life out of doors

New To Me: Winter Aconite

March 8, 2010 · 16 Comments

Three days in the 40s, three days in the 50s, and spring has burst onto the scene in Philadelphia. (Can’t you just hear the Halleluiah Chorus? C’mon, sing it with me – hal-lejuiah, hal-leluiah!)

I spent the afternoon with my two little guys at Morris Arboretum. I basked in the sun and took pictures; the 4-year-old and 5-year-old threw rocks in the creek and ran and ran and ran. It was a visit enjoyed by all. The photo ops started at the parking lot, where I had to squeeze in next to a left0ver snow drift because it was so darn crowded. Under a pine tree were loads of these sunny little buttercupish flowers. They were crocus sized and fabulous. And incredibly intoxicating to the first bees I’ve seen in months.

Winter Aconite (eranthis hyemalis) is a native of Asia Minor and Europe ranging from southern France to Bosnia (southern france?!?! – no wonder they exude sunshine.) They show up in the very very early spring – around the same time as the snowdrops and before the crocuses. They’re blooming here now with the crocuses because of all the snow we’ve had. They bloom for a couple of weeks, welcome in the spring, and then disappear until next year. They like lots of water. I read quite a few rants about their invasiveness, although because they bloom and go dormant so early, they don’t make too much of a nuisance of themselves. Highly poisonous though – I guess that’s a downside. The University of Wisconsin warns that the tuber can “cause nausea, vomiting, colic attacks and visual disturbances.” Visual disturbances? Are we talking hallucinations? Blurred vision? Near sitedness? Not to take the warning lightly: don’t eat winter aconite.

Don’t eat them, but do admire them when they drift:

And if you want them in your garden, sow seeds in the fall or divide clumps in the spring. I’ll be doing it. They’re too good to resist. I guess I’ll only have to have one child vomit, contract colic and experience visual disturbances once before they learn that lesson.

Besides the Winter Aconite, here’s why today was a perfect day out of doors. A few weeks from now, Morris Arboretum will be so chock full of blooming beauties that I won’t know where to look . It will be stimulating. It will be overwhelming. It will be wonderful. But in a few weeks, will I be stopping the horticulturalist to ask about a buttercup the size of a quarter? Will I look it up and learn about its habits and identify its native growing area? I must admit probably not. Winter (and yes, it is still winter), gives me a wonderful excuse to focus. To focus on the five things that were blooming today, to appreciate them for their special attributes, to plan to add them to my garden. Someone remind me of this in the fall when I’m exhausted by all the stimulation, the overwhelming, the wonderful.

Here are today’s other beauties:

→ 16 CommentsCategories: Public Gardens · Winter
Tagged: bees, early bloomers, Morris Arboretum, spring, Winter

Summer Reverie

March 3, 2010 · 21 Comments

This is a tale of the power of life out of doors. One summer afternoon in 2008, I marched a child up a mountain and saw her character develop right in front of my eyes.

Camp Strawderman was the summer home of my youth, and I have the immense privilege to watch my daughter love it as much as I did. Her first summer, I thought I would initiate her into camp life with a idyllic (in my mind) mother-daughter hike to the famous “rocks.” This outcropping hovers over camp to the east, square in the middle of Three Mile Mountain, part of the Blue Ridge in Virginia. Legend states that the hike to the rocks is “two hours up and two minutes down,” and I do not exaggerate when I say the path goes straight up. Eight year old campers do not hike to the rocks. But it was just the two of us. I figured I could help her through the rough patches. Plus, she would earn some bragging rights.

Obstacle #1: The Creek

Stony Creek winds its way through the valley, at times curling around sheer rises of the mountain’s side, at others, meandering among meadows. It happened to lie between us and the mountain we aimed to climb. Off go the shoes, across the rocks go the hikers. In goes the eight-year old. Attitude check: all smiles, secure in her ability to laugh at herself. Wet shorts never hurt anyone.

