Each Little World

Summer solstice

This may be the official first day of summer, but summer arrived here one week ago today. It was the kind of perfect day you dream about deep in winter: sunny and warm with enough of a breeze to keep the leaves softly rustling and the mosquitoes at bay. I spent it at a baby shower held on a farm in the country not far outside of Madison — surrounded by old stone walls, good food, horses, dogs, prairie grass, and of course, old friends. Meanwhile Mark was in a different part of countryside checking out all our potter friends at the annual Cambridge Pottery Festival. He snapped this photo which perfectly captured the mood of the day.

This may be the official first day of summer, but what's been noteworthy about its arrival this year is the endless Spring that preceded it. We've had an occasional day where the temps shot up into the high 70s pushing the blooming forward; but mostly it's been cool with plenty of rain and soft, cloudy light. It's been hell if you're trying to get tomatoes started, but heavenly otherwise. My rhodie — which had a record 17 flowers last year — had just under 50 this year. The 'Guernsey Cream' clematis had maybe a dozen blossoms last year; 40 this year. It's like the garden has been on steroids (weeds, too). 

This may be the official first day of summer, but I'm still celebrating Spring. The bouquets I made last weekend continue to hold pride of place indoors today. They're not composed of the Astilbes or Astrantias that are coming into bloom. Instead, I'm honoring the last blissful remnants of the stars of the Spring garden: The metallic gold seedheads of the Guernsey Cream clematis (above) and the glazed seed pods of peony 'Burnished Bronze' (below, along with leaves of Hechera 'Pewter Veil,' Cimicifuga 'Brunette,' and Geranium phaeum 'Samobor').

This may be the official first day of summer, but I've gardened for enough seasons to know that nothing is ever the same in the garden. You can't count on enjoying the same pairings of plants blooming together or your favorite shrub or vine producing more flowers each successive year. Change and uncertainty are what make gardening so frustrating and so enjoyable at the same time. During all these gorgeous Spring days, when others were clamoring for warmer weather, I reveled in the long slow unfolding of the season. I marveled at the lushness of the flowers and the length of blooming. I made myself stop — over and over again — to enjoy this special Spring, knowing I will never see another one quite like it.

Asparagus season

“By far the most exciting harvest of May is asparagus,” says Monty Don, one of the best contemporary British garden writers as well as a superb home gardener and one of my personal faves. He goes on to say, “Asparagus is one of those foods that are corrupted by being eaten out of season. The whole point of asparagus is that it has a time and a season.” 

You can find these thoughts and more in his book, “From the Garden to the Table: Growing, Cooking, and Eating Your Own Food,” co-written with his wife Sarah. 

And the time for asparagus is now in my part of the world. One of the great virtues of asparagus — besides its great taste — is that it’s so easy to prepare. In fact, it’s one of those foods that is best when not buried under rich sauces or lost in complex dishes. If you're looking for some new asparagus ideas, here's a few from me and my shelf of faithful cookbooks.    

How to chose and prep: Harold McGee did his asparagus homework and published the definitive word on thick vs thin and how to figure out where to break the ends off the stalks in this article in The New York Times. It finally ended the argument Mark and I have every spring about how and where to snap.

You can cook asparagus any number of different ways, all of them good. It’s more a question of taste than anything else. One pound of asparagus serves two to three people; though I’ve been known to eat the whole pound myself.  

Boiled: In her book, “A Year in My Kitchen,” Skye Gyngell says “all vegetables should be cooked in really well salted water — salty as seawater” to keep their color vibrant. (Gyngell is the chef at the cafe at Petersham Nurseries near London, above). My own tip is to not add anything with lemon juice until serving time as it turns any bright green veggies a drab olive green. 

Bring the pot of salted water to a full, rolling boil and drop in the asparagus. Bring the water back to boil and cook until tender, says Skye. This is usually only about a minute. Drain and serve immediately with any of the following: 

Pretty plain: Drizzle the spears with a bit of olive oil and a sprinkling of chive flowers. The chance to use the pretty lavender flowers is reason enough to make room for chives in your garden. 

Herb mayonnaise: Serve the asparagus with a lemon wedge and a good dollop of herb mayonnaise on the side. To about 2/3 cup of homemade mayonnaise (or your favorite store brand), add 2 to 3 Tablespoons of creme fraiche or yogurt, and one Tablespoon each of curly parsley, chives, tarragon and basil.

