I cannot see a pansy without thinking of Mama. The earliest flowers at Enwood were pansies. The flower garden at the lamp post was called ‘The Pansy Bed.’
Photos of Mama’s pansies
This is our first spring without Mama, so planting pansies feels different. The first time I went to buy some, I cried and left. But I returned yesterday and took my time perusing the pansies and thinking of Mama.
Delta Tapestry
Her pansies had to be pinkish but complicated. I chose Viola Collosus ‘Rose Medley’ and Viola ‘Delta Tapestry.’ Rose Medley got put in a pot this morning.
Viola Collosus ‘Rose Medley’
I clipped some blooms to press between parchment. I plan to put these in a frame in the Pansy Room.
Flattened for drying
We named the bedrooms here on the mountain. Mama’s namesake is The Pansy Room. The door is marked by a big beautiful pansy sticker.
Door of The Pansy Room
There are pictures of Mama’s pansy bed at Enwood on display. There is a photo of Mama standing by her pansies in a colorful dress.
Mama with her pansies at Enwood.
Rose and I have found pansy fabrics to use in that room. Rose even has pansy sheets for her bed in there.
Pansy material
Not to leave Daddy out, another room is ‘The Bluebird Room.’ That post will come after my sister and I finish repainting Daddy’s bluebird houses. Stay tuned.
I usually love spring. This year I miss my gardens, but I am constantly reminded of my lack of stamina. It is frustrating for an over-achiever like me to run out of steam before finishing simple projects. It happened again today.
Mr. Flower just sent me these photos from home. Home is on a hill with steps inside and out. The house on the mountain does not require cilmbing hills nor steps, but one hip or the other hurts just about every day. I listen to that pain. I am not ready to push through it. My body has been through too much trauma and slow healing to risk further injury.
I am happy to see these familiar faces as I rest before “round two” of chores and projects. I wanted to be “Strong by Spring.” That has been my mantra. I will continue to carefully work toward that goal.
Here are today’s blooms from home.
Quince in a fence.Daffodils on a hill.Poncirius bloom fully opened.Thalia being gorgeous.Almond bush from Enwood in full bloom.
I have abandoned over thirty years worth of gardening work at Wildwood. Every time I go home I work too hard try to make up for lost time. Mr. Flower tries to get me to relax. We did sit a spell in the gliders out in the sunshine one afternoon. Neither one of us can sit still for long.
This is my second spring away from home. The spring before that I could barely walk, so technically my garden has been neglected for three growing seasons. I am amazed it is not worse. My husband tries to manage the worse spots. I noticed scattered piles of last year’s dead foliage. I appreciate his efforts.
I am not strong enough to tackle the garden rehab myself. I am still working on my own healing. I feel overwhelmed looking at all that needs to be done back at home. My husband has too much responsibilities of his own to pick up my slack. Judge me if you must. I am in survival mode. It was me or everything else. I chose me.
I silently walked the deck perimeter each morning with my coffee. I peered over the railing to see which plants were sending upgreen shoots. It was a bit liberating to see needs and not try take ownership of them. I know my limits. Set-backs are too brutal to risk.
I will brag that my gardens have good bones. My plants were well-chosen, well-placed and well-planted. They are surviving without my hovering. That was always my goal.
Sweet Betsy reminds me of my friend Sandra. She had an Aunt Betsy and wanted part of this plant. She planted it in her yard in Charlotte.This quince, Chaenomeles ‘Double Take Orange Storm’ is in a fence because the deer would demolish it.White by the Gate Camellia must also confined to a big, tall circle of fence. This tiny flowering almond bush came from my parent’s home on Enwood. I am so glad I took some before we sold it.I almost missed the Edgeworthia blooming. These blooms have a magical scent.Clusters of Starflower, ‘Alberto Castillo’, Ipheion uniflorum used to be in many locations around the gardens, but the deer herd has nibbled most down to stubs. These stray bulbs were the only ones with blooms.
I am glad I made it back home for a garden check-up. I will try to get back more often now that there should be less snow to imprison me. This last set of blizzards made me rethink my present location for the first time ever.
Weeds will always win whether I am fighting them constantly or not. I may eventually have to hire some help while I am home. Weeds winning does not make me sad.
Palmer wanted me to see his three new trees during my visit. He said folks hit their brakes as they drove by to get a better look. I spotted them as we pulled in to the drive.
Jeepers, creepers where’d he get those Weepers? They are weeping peach trees, ‘Crimson Cascade.’ The foliage will be deep maroon. Mature size is said to be 12 feet tall and eight feet wide. Hardiness Zones 5-9.