Obstacle #2: The Fire Road

After a short walk through sparsely planted woods and up a little ridge, we reach the fire road. This abandoned access road sees neither vehicle traffic nor lawn mowers. As it lies in full sun between the uphill forest to its right and the downhill forest to its left, it has transformed itself into a lovely little prairie. Queen Anne’s Lace, wild daisies, and purple coneflowers attract a host of butterflies and beg to be picked for a bouquet. Nice to look at, annoying to hike through. Above my knees, they reached my eight-year-old’s waist at least. Attitude check: serious deterioration to the sunny disposition. Large amounts of whining. Repeated entreaties to turn around and go home. Open derision to my suggestion that we sing song to distract ourselves.

Obstacle # 3: The Bees

As soon as you pass the stand of cattails (which, I just learned, were prized by Native Americans for their food value and are apparently great in stir-fry), turn right. Beware the first 10 feet of the path up the hill, however. This short stretch of the hike is infamous for housing nasty nests of vicious bees. Here’s how it works: the first few hikers along this section of path stir up the bees, the second wave of hikers experiences the consequences. So, being the selfless mom that I am, I sent my eight-year-old first. Told her to run. She takes a few steps and stops, gripping her right shin. Coming up behind her, imagining a mob of very angry bees, I pick her up, hollering “Keep going! Keep going!” and stopping only when brambles make way for towering trees and sparse understory plants. We assess the damage. ‘Twas not a bee-sting. ‘Twas a nasty branch that jumped up and scraped the stew out of her shin. Not a deep cut, but long and irritating. Guess who brought no band-aids? Attitude check: complete commitment to quitting immediately, retracing our steps and conceding failure.

Obstacle # 4: The Hard Part of the Hike

Here’s where it gets steep. Really steep. I’m talking reaching up with your hand to grab roots in front of you to haul yourself up each three foot section. I’m talking trees growing at seriously acute angles to the lie of the land. It’s a hard hike. Remember, we’ve got an eight-year-old on our hands with wet shorts, itchy legs, and a pretty impressive scrape. Attitude check: completely defeated. No belief that she will ever make it to the top and less belief that it will be worth it. Incessant whining. Occasional crying. Increasingly desperate pleas to turn back.

Obstacle #5: The Last Little Bit

We reach the end of the truly steep climb. Here lies a devious little outcropping of rocks that to the uninitiated looks suspiciously like “the” rocks. It even offers a bit of a view. But alas, we are not finished. There is just a bit more hiking to do. This information causes outright rebellion. “I won’t go further.” “No way.” “I am going back RIGHT NOW!” I dutifully ignore every plea and set of for our true goal. I am followed by an angry, weepy, mother-hating eight-year girl.

Finally, we set foot on the real deal. Out of the forest and into the sunlight. Mountain breezes blow. Hawks soar BELOW us. The view is stunning: miles of blue ridge mountains, pockets of cultivated farmland carved out of the woods, puffy white clouds that dot the sky. Camp lies below us as if painted on a map. We trace the road that leads from the dining hall to the rec hall to the pool. We see girls on horseback. We name all the cabins and I tell a memory from each one I stayed in two decades back. We eat our apples and granola bars, call her dad to report our accomplishment, take pictures.

I must admit that I lead the way back down hill with some trepidation. As hard as the uphill hike is, the downhill version can be more difficult. Navigating down a steep incline is much scarier than scrambling up it. Plus, the fire road prairie will certainly be less than comfortable on the scraped up leg. But, to my astonishment, there is not one complaint. Not one. Not even a little one. The intrepid eight-year old slides down the path on her backside, moving deftly from tree to tree, politely declining any help I might offer. “I think I got it, Mom.” We pass through the bee section unscathed. On the fire road, she is chatty and bubbly and delightful. “I thought this might hurt my scrape, but it’s not so bad.” She tells me stories about friends and we make guesses about what her two weeks at camp will bring. We arrive back at the creek, cross about half way, then sit down and enjoy the silence for a few minutes. With our feet in the cool water, we watch the creek dance around rocks, the sun shimmer on the water, the mountain rise up to our right. It is a perfect moment. Even when the camp nurse scrubs her scrape down to put antibiotic cream on it, the eight-year-old smiles.

I took a little kid up the mountain. I brought home a confident, proud, accomplished individual. The power of life out of doors.