Citrus butter: Melt a stick of butter (4 ounces) and add the zest and juice of one lemon, lime or orange and pour over cooked asparagus.

Herb butter: Mix 2 to 3 Tablespoons of finely chopped herbs of your choice (my own favorite combination is Lemon Thyme, Lemon Balm and chives) with a squeeze of lemon juice and one stick of butter at room temperature. Shape the mixture into a log about one-inch in diameter. Wrap in tin foil and chill. Slice into discs about 1/4 thick and serve on top of hot asparagus. One woman I know uses a pastry tube and makes pretty little decorative shapes out of the soft butter and then chills them.  

Pan steamed: I most often cook asparagus this way, something I learned in the early 1980s from  “City Food,” one of Lee Bailey’s many fabulous cookbooks. Melt 1 Tablespoon butter in a deep skillet. Add washed and prepared asparagus and no other water than what is clinging to the stalks. Cover and steam over medium heat for five minutes. Shake pan occasionally. Check to be sure it’s not browning and cook another few minutes to taste.

Roasted: Last summer I discovered Ina Garton’s method of roasting asparagus in her book, “Barefoot Contessa Family Style” and it became an instant favorite. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. For two people, prepare a generous pound of asparagus and spread it in one layer on a sheet pan. Drizzle with 1 Tablespoon olive oil, salt and pepper. Roast until tender about 15 minutes. Sprinkle with 1/4 cup of freshly grated Parmesan cheese and return to the oven another minute until the cheese melts. Divine! 

As Monty Don says, “Eating asparagus is good not only for the taste buds but also for the spirit: It makes you feel pampered and indulged.” So go ahead, indulge yourself. Alas, asparagus season won’t last nearly long enough for you to get really spoiled.

Parts of this column appeared in The Capital Times under my byline.

Woodland peonies

Peonies are a sentimental garden favorite whose luscious — almost lascivious — flowers never fail to conjure up memories of other Springs, other gardens. What I love about peonies is also what I hate about them: these beauties can’t seem to hold their blowzy heads up, even in the best of weather.

Though many gardeners seem unaware of them, there are other kinds of peonies which don’t have this problem. I’m not talking about tree peonies which literally grow into a woody, small tree with dinner-plate size flowers. I mean the progeny of wild peonies from Japan, Turkey, Mongolia, the Himalayas and other romantic locations. Sometimes they’re also referred to as species, mountain or woodland peonies.

Paeonia obvata willmottiae, of Chinese origin, has cerise pink flowers that glow against its crisp green foliage.

Whatever you call them, these peonies are members of a complex family and I find it’s easy to get confused, if not entirely lost, when trying to figure out their parentage and origins. Suffice it to say that most of these are very early blooming, herbaceous peonies that die back each year just like the more well-known border peonies (Paeonia lactiflora). But many of these peonies can take a bit of shade, like that at the edge of a woodland.

Most are single flowered with petals that are silky with a faint crinkled edge reminiscent of the deckle on handmade paper. They range in color from white through mauve to pink and intense reds.

This woodland peony, Paeonia obvata var. alba, emerges with bronze foliage.

I’m currently growing five varieties: Paeonia anomala, P. japonica, P. obvata var. alba, P. obvata willmottiae, and P. vetchii. The obvatas and japonica (planted in 2006) all flowered for the first time in the spring of 2008; all on May 7th. The anomala and vetchii plants are still too young to flower; they need at least another year to mature.

Paeonia obvata var. alba

I’m still very much in the process of learning about these plants. For example, one article that I read noted that Paeonia obvata var. alba is often confused with P. japonica which has similar flowers but blooms later. I definitely agree that the flowers are similar but both my japonica and obvata bloomed at the same time this year and last. In fact, they opened at practically the same instant.

Paeonia japonica in bud.

The flowers of both are ethereally beautiful but the leaves of Paeonia obvata var. alba are extraordinary. They emerge the most amazing soft copper color and stay that way until just after the plant blooms. Now they are slowly turning to green which is the color the leaves of all my other peonies have been from the first.

