The Intercontinental Gardener

What I wish today...

2012-01-27T09:24:00.000-08:00

... is blue skies, and spring.
Soft, new grass under my toes, and the smell of swelling buds of any colour or sort. I'm not too picky, even dandelions would do today.
Just a couple of weeks to go...
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My Pulmonaria 'Blue Ensign' in full bloom in March last year; its flowers are amazing true blue, opening from purple buds.

Scented spirit lifters for the chilly season

2012-01-23T11:23:00.000-08:00

Winter jasmine, Jasminum nudiflorum - a bit worn down by the ice storm, but still spreading its sunny fragrance in the cold.

Despite being lucky with not loosing power or having any other accidents due the snow and ice storms last week, I do feel a bit worn down by the weather... so to cheer me up, I decided to write a list of my favorite plants for the dark, chilly season.

I love scented plants, which shows in my list below. If choosing between two otherwise equally suited plants for a situation, I almost always pick the fragrant one of them. With their perfume, scented plants add dimension by offering pleasure for one more of our senses. Often, they conjure memories and feelings from days past. Sometimes, scents can be healing, like the heady, fresh smell of lavenders that has scientifically been proved to be calming (one of my favorites...). I mostly think of the flowers when considering scented plants, but of course even whole plants can be aromatic, from tiny herbs we use for cooking to huge cedars and firs of the northern hemisphere and towering Eucalyptus trees of the southern.

Luckily, the gardening year of the Pacific Northwest is never without something fragrant in season, even if the leaden skies and slushy snow of mid winter can otherwise be quite oppressing to one's mood. As a remedy, here are some of my favorite, scented "spirit lifters" for the season, all amazing plants to be included in any garden at the colder latitudes.

Winter honeysuckle, Lonicera standishii from China, has the same kind of fresh honey scent as its summer flowering relatives.
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Have I worn down you with my witch-hazels yet? Hamamelis x intermedia 'Winter beauty' is gently lemon scented with deep apricot glow.
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Sarcococcas have such modest, little flowers, but their perfume carries far with the winter winds. They flower from December to February, and are excellent near entrances with their fragrance and glossy evergreen leaves.

The delicate scent of snowdrops... do I need to say more?
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Viburnum x bodnantense 'Dawn'; I love it in theory, but in practice its pink flowers often become mottled with brown after the slightest touch of snow, which looks always dull. Their heady perfume lingers around from the darkest November to late February.
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Many cyclamen are slightly scented, but you need to go down on your knees to detect it. Lovely combination here with the cinnamon bark of a Stewartia monadelpha.
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The waxy flowers of Chimonanthus praecox have a strong, spicy scent that reminds me of some of the Actaeas. Describing scents is such an undeveloped area, the only tool available seems to be comparing them to something that is more well-known...

Daphnes are well-known for their highly scented winter flowers, but they are sensitive to cold and snow. Mine have turned yellow after the ice storm and will probably loose their leaves in the coming weeks. Luckily, they usually recover, but look pretty shaggy until the new leaves develop.

An icy emergency

2012-01-19T16:25:00.000-08:00

Everything over here is covered with a layer of ice, including these stunning beautyberries in my neighbour's garden...

Our Pacific Northwest corner of the world has been pretty much paralyzed by a snowstorm that started two days ago and transformed into an ice storm today. The situation is quite serious and the Governor of Washington State has actually declared emergency; hundreds of thousands are without power and the temperatures are freezing. The power line repairs are expected to take at least a couple of days, which makes things hard for many families. Our family has been very lucky, with no other damage than a couple of broken Magnolia branches in our front yard.

Schools have been closed for two days now, and we don't expect them to open tomorrow either, so we have spent our days sledding and building snowmen. Also, we've been shaking off the heavy snow from the branches of our marginally hardy Magnolia gradifloras. They can actually take the cold, but their branches are brittle and the first to break when snow gathers on their generously large, evergreen leaves. I don't think they are suited to this climate, but as there are five large young trees in our front yard, the only thing is to try to prevent this from happening. The snow is still falling, so their leaves become coated soon again after they are shaken free.

I feel guilty admitting that I love snow and that think it is very pretty out there, when I know so many are freezing in their homes that will get only colder and darker as the evening falls. I hope the repair crews get their work done fast so everybody will be warm and safe again soon...

Bewitched, once more...

2012-01-12T16:06:00.000-08:00

Hamamelis x intermedia 'Winter beauty' glows in warm, tangerine tones...