→ 21 CommentsCategories: Kids Out Of Doors · Summer
Tagged: blue ridge mountains, hiking, outdoors, Summer

Winter Light

February 21, 2010 · 25 Comments

My front garden is still buried in at least 18″ of snow. And that’s the yard. I won’t even try to describe the 4 foot mountains (plural) by the sidewalk and driveway where we shoveled loads of it. Those I shall have until May, I’m sure.

crepe myrtle showing off at sunset

I went to take some pictures this afternoon to show some before and after shots. Before = spring, when my garden was lush and green and my shrubs & perennials sported hundreds of blooms. After = now, when my shrubs and perennials look like avalanche victims who desperately and futilely stick one arm out of the snow in the hopes that someone, anyone, will notice and come to their rescue. Too depressing. Plus, the sun wasn’t shining in my front garden, which makes everything look gray. And depressing.

coast luecothoe: "Where are my 4 brothers? Wait, where is the rest of ME?"

azalea screaming "save me!"

goldflame spirea says "mercy!"

My back garden, on the other hand, faces southwest and was filled with the most lovely late afternoon light. I grabbed these shots during the last moments before I lost the rays for the day – and decided that all was not lost. True, we’ve had many feet of snow on the ground for two full weeks (unusual in Philadelphia). Also true that there is absolutely no street parking in the entire Delaware Valley. If someone has made the time and effort to dig out their car and clear their space, you can be darn sure that they’ve filled said spot with outdoor furniture of some kind. “Mine!” those aluminum lawn chairs scream. “Don’t you dare park here!”

Last year's garden phlox

virginia sweetspire

A third truth, though. We’ve had the most beautiful blue skies almost every day since the second big dump a week and a half ago. The snow is on the ground, but the sun is in the sky. And when snow is on the ground, the sun is brighter, the sky is bluer, the shadows are sharper.

swamp milkweed

So I guess I’ll turn a blind eye for the time being to the casualties that certainly lie beneath. I could rework my budget for the spring to include replacements for a bunch of azaleas and leucothoe and boxwoods which didn’t survive the sheer weight of the snow. But who wants to do that? I’ve got a few more weeks of ignorance before these 40 degree days melt enough snow for me to take inventory. I’ll keep hoping that they all made it through (couldn’t possibly be true) and that I can spend my budget on all the fun new things I’ve been wanting to add to my garden all winter (helebores, clematis, witch hazel). I’ll turn a blind eye and enjoy the show the light provides on a daily basis.

I take a risk in saying the following, as I know that quoting John Denver may cause you to label me forever as a complete cheeseball. But here goes: Sunshine almost always makes me smile.

→ 25 CommentsCategories: Winter
Tagged: crepe myrtle, ornamental shrubs, Philadelphia, snow, winter garden, winter light

Smell This!

February 18, 2010 · 22 Comments

Put your nose deep into a bloom and inhale. You must admit that there is something essentially satisfying in that. Now put your nose deep into a bloom from a moment in your past. What memory comes rushing back?

Researchers think smell triggers specific memories because, when we come in contact with a certain scent, our brains recall the first time we encountered it. The smelling part of our brain also happens to live right next door to the remembering part of our brain. (Clearly, I majored in Literature, not in Biology). According to science editor Sarah Dowdey, “our olfactory bulb is part of the brain’s limbic system, an area so closely associated with memory and feeling it’s sometimes called the ‘emotional brain.’”

Whatever the anatomical reason, I took a walk down memory lane on Sunday when I visited the amazing conservatory at Longwood Gardens. The first thing I noticed when I climbed the stairs to enter this enormous greenhouse was the smell. It smelled like flowers and dirt and grass and water. It smelled, in other words, like spring. I think that part of what I’m missing during this season of snow covered gardens is the SMELL of things that grow.

As I strolled, I found myself turning my head, sticking my nose up into the air like a dog on the hunt, sniffing my way to lovely and familiar smells. The first was sweet alyssum, the diminutive white ground cover that’s a dead ringer for honey. I’ve planted it in my garden every year since I first encountered it at my sister-in-law’s house. I walked out her back door and was overwhelmed by the delicate honey smell. I started sniffing, and my nose led me down to my feet. I was standing on the source! She had planted the alyssum in between the stepping stones that lead to her garden. Every time someone tread on them, the smell shot on up. Brilliant. And beautiful.