But as beautiful as the leaves and flowers are, the obvata seed pods are a brilliant blue-black and as Klehm's Song Sparrow catalog notes they  “glisten against a red backdrop.” Quite a spectacle, I can assure you!

The petals of Paeonia japonica flowers are silky white with a faint crinkled edge. 

Alas, you will have to do a little searching to find these peonies. Even the Klehm family, who have been breeding peonies for generations, only offer a couple of varieties of such peonies — and then not every year. In 2007 they had P. japonica and P. obvata in their Song Sparrow catalog and on their Web site, but I could not find either of them listed this year.

Plant Delights Nursery, another of my favorite sources for interesting and unusual plants via the mail, has P. japonica and two varieties of P. obvata in their 2009 offerings.

Paeonia japonica

 

I’ve discovered most of these less common peonies at Seneca Hill Perennials, a nursery in Oswego, N.Y. with a terrific assortment of plants. For example, the 2009 catalog (available on-line only) lists 6 Hepaticas, 17 Cyclamen (a particular specialty), and about two dozen species peonies. For many of its listings, Seneca Hill offers younger and smaller plants that make for an economical purchase. Your credit card takes less of a hit but the catch is that you may have to wait a couple of years for these plants to attain flowering size.

Paeonia obvata var. alba (both photos directly above)

Prices, being tied to size and age of plants, also vary widely. My 2005 Seneca Hill P. vetchii cost $8 and the anomalas were $12 each. The 2006 P. obvata var. alba was $10 from Seneca Hill while Klehm’s P. obvata cost $29.95. It is worth noting that both plants are of a similar size now and both bloomed for the first time the same year.

Paeonia obvata var. alba (above) and Paeonia japonica (below) going to seed.

My advice is to simply go looking to see what you can find and then buy what you like. I’m completely smitten with these beauties whose delicate looks belie their hardiness. I can’t do better than turn to Reginald Farrer who captured these unsung plants so perfectly, “Let all those peonies that are too wild and small to cope with the bloated beauties of the border, have their acknowledged place in the garden, in some fitting corner of deep hollow or high cool ledge.”

Don’t despair if you have neither hollows nor ledges. My peonies are doing just fine at the edge of a clump of old Austrian pine trees and a young Washington Hawthorn.

Parts of this column about species peonies previously appeared under my byline in The Capital Times.

Bulbs: Strange and subtle

I love the most common garden plants, but I also love plants at the opposite end of the scale; plants with history, provenance, an intriguing name, odd shape or unusual color. I'm growing two spring bulbs that fall into the latter categories.

ODD SHAPE: Acuminata tulip (above and below) will amaze all your friends. Old House Gardens (where I bought my bulbs) says it's unknown in the wild and probably the remaining survivor from the early 1700s when "tulips like it were all the rage in the Ottoman Empire." OHG named it their Heirloom Bulb of the Year in 2004. 

Acuminata announces its presence even in bud. In bloom, its petals twist and turn and are as sharp as needles. A delightful oddity.

ODD COLOR: I've had Fritillaria pontica (below) in the garden for three years but this is the first time it has bloomed. Marauding rabbits kept eating it until this year when I caged the new shoots the moment they appeared. To be honest, it had been so long since I planted these bulbs I really didn't remember what they were.

I kept watching them emerge and get taller (to about 12"), waiting for a clue to their indentity. A few days ago I realized the flowers were almost open, but were so subtle I hadn't noticed. The bell-shaped flowers are mostly green with purplish-brown edges and one to three per stem. These Fritillaries are growing in semi-shade at the edge of path under the trees where they look totally charming.

If I had only remembered these bulbs were in my garden, then I would have partnered them with the Fritiallaria imperialis 'William Rex" I planted as an experiment last fall. It's a shorter (18-24") version of the classic Crown Imperial but  a "rich, dark, bronzy red," according to Brent and Becky Heath, where I bought the bulb. Looking at the photo on their Web site, I'm betting it would look great with the ponticas. I'll know for sure once King William blooms; then I can re-arrange the plantings and get it right for next year! 

Bulbs: Double Dutch

The showstopper flower in last year's Spring garden is wowing us again this year. I took the plunge in the Fall of 2007 and planted tulips for the first time in years. The all performed well, but the one that captured our hearts was “Schoonoord.” In 1935 Louise Beebee Wilder said it was “an old variety but invaluable.” It’s a flower that I've decided I never want to be without now that I’ve grown it.