I do realize that I use the word "favorite" all too often in connection to plants. I guess I just can't help it. So here I am again, telling you that witch-hazels are one of my absolute favorite shrubs. Not only do I find their delicate blooms that send out their spidery petals in the middle of the darkest winter completely enchanting, but I also love their lemony scent that fills the air and greets one long before the flowers can be seen. Unfortunately there is no way to convey their spicy fragrance to you, but at least I can provide some snapshots from my walk in the Washington Park Arboretum in Seattle this morning. Absolutely spellbinding plants, if you ask me. Don't miss them, if you are anywhere nearby.

Hamamelis mollis, a wild witch-hazel species from China.

A scented canopy of starry flowers - Hamamelis mollis.

The lighter tones of Hamamelis mollis 'Pallida'.

Hamamelis x intermedia 'Orange beauty', one of my favorites... oh, did I just say it again?

Pathways of the Witt Winter Garden.

Hamamelia x intermedia 'Jelena' , with rusty red flowers hiding amidst last year's leaves.

Hamamelis x intermedia 'Hiltingbury' can't decide if it should keep to orange or to pink tones...

Petals of Hamamelis x intermedia 'Ruby glow' are delicately edged with creamy white.

Hamamelis x intermedia 'Diane' has burgundy buds that get a apricot glow when they open up.

A pathway winding under a canopy of fragrant witch-hazel flowers.

My other posts about witch-hazels:

Witch-hazels against mid-winter gloom

Witch-hazels and other mid-winter wonders

The season of pure bliss

2012-01-06T09:20:00.000-08:00

It is the first week of January and the first snowdrops are coming out. And I'm not embarrassed to tell once more just how much I love these little guys, the first harbingers of spring to peek up from the soil. Kneeling down in the cool, wet soil to get the best angle of their nodding petals might seem an odd delight, but for a plant deprived January gardener, it surely is one of the fastest ways to bliss...

A family of Galanthus elwesii greeting the pale January sun.

About the amazing journey of the monkeypuzzle...

2012-01-05T10:38:00.000-08:00

Today, I'm quite proud to tell that my third article here in the US just came out. In it I dove into the history of monkeypuzzles as garden plants. And what a journey it was - from a dinner table in Chile where its seeds were served as a dessert to Captain Vancouver's expedition (they had been up in the Pacific Northwest trying to find the Nortwest Passage), via Victorian England where it fast became a trophy plant for the rich, and then back to North America where gardeners took after most trends popular in England.

Today, these architectural, prickly conifers are seldom planted in gardens. But their delicious, large seeds remind of giant pine nuts, and as "edibles" are today included in all parts of a garden from flowerbeds to meadows, monkeypuzzles might be heading towards a renaissance...

Read the whole article at the Arboretum Foundation website. Also, see some great pictures in my previous post about monkeypuzzles.

On a New Year's Eve...

2011-12-31T10:59:00.000-08:00

To live is so startling,

it leaves little time for anything else.

- Emily Dickinson -

I hope 2012 brings you a great gardening year!

A late season visit to Lan Su Chinese Garden in Portland

2011-11-17T13:38:00.000-08:00

The Painted Boat in Misty Rain pavilion. 'Boat hall pavilions' were used to express one's desire for secluded life. Fishermen in traditional Chinese culture were closely associated with hermits, and therefore boats became symbols for reclusive life.

The Lan Su Chinese Garden in Portland that has often been said to be the best Chinese garden in North America. It definitely stood up for its reputation when I visited last weekend. Despite the leaden skies and bone-chilling cold, I was smitten. A beautifully executed scholar's garden, the Lan Su Garden's latticed pavilions and covered walkways were connected by arching bridges that formed a sophisticated whole with the miniature lakes and ponds, sculptural stones, carefully selected plants and signs with poetic inscriptions.

All aforementioned - architecture, water, stone, plants and literary inscriptions - formed the five main elements of a Chinese scholar's garden, and all of them conveyed meanings that invited the learned owners and visitors to endless contemplation about nature, culture and life itself. In addition to their intellectual dimension, Chinese private gardens were always a place for enjoyment of life; their covered walkways and other spaces provided perfect setting for strolling around, sitting in shade, playing chess and for calligraphy and painting. And that is why I find them so attractive and surprisingly 'modern'; they were created for outdoor living just like our contemporary gardens, only the pastimes of the upperclass of the imperial Chinese society were far more sophisticated than our backyard barbeques, pool parties and trampoline bouncing.

