Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Tasha Tudor
Tonight as I was falling asleep with my cat curled up in my arms, cuddling snugly against the cold of winter, my thoughts went to Tasha Tudor who is a gardener extraordinaire. You may be aware of Tasha because she is the fabled author and illustrator of children's books about her Welsh Corgyn (plural of Corgi). Corgiville Fair was a favorite of ours when my children were young. She is still a favorite of mine because she is a gardening diva who has inspired me year after year. Once I discovered and read Tasha Tudor's Garden written by Tovah Martin and photographed by Richard W. Brown, I became a devoted fan and eternal admirer of Tasha. I highly recommend reading this book if you love gardening and the spirit of gardeners.
I knew Tasha was born in August even before the Author pointed it out in the book. I have known quite a few gardening masters and they all seem to be born in August. They all have had a staunch New England, no-nonsense approach to gardening and their gardens are second to none. In their gardens no Johnny-Jump-Ups jump up and scamper randomly to the far corners of the garden. Foxgloves know their place in the scheme of things, and there will be no running willy nilly or free-seeding themselves wherever they please, and the result is fabulous.
Yes, of course, there was Vita Sackville-West who created Sissinghurst Gardens near her castle in the English countryside, but Tasha is a hands-on mistress of the art of gardening and is, to my mind, unparalleled. Undaunted by the long, cold and adverse winters in Vermont she has, with the help of her greenhouse, never-the-less created a veritable Garden Of Eden on her mountaintop homestead.
I have gardened in Vermont. It has many pluses and minuses to be sure. I recall one bitter cold, wet and hostile Spring. We were already into the last weeks of May and still Winter was refusing to call it quits, greedily chomping away at the months we have designated to Springtime. Unable to deal with the freezing rain, hard and frigid soil, trees and fence posts covered with ice, I called the airline and made a reservation to go to Victoria, British Columbia and bask in the beauty and warm fragrance of Butchart Gardens. Before leaving for my trip I went to the near-by grocery store and picked up a few pathetic, struggling flats of flowers and took them home and heartlessly stuck them in the ground. It was time to plant and plant I would. I figured that these plants had survived so much adversity already being commercial offerings in a neglectful come and get it sort of experience, they probably had a fair chance of surviving further insult and injury in my garden.
I am also born in August.
A day or two after the planting a friend, and fellow gardener, was standing at my window looking out at the garden. Seeing the newly set plants in their bleak, icy drills, she turned to me and asked, "What is this, Andrea's Outward Bound for perennials?"
After laughing heartily we went upstairs for tea and some frustrated commiseration.
My friend is August born as well.
Upon my return from Butchart, which is gorgeous by the way, I was delighted to find that the plants I had set-out before leaving were doing just fine. It is amazing to me that these seemingly fragile and delicate stems of cellulose and water can stand up to wind, hail, snow, sleet, and just about whatever neglect and abuse that nature and I can rain down upon them. They just survive and flourish. It's all part of the glorious wonder of it all. And I am eternally gratefully to be a part of it.
Get a copy of Tasha Tudor's Garden, if you don't already have it, order a pile of seed and plant catalogs to read by the fire. I am a pyromaniac of sorts. There is something about a fire in the fireplace on cold evenings that inspires me. If you don't have a fireplace or a wood stove, maybe you can get a virtual dvd for your television or computer that will suffice to bring much warmth and illumination to the art of garden design that we will soon begin. ATB, avc
I knew Tasha was born in August even before the Author pointed it out in the book. I have known quite a few gardening masters and they all seem to be born in August. They all have had a staunch New England, no-nonsense approach to gardening and their gardens are second to none. In their gardens no Johnny-Jump-Ups jump up and scamper randomly to the far corners of the garden. Foxgloves know their place in the scheme of things, and there will be no running willy nilly or free-seeding themselves wherever they please, and the result is fabulous.
Yes, of course, there was Vita Sackville-West who created Sissinghurst Gardens near her castle in the English countryside, but Tasha is a hands-on mistress of the art of gardening and is, to my mind, unparalleled. Undaunted by the long, cold and adverse winters in Vermont she has, with the help of her greenhouse, never-the-less created a veritable Garden Of Eden on her mountaintop homestead.
I have gardened in Vermont. It has many pluses and minuses to be sure. I recall one bitter cold, wet and hostile Spring. We were already into the last weeks of May and still Winter was refusing to call it quits, greedily chomping away at the months we have designated to Springtime. Unable to deal with the freezing rain, hard and frigid soil, trees and fence posts covered with ice, I called the airline and made a reservation to go to Victoria, British Columbia and bask in the beauty and warm fragrance of Butchart Gardens. Before leaving for my trip I went to the near-by grocery store and picked up a few pathetic, struggling flats of flowers and took them home and heartlessly stuck them in the ground. It was time to plant and plant I would. I figured that these plants had survived so much adversity already being commercial offerings in a neglectful come and get it sort of experience, they probably had a fair chance of surviving further insult and injury in my garden.
I am also born in August.
A day or two after the planting a friend, and fellow gardener, was standing at my window looking out at the garden. Seeing the newly set plants in their bleak, icy drills, she turned to me and asked, "What is this, Andrea's Outward Bound for perennials?"
After laughing heartily we went upstairs for tea and some frustrated commiseration.
My friend is August born as well.
Upon my return from Butchart, which is gorgeous by the way, I was delighted to find that the plants I had set-out before leaving were doing just fine. It is amazing to me that these seemingly fragile and delicate stems of cellulose and water can stand up to wind, hail, snow, sleet, and just about whatever neglect and abuse that nature and I can rain down upon them. They just survive and flourish. It's all part of the glorious wonder of it all. And I am eternally gratefully to be a part of it.