The green and yellow striped buds open into lushly double white flowers touched with gold. Anyone who's seen them in a vase thought they were peonies. Since they first began to open, Schoonoord's drawn Mark and I out into the garden day after day in every light and weather to enjoy its changing beauty. Luckily I ordered enough bulbs that I felt free to cut as many as I wanted to bring indoors.

It came back this Spring surprisingly strong. And again, is so fetching that I think I must order more bulbs. Luckily they are currently listed on the fabulous Old House Gardens site. Now the big question is 10 more or 25? You know which way I'm leaning don't you?

Mark took photos of Schoonoord like she was our firstborn! And I kept sending him back to get just one more ...

Scott Kunst of Old House Gardens is such a sweet guy; he put a link to my column about Old House bulbs on his Web site. You can see what I said about some of their other bulbs here.

Madison memo: Plant sales ahead!

I don't know about your town, but one of the annual rites of Spring here in Madison are plant sales. I mean the ones sponsored by garden groups not commercial nurseries. They are a chance to buy local and sustainable in the best sense of those words. This is the week they kick off with two of the most prestigious: 

Olbrich Botanical Gardens' Plant Sale with the Pros: This sale is known for three things: fabulous selection of tried and true plants mixed with cutting edge introductions; on-site advice from Olbrich staff and local experts, including help creating containers; and crummy weather. I always volunteer for this sale (come say hi on Sat. between 9 a.m. and 1 p.m.). I usually work the shade perennials which are under a tent to protect them from the sun. More often than not, there is no sun; it's cold, windy and threatening rain! Those who've worked this sale know to dress in layers and make sure the top one is waterproof. Still, I'm hoping for the best!  Friday, May 8, members only from 11 a.m. to 4 p.m.; open to the public from 4 p.m. to 7 p.m. Public sale continues on Saturday from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. See Olbrich's Web site for more details.

Friends of the Arboretum Native Plant Sale: This is THE place to find native plants with over 100 species of grasses, woodland, prairie, and savanna plants, trees and shrubs on offer this Saturday under the big tents next to the UW-Madison Arboretum Visitor Center, from 9 a.m. to 2 p.m. Click here for details. The UW-Madison Arboretum — one of our local treasures — is celebrating 75 years in 2009 with a number of special events. Since 1934, the Arb has been "restoring the land, advancing ecological restoration and fostering Aldo Leopold's land ethic," as the Web site puts it. It's also a great place for a walk in the Spring.

Jeff Epping, the Director of Horticulture at Olbrich Botanical Gardens in Madison, wears his "Pro" apron and conducts a sale at a past Olbrich plant sale.

Also noteworthy:

Westside Garden Club: I love this sale and never miss it. They sell "choice perennials, specialty annuals and herbs," as a recent email from one of the members put it. Many of these plants are from member gardens so you know they will grow here. They tend to be nice size offerings at reasonable prices. This sale is also in the gardens and driveway of a lovely house (3918 Nakoma Rd., just west of Thoreau School) in one of Madison's older neighborhoods, so a visit is always a treat because of the setting. The sale is Friday, May 8 from 8 a.m to 6 p.m. and Saturday from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. LIke most local clubs, the proceeds of the sale are donated to garden related civic organizations and projects.

I checked my garden journal to see what I bought last year at the Westside sale and discovered I spent $48 (including $6 on a pair of gloves that looked interesting). I had forgotten what I bought so the list refreshed my memory and I can tell you everything is up and looking good. I bought a number of different kinds of primroses and they have come up in big, healthy clumps — very exciting. I'm guessing they may be in flower by the time the sale rolls around this weekend.

Shorewood Hills Garden Club Annual Cocoa Mulch and Plant Sale: Saturday, May 9 from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. at the Shorewood Village Hall, 810 Shorewood Blvd. Call 238-4860 or 236-9374 for more information. A good group and their event should prove the same.