Weeping peach ‘Crimson Cascade’Double blooms
He got these at different places. He noticed the slight color differences. I had trouble differentiating the three because my camera, my computer and my phone all morphed the pinks.
This one has less of a coral tint.Hot pink double, stamen not as pink
I have a habit of doing a full shot with identifiable location and then a close-up or two. This habit has helped me keep track of plants. During this visit I took 224 photos, so any little hint helps.
Prunus persica, Hot pink with hint of crimsonThis color seems between the other two.
I also focus on similar groups at once to keep them together for comparison. I have blogged for almost eleven years so I have developed some skills. I do not count on my memory.
Here are Palmer’s the three weeping peach trees. Their form is slightly contorted which gives them interest. The blooms cluster near the twigs.
Palmer said they were covered with little peaches last summer. I hope I get to see that. Squirrels got them, so I better get a fruit alert.
If I were not friends of Lucy and Palmer already, I would have left a note in their mailbox asking for the names of these weepers. WOW!
He should have his own blog. He has created an amazing botanical garden. My good friend Lucy is his wife. Their dog zealously guards the garden.
I went to visit my friend Palmer’s gardens while I was home. There was much to see. I call him Palmer because he has an unusual collection of palm trees.
Male blooms of Chinese windmill palm.
I was particularly interested in this one that was blooming. It is a Trachycarpus fortunei. It is also called a Chinese windmill palm, Chusan palm and Hemp palm.
It does resemble a windmill.
I have not had much opportunity to see palm blooms upclose. The form of these opening blooms was unusual and complex.
Male buds in sheathing
These palms are evergreen and also dioecious, which means separate sexes on separate trees.
Panicle of male blooms on Trachycarpus fortunei.
This one is cold hardy. Palmer says this one has survived a period of 7° F. I wish I had had more time during the visit to discuss his other palms. This is one of the hardiest palms. My research claimed it as a Zone 5.
Buds opening
I promised to return when a particular tree is blooming next month. I will take better notes then.
Palmer’s other passion is weeping trees. Stay tuned to see several of those and an amazing array of azaleas.
I went home this past weekend to switch out some of my cold-weather clothes for some warm-weather clothes and to do some plant maintenance. Things went well even though I did sustain three injuries. Two of these involved my mean plants. Mr. Flower tried to assist and supervise but things happened if he turned his back. This is how it goes when you lose yourself in your work. Injuries are expected. Supervision is needed.
The finger that got smashed was the same one that I trimmed the tip off of years ago. I always receive a souvenier from my cacti when I get near them. I do remove the outer tips from the Century plant’s lowest leaves, which are also dangerous. My worst injury came from the meanest plant in the yard, Poincerius trifoliata.
I deserve this stab as punishment for purloining one of the fruits from a southern plantation and smuggling it out in my brazier. The little bitter orange was forgotten until that night when it rolled across the floor of the hotel room while I was changing into pajamas.
These are technically deciduous shrubs, but send up long sucker shoots which need managing. Also, the center needs to be cleared enough to allow airflow through it. These plants can be used as a formidable hedge and the fruit can be made into marmalade if enough sugar is added to mellow the bitter.
I dressed for battle in double gloves and my Pawpaw’s old hunting jacket with a squirrel pocket in the back. It is made of thick canvas. Mr. Flower has suggested a hard hat for next year’s trimming.
Pointy Poncirius trifoliata
I was innocently butchering the shrub by the fish pond when I was mercilessly stabbed in the head. It did hurt, but I continued on with my work like a good little warrior.
The long limbs must be chopped up to burn if not carefully placed out of the way to be used as a fence. The thorns can penetrate a tire. Its nickname is Flying Dragon. I should have been discouraged by this name, but I am a fool.
Some thorns are over 3 inches long.
No one realized I was injured until I turned around to speak to my husband and neighbor. They both gasped. A picture was taken. Then Mr. Flower decided to take over the clippers for the next shrub, which is on a bank.
This shrub cannot be trusted.
We carefully arranged the removed sucker shoots around two hydrangeas which get eaten down to the ground every spring by our hungry deer herd. One hydrangea is pink and the other is blue. I have not seen a bloom on either in years.
Blooms may mean fruit.
There is one new development with the Poncirius. It is blooming for the first time. This makes things complicated. You see the fruit might fall or be carried off and the seeds may germinate. This pointy plant can become a pest in the south. I am surprised at my biologist self for bringing it home. I intended to keep them in pots, but they got too big and mean to bring in.