Stargazer lilies took me immediately back to my wedding 17 years ago. My bridesmaids held them during the ceremony, and if you’ve ever been remotely near a stargazer, you know they are pungent. These always turn my head, er, I mean my nose, whenever I pass them by. I can’t remember which of my dear friends were at my wedding, but boy do I know what it smelled like.

The hybrid tea = Nana’s dining room table. My grandmother’s gardening tendencies ran towards a sweeping, weed-free lawn and foundation boxwoods, but boy could that woman grow roses. Her landscaper took care of everything else, but he never touched the rose garden. Legend has it that she braved the back yard once a week with her rose spray and fertilizer, immediately before her weekly trip to the beauty parlor. I guess if you’re only going to “do” your hair once a week, it’s best to tend to your chemical work just before hand. Whatever her methods, she always adorned her table with freshly cut roses. I smell a hybrid tea rose and I am at that dining room table, looking at Uncle Ben’s portrait, laughing with my cousins, and answering PawPaw’s questions about where I want my gravy. (On the turkey? On the biscuit? On the side?)

I wonder which of the flowers I grow in my garden will, in twenty years, make my children flash back to a particular moment. Moonflowers? Hyacinths? Lavender? Maybe it will be another garden smell that triggers the memory: mulch, freshly cut grass, a pile of dried leaves. Whatever it is, I hope the memory is of a happy time, and not of a crazed, dirt encrusted mother screaming, “Leave me alone! I’m gardening!”

→ 22 CommentsCategories: Public Gardens
Tagged: alyssum, garden, gardening, lilies, Longwood Gardens, memory, roses, scent

Bloom Day Blues at Longwood Gardens

February 15, 2010 · 28 Comments

Longwood Hybrid Cineraria (Pericallis x hybrida)

“There is no such thing as a blue flower.” That’s what my mom said as we were discussing my nosegay for the Town & Country cotillion Holly Ball when I was in sixth grade. (Remember nosegays? The little hand-held bouquets with the plastic handles?) That’s what I remember anyway. Although now that I think about it, I remember having this conversation while she weeded the garden. Could she possibly have been weeding in December, the traditional time for Holly Balls? Whether or not memory is a reliable witness is a conversation for another day. Let’s just agree for the sake of argument that she said it. I certainly believed her. She could make anything grow and my 12-year-old mind hadn’t registered the possibility that parents could be wrong.

Canterbury Bells (campanula medium)

To this day I’m amazed and overjoyed when I find blue flowers. I paid a visit to Longwood Gardens in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania today in the hopes that their conservatory might lift my spirits. (Still multiple feet of snow on the ground here with more forecast for tonight. Bleh. Check out my posts 48″ of Snow and The Thrill of Victory for pretty snow pics and a more embracing attitude). I went ostensibly to enjoy the “orchid extravaganza,” but it was the blue flowers that caught my attention. Not only is there such thing as a blue flower, there are loads of them. I suppose you might argue that some of these lean a bit towards purple, but all in the family, right? Some of the colors were so vibrant that a fellow observer, upon seeing the hydrangea pictured below, recalled the old science-fair trick with carnations: “Do you think they used food coloring?”

Hydrangea macrophylla "Mathilda Gutges"

I checked. These were no cuttings that had sucked up blue colored water. They were the real deal.

I liked the spiky crown on this ground-ivy sage:

salvia glechomifolia

and don’t you just love the yellow tips on this ceanothus? Like tiny little rings, or maybe handbags. (Work with me, I’m thinking accessories here):

ceanothus "Ray Hartman"

My mom should certainly have known about these grape hyacinths. They are exactly the same color as her eyes which are very decidedly blue. (Any wonder my dad fell for her?):

So, that’s what’s blooming today in my garden, hmm, I mean at Longwood’s garden. Hey, at least they’re blooming somewhere nearby in the midst of a very white winter!

Visit May Dreams Garden to see what’s blooming in gardens around the world.

→ 28 CommentsCategories: Garden Blogger Bloom Days · Public Gardens
Tagged: campanula, daisy, grape hyacinth, hydrangeas, Longwood Gardens, salvia, winter blues

The Thrill of Victory; The Agony of Defeat

February 12, 2010 · 17 Comments

Snowpacolypse. Snowmageddon. Snownormous. snOMG. Whatever you call it, we got it. But as a result, yesterday morning I slept till 8:00. Just in that I would have cause to celebrate the day. But it got better. This is what greeted me when I looked out my window:

With no school to attend, no lunches to make, no windshield to scrape, I took a long walk in the fresh snow. Neighbors filled the streets and sidewalks with their shovels. Everyone said hi, which I must say is pretty unusual in these parts. Trees glistened in the early morning (well, early for me anyway) sun.