Wisconsin Hardy Plant Society Plant Sale: Saturday, May 16 from 9 a.m. to noon at the West Madison Agricultural Research Station, 8502 Mineral Point Rd. This is a stellar sale! The plants come from members' gardens, as is the case with many club sales. But this group includes some incredible gardeners and thus the sale always includes some unusual plants but you have to get there early. 

The last couple of years I've bought small Korean maples (Acer pseudosieboldiana) for about $10-12. Even small, they make an immediate statement in the garden. Already this spring, the trees I purchased at last year's sale have started to put on growth. How can you beat that price for a tree that has dramatic fall color, disease resistance, hardiness and small stature perfect for urban gardens?

Small vases, big impact

Many spring flowers — at least the ones in my garden — are modest and would be easily overwhelmed in a large arrangement or a large vase. To help these petite plants shine, I often concentrate on one kind of flower in a vase, pairing it with foliage that shows the blooms to best advantage — often not the plants' own leaves. If I want to vary the blooms, I still don't mix more than three different flowers as a general rule. The diminutive size means the arrangement can easily get muddled, so keeping it simple sems the smartest strategy. 

You've already seen my cloisonne vases with violets; here are some other favorites:

LIke most gardeners, I have favorite plants that I grow in different colors or varieties. I play up those contrasts by color or by shape, using two different flowers that are the same or similar colors. Think about all the variations — in color, shape and size — in daffodils or grape hyacinths, Epimediums or primroses, and you begin to get the picture.

Most of my books on flower arranging are geared to dramatic bouquets and big vases. But containers for these delicate arrangements require a different approach. And an artful eye: You need to recognize a small container for its possibilities as a vase.

I found my favorite containers in a wide array of places: a bulbous purple glass vase came from a fancy dress shop in Chicago; ceramic vases came from potters in Cambridge, Wis., as well as the annual Twenty Dirty Hands pottery festival in Galena, Ill.; a pale pink glass dish on a matching tripod was a house-warming gift; a school-bus yellow glass vase with a red collar came from the Frank Lloyd Wright gift shop at Monona Terrace.

Containers with a family connection make any arrangement more meaningful. I often let fragile china tea cups from my mother do double duty as flower containers. Here, I've popped in a Labrador violet, roots and all. 

Of couse, these flower arrangements are going to get lost unless displayed where they can be enjoyed close-up. My favorite locations are the bathroom vanity, the windowsill over my kitchen sink, the little tables on either side of our bed, the table between our favorite reading chairs, and next to my computer. Someplace where I can enjoy my handiwork — and nature's.

This essay appeared in a somewhat different form under my byline in The Capital Times.

A pair of bouquets

Perhaps my favorite spring flowers to showcase in a bouquet are violets. I pretty much let them run wild in what grass we still have, because I can't imagine spring without them. Violets are one of the flowers I remember picking as a little girl. My mother displayed them in a tiny green and white Chinese cloisonne vase that belonged to her mother.

Today I have that vase  — actually a matched pair — and continue to fill them with violets. One vase dedicated to white violets; the other to violet violets. A perfect pairing and an equally perfect memory.

Yellow speaks

I find color — in the house or in the garden — an endlessly fascinating subject. Whenever there's a new book on the subject at my local library, I bring it home. Usually I pay more attention to the pictures than the text, but sometimes the writer captures a color perfectly in words,too. 

In the book, "Color At Home," authors Meg and Steven Roberts call the chapter on yellow, "Spring's sweet shout." It's a charming phrase that aptly describes what's happening in my garden this week. Here are a few early yellows that demand to be heard.

Primroses (top), Epimedium, and Marsh marigold.

Gardening: It's all about relationships

Taking pictures gives one the chance to mull on a moment that would otherwise be too fleeting to register. It's amazing how often Mark and I "see" things in a photograph for the first time. Take a shot from a low angle or an odd location — a view that would rarely be noticed — and suddenly you find you've captured the essence of your garden vision.

We've been watching this clump of bamboo all winter as it bleached from green to a washed-out tan. Today we were crouched under the adjacent spruces in search of the spring ephemerals that grow there. No sight of them; instead we looked up to discover the winter-burned bamboo no longer pale but glowing. The sunlight streaming through the trees also lit up the tiny Iris reticulata while casting the nearby rocks into deep shadow. 

A new angle and new juxtapositions. In a split second, new relationships were revealed between things we thought we knew well.