Get a copy of Tasha Tudor's Garden, if you don't already have it, order a pile of seed and plant catalogs to read by the fire. I am a pyromaniac of sorts. There is something about a fire in the fireplace on cold evenings that inspires me. If you don't have a fireplace or a wood stove, maybe you can get a virtual dvd for your television or computer that will suffice to bring much warmth and illumination to the art of garden design that we will soon begin. ATB, avc
Friday, December 11, 2009
What sort of gardener are you?
In the recent past I lived in a leisure community where home owners hired gardeners and landscapers to carry out and make real their gardening dreams. Dreams which were sometimes featured in garden designer magazines.
We, for the most part, are not that sort of gardener. Our reasons for being gardeners and loving gardening are varied. We are enchanted by the artistic composition and challenge that gardens and gardening present. We have succumed to the joy of growing our own food and sharing it with others, either by giving a share of our crop to neighbors and friends or by sharing and trading seed or volunteer plants with others. There are flowers to dress-up the house and yard, and and to bring inside enlivening it with myriad color, form, and fragrance. Many of us just love serving up food that exceeds anything prepared with purchased fruits and vegetables. And then there are those of us who just love to play in the dirt!!!
When I was five years old my parents bought a beautiful cottage on an upstate New York Finger Lake. The water was okay but I was more interested in the Earth. I bought a package of carrot seed and took it to the wooded area behind the cottage and planted them. I planted them in the shade, in clay and knew nothing about watering the seed. Of course, my first effort to master gardening was a dismal failure. I talked to the seeds in their clay coffins and pleaded with them to live and flourish. Although my sprititual and material efforts failed to produce a single carrot, my passion for gardening had begun to sprout and grow.
I asked my Dad to drive me to the farm on the hill that we drove past on the way to the lake. They had cows, chickens and a yard full of geese that I soon learned were hard to reckon with. They were terrifying winged harpies that swarmed after one like Manhatten traffic at rush hour. And just as deadly I might add. But I had seen farmer Yarnell's vast flourishing garden and I was determined to find out their secret.
The farmer's wife was kindly and offered to give me some pointers. The secret to gardening is to know what the seeds being planted require to flourish and produce. Since I couldn't read, I had an adult read the packages to me from then on. But, the real secret to gardening is COMPOST. After that, I begged my Dad to carry one bucket of composted manure after another to my garden. He turned it in for me, read the instructions for planting printed on the packages, and my gardening career took flight. Together we grew flowers from seed and from market packs, and harvested tomatoes, lettuces, peppers, radishes, scallions and later potatoes from our lakeside garden.
Potatoes are my favorite thing to grow because digging them reveals a intriguing cache of hidden treasure. Each spade of dirt yields up yummy nuggets of white, red and golden deliciousness.
I learned at this early age what sort of gardener I am. Obsessed. That sort of gardener. Whether I live in a mountain retreat, by the water's edge or in a major city, I garden. I hope you will garden with me. Share your stories, successes or challenges with us.
Wishing you a wonderful holiday season, and the hope that your gardens will be the highlight of 2010.
avc
We, for the most part, are not that sort of gardener. Our reasons for being gardeners and loving gardening are varied. We are enchanted by the artistic composition and challenge that gardens and gardening present. We have succumed to the joy of growing our own food and sharing it with others, either by giving a share of our crop to neighbors and friends or by sharing and trading seed or volunteer plants with others. There are flowers to dress-up the house and yard, and and to bring inside enlivening it with myriad color, form, and fragrance. Many of us just love serving up food that exceeds anything prepared with purchased fruits and vegetables. And then there are those of us who just love to play in the dirt!!!
When I was five years old my parents bought a beautiful cottage on an upstate New York Finger Lake. The water was okay but I was more interested in the Earth. I bought a package of carrot seed and took it to the wooded area behind the cottage and planted them. I planted them in the shade, in clay and knew nothing about watering the seed. Of course, my first effort to master gardening was a dismal failure. I talked to the seeds in their clay coffins and pleaded with them to live and flourish. Although my sprititual and material efforts failed to produce a single carrot, my passion for gardening had begun to sprout and grow.
I asked my Dad to drive me to the farm on the hill that we drove past on the way to the lake. They had cows, chickens and a yard full of geese that I soon learned were hard to reckon with. They were terrifying winged harpies that swarmed after one like Manhatten traffic at rush hour. And just as deadly I might add. But I had seen farmer Yarnell's vast flourishing garden and I was determined to find out their secret.
The farmer's wife was kindly and offered to give me some pointers. The secret to gardening is to know what the seeds being planted require to flourish and produce. Since I couldn't read, I had an adult read the packages to me from then on. But, the real secret to gardening is COMPOST. After that, I begged my Dad to carry one bucket of composted manure after another to my garden. He turned it in for me, read the instructions for planting printed on the packages, and my gardening career took flight. Together we grew flowers from seed and from market packs, and harvested tomatoes, lettuces, peppers, radishes, scallions and later potatoes from our lakeside garden.
Potatoes are my favorite thing to grow because digging them reveals a intriguing cache of hidden treasure. Each spade of dirt yields up yummy nuggets of white, red and golden deliciousness.
I learned at this early age what sort of gardener I am. Obsessed. That sort of gardener. Whether I live in a mountain retreat, by the water's edge or in a major city, I garden. I hope you will garden with me. Share your stories, successes or challenges with us.
Wishing you a wonderful holiday season, and the hope that your gardens will be the highlight of 2010.
avc
Saturday, December 5, 2009
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