I got home, made myself some breakfast, sat with my coffee and finished my book. This day was getting better and better. Finally, I dragged myself off my coffee-sipping, book- reading rump and headed back out to dig us out. Although hard work, even this task proved joyful. My neighbor on the right had shoveled his sidewalk three feet past our property line –a kind and selfless gesture. My neighbor on the left was shoveling at the same time and we had a nice talk. (Free of our collective 6 kids, who were all happily watching tv inside, we actually achieved conversation). Harvey, our 5 foot snowman, smiled down on the whole affair:

I hummed and smiled as I jumped in the shower and changed my clothes. And I said to myself, what a wonderful world.

Then I got out of the shower. My four year old was screaming and crying in the dining room. “What’s wrong?” I asked. He responded despairingly and with many tears, “Those guys wrecked our snowman.” The enterprising young men with snow shovels I had lauded in my last post had just decapitated Harvey!

After long conversations with the 4 & 5 year olds in the house about forgiveness and grace, we hoofed it over to the park for a little sledding. Turns out our local evergreens did not fare so well under the wet, heavy snow. Suddenly, the mysterious, loud cracking sounds we heard the day before made more sense.

To top my day off, I was betrayed by the sledding run that had delighted my family and me the previous day. Down goes one kid, down goes another, down goes a third. All sail straight ahead, missing by yards the ominous metal pole that holds up the baseball backstop. I help my 4 year old into the sled. (Remember, this is the one who witnessed the snowman beheading.) He sleds down, straight as an arrow. Suddenly, a rogue snowball jumps into his path causing him to careen directly into, you guessed it, the ominous metal pole. A nasty bloody nose and a trip to the e.r. later, we determine that he is just fine, but boy does the kid look like a prize fighter.

Here’s the thing. Life has tastes of paradise, but we are clearly not there yet. We jump for joy when our perennials emerge from what seems like death, but we curse the weeds that do the same thing. We marvel at the beauty of a rose, but what gardener does not bear the scars of a thorn or two? The snow that created such a wonderland in our neighborhood is, honestly, kind of a pain. People are sometimes mean; trees fall; kids crash. We make our gardens. We toil and tend. We delight in the bounty of the harvest. But I must admit, despite my optimism (my husband would call it my “polly-anna tendencies,”) my garden is no Eden.

→ 17 CommentsCategories: Kids Out Of Doors · Winter

48″ of snow? Why to love it.

February 10, 2010 · 33 Comments

Pink Dogwood

I have two choices today as I watch inches 28 through 48 fall outside my window here in Philadelphia. I could whine and complain and lament the fact that I’m stuck inside with my four kids out of school. I could wish I were digging in my garden. I could wish tulips were blooming. I could wish my toes were warm.

But instead, I will choose to love the snow. Here are my reasons.

My 4 year old arctic explorer

#1 If it were 32 degrees and sunny on this February day, no one would be outside. But, on this 32 degree snowy day, I see neighbors talking and laughing as they shovel and shovel and shovel. I see children playing, sledding, building forts. I see enterprising young men walking the streets with their snow shovels, looking to make some extra money. Even though the snow approaches waist high – my children happily don their gear and head out to look for adventure.

#2 Snow shows off my garden’s architecture. Snow paints the trees, tops the dried flower heads, perches atop bird feeders and fence posts. I knew there was a reason I didn’t trim back those coneflowers in the fall.

Goldflame Spirea

miscanthus

Pink Coneflowers

#3 After the snow stops, the sun will come out. They sky will turn blue. The icicles will shimmer. Then the real show begins. (I took these photos between the storm on Saturday and the one today, on my lovely hike in knee-high snow).

See what all you deep south, west coast and desert gardeners are missing? I know your sun is shinning and your tropicals are blooming. But eat your heart out: we’ve got snow.

→ 33 CommentsCategories: Kids Out Of Doors · Winter
Tagged: gardening, gardens, Philadelphia, snow, winter interest

Garden Arbor or Flat Screen TV?

