka aquilegia for you Latin lovers).

I love this Cranesbill, also known as native geranium or hardy geranium. Tucked nearby is a creeping phlox and, behind, bugleweed. Once the butterfly bush gets into gear, the bugleweed will thrive in its shade, though the cranesbill will suffer. (Click on photo for a bigger view.)

What else?

You can see that the back border is starting to fill in nicely, in an English cottage garden kind of way. (Finally!) Moving from front to back, there's creeping Campanula (bellflower), columbine, daylily, hollyhock, and one of the mystery plants. To the left, the iris keeps spreading like nobody's business. To the right, I'm going to be cutting the lilac way back, to encourage new growth deep into the corner of the fence. (Click on photo for a bigger view.)

That lilac must be at least 50 years old. Our neighbor Ruth, who used to live two doors down in #21 , gave a shoot from her own lilac to Mary Brown, when she was raising her two boys in our house, #17. Ruth sold her house the year we moved to the block -- Robert helped her to clean out the basement, and I helped her to attach a new toilet seat. She was impressed that I was so handy! Now she's living in the southwest with one of her daughters. We still have her Christmas cactus.

I bought a few Verbascum plants last year --- one died, the others didn't do anything. But this year, we'll be getting some blooms. I can't wait.

The hanging planter you see is a combination of petunias and some other things that is doing poorly (already?!), so it's back here in the plant hospital. Once it's looking decent again, I'll hang it out front.

This year I tried to start a number of things from seed. Not everything was successful. The morning glories, which I will train up the ugly laundry pole, all sprouted, but there's nothing remarkable about that. I'm happy that some of the sweet pea plants are thriving. Here is my sweet pea patch ... er, pot.

I also planted some nasturtium seeds -- Owen helped me. Now it's time to thin them out and transplant most to other spots. My neighbor Joe will take a few. How about you? Both the leaves and flowers are good in salads (so I've read).

In case you haven't seen our screen door and back steps lately, here they are, in all their painted glory. (With requisite junk underneath.)

Of course, everything displayed in this post really belongs, in her opinion, anyway, to one very special feline: Mitsie. Sometimes she is just too interested in challenging the bees, but so far, no stings.

More later!

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