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.

----------------------------------------------------------

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.

Grab Bag with Heavenly Bamboo and Fleur Cowles

Post 65

I am ready for spring, being uninspired on present garden matters, so this post will be a grab bag of incidentals.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if we had something like a simple interdenominational chapel in the Wissahickon? Something like this--

I'm going thru some old photos and found this shot of my garden in spring. This is what I am longing for. 

And if I can't have that---I'd like to be here (another old photo, pre-digital Anguilla.)

But things are not really grim. The old wisdom of having Heavenly Bamboo (Nandina domestica -- not the regular bamboo) by the door does pay off.

Evergreen, with red berries in winter and sorta meh off-white flowers in summer, it takes some shade and grows everywhere but in sandy soils. And while it spreads, it spreads slowly and controllably here. In the South it can be invasive but up North it is fine. It is one of those great background plants that lacks dramatic flowers but has other virtues. There are many fancier varieties than what I am showing here, so there is a version for every garden. It comes from Asia and the Japanese do plant it by the front door for luck.

And, on Valentine's Day, the red berries go well with hearts

Here is my Valentine. It is from a 50's mag/annual called Flair, put our by a painter called Fleur Cowles, whose gift for sophisticated whimsey delighted my mom--and thru her, me. With Flair Cowles mixed serious with fun without diminishing either. Bless her bright, casual sensibility.

Here is another one of her illustrations:

 

Her artwork was evocative, just skirting the edges were it could become overly sweet. She specialized in animals and flowers--but what animals and flowers!

She created new worlds with those animals and flowers, worlds you had never imagined before and which you wanted to imagine more of. This to me is true chic.  People forget that there is such a thing. Fresh, evocative of paradise, sweet and strange at the same time, delicately spare, charming and benign, these are terms not usually associated with chic. I doubt anyone would deny Cowles was chic--but her kind of chic I do not see much around anymore. Is it too difficult?

I've spent most of this winter inspired by circa-1815 chic (as channeled through the 1920s.) I've been turning my love and attention onto taking pics of the Free Library that show my vision of the place. It's not quite in the Wissahickon Valley, though close, so I've posted them on my other blog at My Other Blog.

I will probably post a third one soon-- (I am lucky yo have free access to a place that is so much like the Hotel de Crillon. But then, everyone in Philly does.) And then soon the snowdrops that are sticking their blades up through the dirt will turn into scented flowers, and the season of flowering will begin.

A Grand Surprise: Southern Magnolia

Post 41

When you chose to plant something, you do what you can to make it happy, but you never really know if all is well till it blooms.

Two years ago this fall I saw a young, dwarf Southern magnolia (Magnolia grandiflora,) on sale. My husband had put the kybosh on early spring magnolias, but here was one that bloomed in late spring. And in white, a color that does not put teeth on edge. But zone 7 was the extreme limit of its range, and Northwest Philly was not yet officially zone 7. Did I mention it was on sale? And that its older leaves were shiny evergreen on one side, and covered with a soft, tawny dust on the other? Leaves so begging to be touched and loved and treasured that, well--my wallet was out before I knew it.

There is a small mound on one side of the sun porch that is completely protected from the wind, as it stands  within a U made by the house and an overgrown rhodo. As it gets full sun, it is a good spot for zone-challenging plants. My acanthus, zone 7, has done well there.

So I planted the magnolia there. You can see it tip at the top-right corner of the above picture. It didn't bloom that following summer and I consoled myself that it was still a fine foliage plant. And  I'd given up on its blooming this year--I mean spring is pretty much over.

But I was in for a grand surprise, a Magnolia grandiflora hazarding out its first exquisite, lemon-scented bloom, with another still forming. The plant is happy, and that makes me happy.

So--this I'll pass on. Do you know the micro-climates in your yard? The warm, well-drained areas, the cold pockets, the shady deserts under trees? Try to, cause it lets you plant intelligently, which greatly ups your chances of success. Fit the needs of the plant to the character of the place and you will have made gardening a whole lot easier.

Here is a pic of my rock garden, which I created just so I could grow certain plants that do not do well in amended clay. If you want to know more about microclimates and what to plant in them, there is a gardening book by Roy Lancaster--"Perfect Plant, Perfect Place." When I first started gardening I did my best to absorb most of it, and have relied on its M.O. ever since.The Free Library owns copies, including ones at the Chestnut Hill branch and Central.  Its call # is: 635.965 L221P. Happy Gardening!

 

And look--2 more blooms, with the one in bud looking just like an egg. A grand welcome to the coming summer.