February 7, 2010 · 15 Comments

The garden in my head

When my family and I moved into our home 3 ½ years ago, I ponied up the cash to hire a landscape designer to draw up a master plan for my garden. (After coming up with the money for a down payment and taxes, $350 felt like pennies). I knew I would be ripping out most of what was already here – overgrown yews, a poison-ivy-riddled hedge, a horrible barberry with 1 inch thorns that made my kids cry – but I needed help figuring out what to plant in their stead. My designer came up with a wonderful plan to create an idyllic cottage garden with two patios, loads of perennials, a clematis covered arbor, flowering shrubs and trees, a custom trellis for climbing roses, a pond with a waterfall – the works.

I’ve chipped away at it bit by bit over the years. I’ve focused on plants mostly, but some hardscape made the cut – one of the two patios, a fence to keep children from falling off the 7 foot drop to my neighbor’s back yard. As I gear up for this gardening season, though, I really really want the arbor. There are so many items on the list of pros: frame the entrance to the patio and back yard garden, create a focal point that would lead your eye and feet to said patio and garden, give me something to look at from my kitchen window. How great would that arbor look right now covered in the 2 feet of snow that just fell here in Philadelphia?

It would be nice...

I have a reputation for being a bit frugal. I suppose some would even say cheap. (Okay, most of my friends would definitely say cheap). I am having a real problem spending many hundreds of dollars on a substantial arbor. So many hundreds of dollars in fact, that the arbor has moved onto “the capital expenditure list.” Once it makes this list, the garden arbor has to be THE ONE thing that I want to spend my money on. I can’t slip the arbor into the grocery budget like I can the occasional shrub or flat of annuals. Along with the arbor, this list currently includes a new bathroom (too expensive), a finished basement (way too expensive) and a flat screen t.v. (just about the same price as a garden arbor). The flat screen t.v. would transform my living room into a sleek, modern, well-designed dream of a living room. We’re not even talking about a big one – just a modest 37 incher. I would love a flat screen t.v.

But a garden arbor – I would really love a garden arbor. Imagine: Clematis. Climbing roses. Coral Honeysuckle.

: From www.beginner-gardening.com

: From www.about-garden.com

: From www.plantoftheweek.org

I have a picture in my head that would translate so very nicely to my garden. It would be great if I were the kind of person to say, “Neither garden arbor nor flat screen t.v. – I’m saving for that basement!” But how do you deny immediate gratification, especially when there is the promise of flowers involved?

I understand that I am facing a dilemma regarding which luxury item to purchase. I don’t NEED either one. This whole conversation about whether to buy one or the other indicates that I will be able to feed my family and pay the heating bill without those hundreds of extra dollars. I am cognizant of and extremely thankful for that fact.

Given that, however, let’s be honest. There is nothing good on t.v.

→ 15 CommentsCategories: Uncategorized

Goldfinch, Goldfinch On My Window

February 4, 2010 · 20 Comments

My lunchtime visitor

The houses in my neighborhood are made of stone. Extravagant, you might think, until you put a spade into the ground and you wrestle out 3 Pennsylvania field stones – every time. Build with the materials on hand, right? There are benefits to having a stone house. My windowsills are a foot deep, which makes for lovely decorating space when I manage to clear them of all the kids’ school papers and library books. My house holds its temperature like a champ – when the nights are still cool in spring and early summer, the house stays 10 degrees cooler than the weather outside. My walls would withstand any huffing and puffing the big bad wolf could throw at it.

One problem though. The houses in my neighborhood are all grayish brown. And we’re close together, so my windows frame up the drab, grayish brown stone walls of the houses next door. In the hope of luring some kind color into view, I placed a finch feeder just outside my dining room window. I fielded all kinds of grief from the husband last weekend while I was scrubbing out the old bird food at the kitchen sink. Something about disgusting mess and disease. I don’t know exactly. I wasn’t listening too closely. But today my scrubbing paid off. The first goldfinch of the season. Except he wasn’t gold. He exemplified the Cornell Lab of Ornothology’s description of a winter goldfinch: “Winter birds are drab, unstreaked brown, with blackish wings and two pale wingbars.”