Mean
People tend to make their own problems. I know what I must do eventually. But this year, I just want to see if it will make those cute little bitter oranges. Don’t judge!
Hiding in plain sight involves two things, clothes and mannerisms. If you are supposed to be a person of authority, that just leaves clothes. Meakness onstage is not an option. Fake it ’til you make it!
If you are a women, camouflage clothing entails the ‘muted colors no-clevage look.’ Pants and shirts are a bit too big and leaning in the unisex direction. Holding attention without being flashy is tricky. There must be subtle details like an interesting brooch or custom button or unflashy/untrashy jewelry. This describes my ‘hiders wardrobe.’
Sometimes items purchased were way too big and required altering. My trusty seamstress, Nadwa, asked repeatedly, “Why you buy your clothes too big?”
Now that I have given up the stage, I am purging these carefully selected and augmented costumes. I look at each one in dismay. I even try some things on hoping to find a redeeming quality. They feel too much like uniforms with bad memories clinging to them.
Here is my set of blazers I call the ‘ Grand Jury Jackets.’ This stint of hiding was the most problematic of all, that year was much more complicated than the ‘Middle School Momish’ collection or the ‘College Lecture and Cat Lab’ assortment.
Grand Jury hiding was tricky. As assistant foreman I was required to get up from the desk which was center-stage during each officer’s swearing in and walk to retrieve the appropriate files from other jurors on stage.
The auditorium was filled with other jurors. The witnesses were law enforcement officers. I will add that most of these men and women were impressive and dedicated. The testimonies involving felonies were sometimes hard to listen to. I did almost hyperventilate several times.
So now that I have explained the purpose of the ‘ Look at Me but Don’t See Me’ wardrobe, I would like to share some photos. These costumes were not cheap and required careful selection and augmentation.
No special order. I served July to June. I will not share the year.
Peach with rolled up sleeves. Two custom buttons.Perfect match of peach flecksBIG, boring blue with no buttons. The previous month must have traumatized me. Totally invisible outfit. I wore this one several times. May keep it.Mysterious Planet button.Almost the same blue as Boring. Custom button.Button like a woven basket.Red Really? Must have been for February.This button has official looking dignity!Dark green, wsy too big and heavy. No new buttons. Must have been depressed this month. Hell, I got depressed just looking at it!I wish this one wasn’t so big.
Handmade button from Etsy shop MyOnblawnes by KattieQ in the United Kingdom. The button is a keeper!
My friends say I am not an introvert, but I am. I have developed coping mechanisms like these blazers to make me feel safe when I am forced to be brave against my will.
I wear myself out being brave alot. So does Rose. It’s not easy acting like an extrovert on stage when you would be happier being invisible backstage painting the props.
Extreme stress is not conducive to creativity. I cannot change reality right now, but I can focus on the good.
I am and will continue to poison myself with the daily events of horror. I refuse to totally look away from this chaos and suffering caused by greed and evil.
But, I also purposefully find the fighters for right. These are good people who have had their warrior switch turned on by an event they could not tolerate.
These are the good that I am grateful for. The people that chose to stand their ground and do whatever it takes to protect what is of value.
Volodymyr Zelensky of Ukraine inspires me by staying with his people and not wearing a suit.
AOC and Bernie Sanders who stand shoulder to shoulder with the real people with jobs and dreams.
Melanie Stansbury who refuses to defuse her fury at the monstrous atrocities that occurred to young females in her state on an exclusive, isolated ranch.
Jasmine Crockett who goes off like a rocket when entitled liars speak.
Chef Jose Andres who has taken on the hunger of the displaced all over the planet with World Central Kitchen.
The Walk for Peace Monks and Aloka walking through snow to reach our chaotic capital. I will keep that image of their robes against the snow forever.
Jessica Knurick who stands up against the bull shit spread about health by ignorant folks who are not qualified to write a prescription nor shop for healthy food.
My hero, Heather Cox Richardson. The historian who is documenting the daily shenanigans of inept people in power. She calms me down like no one else.
My new favorite duo, Jeff Newton and Rye Howard Stone, who are teaming up to lay bare the Epstein files using an AI assistant named Claude. Jeff is formerly from 60 Minutes. Rye just finished his PhD and is taking this on as he waits for the right job to appear. These two are on Substack. Watch them work. Simply amazing!
I will stop here. I could add many more groups who have been formed to right the wrongs.
These are the names I whisper into the darkness as I try to relax and sleep.
floweralley 