The Easy Beauty of Quince and Bluebells, with a side glimpse at the Golden Apples of the Hesparides

Post 72

 This time of year it is hard to chose what to write about. So much is burgeoning forward.  In past years I've written about old-fashioned tulips that come back along with kerria, as well as lungworts and hyacinths.  This still leaves too many choices from the bulbs, shrubs and early perennials that appear around now.

But even spoiled for choice, it is hard to resist this:

Extraordinary, yeh?  Well the ancients thought so. Well before there were any sort of noteworthy apples in Europe there was quince, called the honey apple, a hard fruit that has to be cooked and mixed with honey to be edible. And these were its flowers.

Above the blooms are in full flower; on the side they are just starting, most of the blooms are just pale, round peas thickly clustering the bough. So when they bloom it is like there is hardly room for them. No roses have ever clustered so densely.



My bush is Chaenomeles x superba "Cameo. "  There are varieties that have orange or red flowers, but I like this color best --its crayon could be called "Caucasian Flesh."  And yes--quince is originally from Caucasia. 

It is absurdly easy to grow in sun. In fact, the only real effort needed to tend it is to offer a periodic douse of  restraint. It grows to about 5 feet to five feet, so keeping it within three feet by three feet (best size for my small garden,) means I need to prune after bloom and in fall remove the suckers that appear. That's all. Easy beauty, -- no wonder quince was decicated to Venus and said to be the apple of the Hesparides.

And do you know what else is easy? Virginia Bluebells.

Nothing beats true blue in the garden (Caucasian Flesh may be a tie, though.) Bluebells, our native ones, flourish around here as long as they get some sun.  In fact, they spread.

If early quince flowers look like pale peas, early bluebells look like violet fingernails. Thats right, like many true blue plants in the borage family, they start pink. Above you can see early blooms top right and left, the one in the middle has broken out into blue. They are all surrounded by epimedium, both the yellow flowers and the leaves, plus a few muscari. All this is right under a tree--normally a hard place  to plant.

Here it all is a few days later, the bluebells all now beginning blue. I like having them with some epimedium, which is a superb, tough groundcover.  Because the bluebell is a spring ephemeral, after about three weeks of ever-enlarging bloom it will start to go to seed. And it's pretty round leaves will start to look charred and raggety. But said leaves will by then be covered by the epimidiem,-- which never looks bad. 

So, between bluebells

 And quince

It's not hard, this time of year, to find easy beauty in the garden.

Sakura Sunday

Post 71

The mood of early spring is hard to define. But here and there you get perfect days, cool, not yet balmy but gentle nevertheless, brightening light intensified by the lack of tree cover, revealing the unexpected delicacy of emerging vegetation.

Somehow the Japanese cherry, Prunus serrulata, sums up, in its bloom,  the beauty of the season in which it blooms.

Philadelphia, like D.C. and Newark, has a magnificent public collection of cherry trees, thanks to the generosity of the Japanese people, who, for over a century have donated several thousand trees to these and other American cities.

Just from the way the blossoms fall,  you feel like you understand Japanese aesthetic sensibility that much better. And there are worse ways of encouraging international understanding than sharing beauty.

Today is Sakura Sunday, the day of the Cherry Blossom Festival. Sakura is the Japanese word for cherry tree. Below is a picture of one of the two cherries we have previously planted as street trees.

And today we planted our third. Thanks to a sale at Lowes, this one is a weeper. It bloomed early and is now without blossoms, but only until next year.

Small at they are now, it is comforting to think how they will look in 20, 50, 100 years. When they grow as large as the wonderful specimens in Rittenhouse Town, trees that each have a history and a personality of its own, like this one below.

 

Or these two, that seem to be holding hands and dancing.

It feels good sharing beauty, knowing that a future you will never see will be that much better.

I am grateful to the generations of Japanese who developed these trees and shared them with the world.

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For the last few months I have had the luck of  walking daily thru an exhibit of Japanese prints put up by my accomplished colleague, Marian Jahn.  Below is a photo of a portion of one of my favorites of these prints, the photo is taken from the Art Department's Facebook page at: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Art-Department-Free-Library-of-Philadelphia. The exhibit has one more week to run.

 

 When I was growing up  my mom would often call  my attention to certain things that she felt were the best of their kind; she called this educating the eye. Now I wonder if my exposure to these beautiful prints might have influenced how I have apprehended this spring's blossoming, thus inspiring this post.

We never know all the ramifications of the simple deeds we do in our lives. I thank Marian for all the effort and knowledge she put into this exhibit, because here the influence can be traced and she can be thanked. We owe so much to so many. And as the cherry blossoms fall after their quickening bloom, I hope I can keep that knowledge with me.

Is Riz

Post 70
Spring came with Easter this year, as if the daffs were waiting for their cue of "He is Risen."

Cleanup has ended and I am even getting mulch down at about the right time. Which is early for me. I have usually mulched late (or--garden scandal--not at all, relying on close planting instead,) because I have wanted all my seeds to get a good start. I need the seeds to get a good start, both the self-seeders and the ones I plant in late March.

For me, it is essential that the seedlings prosper. As I have explained in an earlier post, which includes all the how-to info,  Lead with Seed to a Flowery Mead-- the look I enjoy in the garden is partially created by the dashed-around appeal of haphazardly strewn, old-fashioned annuals. It gives the garden an unpredictability factor that keeps it new for me, and I hope others as well.

Also--I do not spend a lot of money on annuals, which are only a short-term investment at best. Seeds are cheap, and if done right, more effective. So this year's experiment will teach me something I cannot learn from books.

Sometimes it is only as you garden that you understand what the questions are that you need answered. And that only you can answer some of them. Books help, but at a certain point, your own style will take you past books into uncharted territory. If you're doing it right.

One of my favorite unintended consequences this spring is that I seem to have made a panorama of New York State in the rock garden.

I swear, I did not put that stick there, but am still amused by how well it mimics the New York State Thruway.

Well--that's about all going on in the garden right now. And so it is time to ...

for now.