Why should I be excited about a drab, unstreaked brown bird? Certainly I’ve got an abundance of that color everywhere I look. I’m excited because I know what’s about to happen. Goldfinches molt twice a year. In late summer, they shed their gold to blend in with our current landscape (did I mention it’s kind of gray around here?). In late winter, that drab unstreaked brown makes way for the most brilliant yellow – its like they turn into flitting, bouncing, tweeting little daffodils. He was brown today, but every day, there will be a little more yellow. Here’s what we have to look forward to in just a few weeks:

Looks what's coming! From www.allaboutbirds.org

So I’m excited about my new lunch companion. He’ll eat his seeds, I’ll eat whatever was leftover from last night’s dinner. He’ll turn yellow, I’ll turn less moody. Hallelujah, spring is coming.

→ 20 CommentsCategories: Wildlife
Tagged: birdfeeders, Goldfinch, spring

1st Reason to Love Public Gardens: Witch Hazel

January 31, 2010 · 14 Comments

When you cultivate a plot of land as small as I do, you learn quickly to appreciate acres and acres of professionally landscaped and maintained garden. Today’s adventure was to Morris Arboretum of the University of Pennsylvania, a 92 acre botanical garden just inside the city limits of Philadelphia. It used to be the summer home of John and Lydia Morris, who left their little plot to Penn in 1932 because they were dedicated to horticultural education. They kindly planted loads of lovely plants and conveniently tagged them with both common and latin names. (Just didn’t want anyone to think I actually KNEW all this information).

Primavera Witchhazel - hemamelis x intermedia primavera

So there are tons of reasons why I love botanical gardens. First, my favorite ones all used to be private estates. Part of the fun for me, I’ll admit, is to imagine what it would be like to live in the big house on the hill and watch your team of gardeners create and maintain this paradise for your own back yard. A little bit of role-play never hurt any of us, no matter our age. Second, everything is always just right. The house lines up with the trees which line up with the lake which lines up with the paths. They look amazing in all four seasons. There are no weeds in botanical gardens. They are just right. Third, there are just so many darn plants. I took hundreds of pictures of beautiful things today, and it’s January 31. Imagine what a bounty I’ll bring home in May.

Wintersweet witch hazel - chimononthus praecox

Part of the joy of the “so many darn plants” scenario is that you get to see multiple cultivars of the same plant. The star today was witch hazel, because it’s 28 degrees and it snowed yesterday, but these guys are blooming their heads off. I’m a witch hazel newbie, but according to internet sources, there are three kinds of witch hazel: the North American native (hemamelis americana), the japanese version (hemamelis japonica) and the chinese witch hazel (hemamelis mollis). The hamamelis x intermedia is a cross between Japanese and Chinese cultivars. They grow to be 10-20 feet tall and 15-20 feet wide.

Orange Beauty Witchhazel - Hamamelis x intermedia "orange beauty"

But here’s the interesting thing. I googled “witch hazel” and had to really search for information on the plants themselves. The vast majority of the information was about the herbal remedy that comes from this shrub’s bark. This astringent reportedly clears up pimply skin (where was this information when I was in high school?) soothes diaper rash, reduces hemorrhoids (Tuck’s pads, anyone?), shrinks bags under your eyes, relieves varicose veins, reduces pain from poison ivy and oak (two of the less friendly plants native to N. America), heals skin ailments ranging from sunburn to dry skin to chicken pox blisters to bruises, and provides an important ingredient (along with a good amount of vodka, interestingly enough) for making your own deodorant. An impressive list without a doubt.

Lansing Witchhazel - hemamelis Lansing

So, if you ever have an occasional breakout, if you have child-birth induced complications (I see at least two listed above), if you sometimes look in dismay at the dark circles your eyes, if you engage in outdoor activities which might bring you in contact with poisonous plants, bruise inducing garden tools or the sun: this is the plant for you. (Do I sound like a snake oil salesperson to anyone besides myself?)

Rochester Witchhazel - hemamelis rochester

Seriously, I would love to have the space to grow one of these, because they really do bloom in the depths of winter. And who wouldn’t want to get rid of those dark circles??

→ 14 CommentsCategories: Public Gardens
Tagged: botanical gardens, gardening, herbal remedies, Morris Arboretum, winter bloomers, witch hazel