LILAC SEASON

Ar the Wren's Nest, lilac season begins with the Persian variety. In our area, it blooms along with dogwood, redbud, white violet, daffodils and ornamental quince. This rainy spring, a French lilac joined the Persian--a first since it was planted five years ago. Soon the Japanese, Russian and Canadian tree varieties will follow suit. Their ephemeral beauty makes the fragrant  blossoms even more precious.

WHEN IT RAINS

Thalia daffodil and variegated vinca  in a liqueur glass.

Alchemilla mollis. 

Brunnera macrophilla Emerald Mist. Photo by Willoway Nursery.

It pours and pours. Planting is out of the question, but  as soon as it clears, I must considers plants that look their best after it rains. Alchemilla mollis is one of them. So is Brunera macrophilla, which has the added attraction of lovely vhina blue flowers reminiscent of forget-mets. A propos which, water loving forget-me-nots is another good choice for rain garden. It can be started easily from seeds.  I have had good results with the 20 cent packages of seeds one finds at discount stores. 

Bergenia cordifolia Bressingham Ruby.

It pours and pours. Planting is out of the question, but  as soon as it clears, I must consider plants that look their best after it rains. Alchemilla mollis is one of them. So is Brunera macrophilla, which has the added attraction of lovely vhina blue flowers reminiscent of forget-mets. A propos which, water loving forget-me-nots is another good choice for rain garden. It can be started easily from seeds.  I have had good results with the 20 cent packages of seeds one finds at discount stores. Bergenias, heucheras and hostas and bluebells round out my list. The catch is that all these are fodder for deer.

Myosotis palustris, forget-me-not. 

 Daffodils are not particularly good for rain gardens. The larger varieties flop to the ground after a downpour. However, the smaller Thalia and  Tete-a-Tete withstand a battering from the elements. I could plant acres of green eyed Thalia should a fairy godparent send me bafs of money. Look at the above photo and you will understand why.

UPCYCLING AND PRETTYING UP

 I cut this curtain panel too short and a good friend who has superb sewing skills suggested adding tabs to lengthen it. Sheer serendipity makes it a perfect match for a pot made by native peoples of the Amazonian region.

 Recycled USPO boxes covered in creamy burlap and green Italian paper make  good containers for magazines and catalogs.

 My new sketchbook got a new cover made with fabric in a Provencal print.

 Two recycled picture frames minus glass reemerge as cork boards.

SEW YOUR OWN

Things have not been too jolly around the old homestead. Spring has has been chilly and mostly grey. There are daffodils and hellebores in the garden and the too often clipped forsythia does  adds a note of cheer, but for all that, there is an absence of gaiety, of enthusiasm, of hope for sunny days. Under the circumstances, might be justifiable to take to bed until July of thereabouts. Except that it would be cowardly. Better to isue a challenge to the greyness,

"Hey, I see you. Do you now see me. I intend to make you retreat. Send me your seconds at dawn."

Bright yellow curtains are just the right banner to wave as one utters defiant words. Mine are cotton, 54 inches wide, printed in America with a delightful suzani pattern. It took me two hours to cut and hem them. It is not too professional a job. Part of me feels that it might have been wiser to outsource. O am not a trained seamstress. The sewing machine and I are not always in the nest of terms. My seems tend to meander and lurch. No matter. Sewing my own curtains, crooked seems and all, gives a sense of accomplishment. That, I suppose, is why women often turn to crafts in bleak times. See, for example, the beautiful quilts made during the Depression. Imagine the women who designed and stitched them while they wondered what to feed their families.
With few exceptions, work traditionally done by women's work has usually been undervalued. Seamstresses, quilters, embroiderers rarely command the respect they deserve. That might be the reason so few women or men of the younger generation bother to learn traditional crafts. It is easier to go to Hellmart and buy a pair of cotton Battenburg lace curtains made by Chinese political prisoners or Third World workers who are paid slave wages. At ten bucks a pop, they are a real bargain. My curtains cost four times as much although I bought the fabric from an outlet. I am OK with with the price I paid.  The curtains are good and sturdy. They will last for years. What's more, they are a little offering to the gods of joy and  my contribution towards making my home a pleasant place. These days, more than ever, we need pleasant places.

THE SUBTLE CHARM OF HELLEBORES

Hellebores bloom in the shadow of cedar tree and rose bushes. They match the discreet elegance of white and blue anemones and provide  a subtle counterpoint  to the brassy notes of tete-tete daffodils. It will be interesting to find out whether they will hold out until the green-eyed Irish Mist daffodils come into flower.  The latter were meant to partner  a white dogwood tree and the white lilacs Krasavitsa Moskow and Madame Lemoine. But the dogwood sulks this season and the lilacs have yet to bud. Deer and voles did away with the white bleeding heart, ornamental quince, Turkish tulips  and lily of the valley that might have been the beginnings of a moon garden. I take comfort in knowing that no gardener has ever died of heartbreak. Just when prospect are bleakest, one happens upon unexpected delights such as the humble hellebore blossoms half  hidden by a layer of last year's dead leaves.

THE COLOR YELLOW

     Fragonard.

Bilibin.

                         Frieseke

Bakst.

.

Bonnard.

Dewing.

                                                                     .







.

.

                 Inspiration.

                                                                                                                            

Maybe it is the grey clouds of several consecutively rainy days that makes crave assertive color. I am in love with yellow in all its variations. I am dazzled by daffodils, hibiscus, daysies, some Bonnard paintings, Bakst and Bilibin sketches. I am planning a in shades of of pale gold, buttercream, mango, mustard, and touches of ochre. So far, I have a fistful of paint chips, four watercolors, sixteen yards of yellow checkered cotton for the curtains, creamy toile lace, and two yellow quilts. It is just a beginning, but living by the millstream one learns to take its its song to heart. The tempo is adagio.
Adagio is precisely the tempo is I hope the friends who will stay in this room will embrace. I chose the colors and art for the light hearted feeling they convey. I want this to be a space where guests can recover the playful feeling of being on a wonderful camping trip. I am no particular fan of camping or fishing, but love the spirit of adventure, the disconnection from daily responsibilities and sameness camping awakens in aficionados. In a sense, I want my new guest room to have the atmosphere "Gone Fishing" signs bring to mind. At times such as ours when economic trouble, war and disaster are rife we all need havens. I can neither avert war nor disasters,. All I can do is make a haven to my friends and family. It is a very modest accomplishment, but I leave grand projects for those who have the talent and stamina to carry them out. Adagio, adagio and all grace notes I can muster. This is how I live by the old millstream.

THE PINK COLLAR GHETTO

 "Do not allow the empowerment of women and girls to be 'ghettoized' strictly as a women's issue, " said a  participant in the Clinton Global Initiative.  Will the Shepherdstown Town Council pay her any mind? Doubtful. There are women in the council, but the question is, do they represent the women in the community?  How can they when only a tiny minority votes at local elections. Ask the non voters why they stay away from the polls and they often say that they are disgusted with the town's farcical administration. They are tired of lies. They are tired of folks who care only for their personal agendas.
Can this be changed? I doubt it.