Countless books and studies are dedicated to the four thousand year old gardening tradition of China, so my attempt to describe some of the basic principles in my post about the Dr. Sun Yat-Sen garden in Vancouver is only a tiny scratch on the surface. Still, if you have time, please take a peek as both Lan Su and Dr. Sun Yat-Sen gardens were built in style of the Suzhou gardens in China so famous for their beauty. Only ten years apart in age, some experts and artisans from Suzhou worked on both gardens on this side of the Pacific.
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As I also mentioned in my post about the Dr. Sun Yat-Sen garden, it is remarkable how few Chinese gardens there are around the world despite their huge influence on the garden art in both Asia and Europe. We are lucky to have so many on the Pacific coast of North America - in Vancouver, Seattle, Portland and San Marino in California - but otherwise they are few and far between. But with China's growing power and visibility on the world scene, there might be an increasing interest for its culture and gardens, too. I definitely hope so.
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Courtyard of Tranquility, formed after 14th to 16th century private gardens for the wealthy in Suzhou, China. The Crabapple blossom doorway is formed after the Lion Grove Garden in Suzhou; the inscription above says 'Entering a wonder'. Gardens were a peaceful and inspiring escape of the daily life, and a traditional Chinese garden consisted (and still consist) of several areas of different sizes and functions, connected by openings that revealed borrowed, scenic views.

Entrance to The Hall of Brocade Clouds, where the imaginary family of this garden would have entertained their guests. Gardens formed an entiry with the house in China. Both were important means to show off the wealth of the family, so much thought and labor was put in creating them. Here, elaborate latticed glass walls protect visitors from heat in summer and winds in winter.

Interior from the Hall of Brocade Clouds. In Chinese, a hall is called a 'tingtang', and it was the lavishly decorated major architectural and visual element of the garden; large gardens could have several of them. Here, Chrysanthemums, a favorite flower in China, are displayed on the table. As one of the 'Four Honorable Plants' - plum, orchid, chrysanthemum and bamboo - it was revered and associated with autumn.

Glossy, almost ripe Persimmon fruit that in Chinese medicine is thought to regulate Qi, believed to be the life force in all things.

Querqus dentata pinnatifida, a rare oak from China, Korea and Japan with large, serrated leaves. The Lan Su Garden has included a large amount of Chinese plants into the design, which is not typical for Chinese gardens in general. They usually contain only a restricted palette of plants, all carefully chosen to provide beauty, color, texture and fragrance, and for their cultural significance. The most commonly used ones are peonies, azaleas, bamboo, pines, Prunus mume, camellias, osmanthus, bananas and lotus. Given the extraordinary richness of the flora of China, this seems controversial, but gardens there were built to convey carefully contemplated meaning and not to be botanical showcases.

"Most cherished in this mundane world is a place without traffic; truly in the midst of a city there can be mountain and forest" - Wen Zhengming (1470-1559). How well-suited for this view; in the middle of the city, the Hall of Brocade Clouds opens to the terrace and central lake.

Decorative latticed windows frame views of the greenery outside the pavilions.

The teahouse, called Tower of Cosmic reflections. In Chinese garden two-or-more story buildings were used to relieve the sense of isolation created by substantial walls. Also, the women of the family could view the garden and the surrounding city from these higher buildings.

Artificial hills and water are essential parts of Chinese gardens, symbolizing in miniature form the mountains and waterways of China. Also, water adds sounds to a garden and diverts attention from the busy city life around.

The Scholar's Study; this is where the men of the family studied for civil service examinations which would ensure the family's prosperity. Also, they practiced calligraphy, read and entertained fellow scholars here.

The elaborate doors leading to the study; it provided an excellent opportunity to display one's wealth to colleagues and other visitors.

Detail of the paving in front of the Study; this pattern is poetically called 'Plum blossoms on cracked ice'.

View towards the 'Knowing the fish' pavilion.

View towards the lounge house, used for music gatherings, mah jong games and painting.

View from the 'Knowing the fish' pavilion towards the lounge house and a Lake Tai rock representing a mountain top.

Under the eaves of the Hall of Brocade Clouds, decorated with Chrysanthemums to celebrate the season.

A door opening with banana leaf form; bananas were often planted under the eaves to amplify the sound of water dropping down from the roof. Such attention to details ...

A winding pathway behind the "Painted Boat in Misty Rain' pavilion.

A moon gate leads out from the Scholar's courtyard. In the opening, small Penjing can be seen; bonsai, like many other elements in the Japanese garden art, were inspired by these miniature trees that replicate natural landscapes.

A crowded stroll through Portland Japanese Garden

2011-11-14T14:05:00.000-08:00

View from the Moon Bridge towards the Strolling Pond Garden.

Last Friday was Veterans Day, so my family and I decided to celebrate the long weekend with a road trip to Oregon, a state that has so far avoided our radar despite its many great gardens and good coffee houses. The first stop on our agenda was the Portland Japanese Garden, but already on the gate we were met by a uninterrupted train of Portlanders. A free entrance to celebrate the holiday and an interesting exhibition of antique Japanese textiles meant that instead of enjoying a serene stroll through the gardens, we had to queue through them, repeating a polite "excuse me" when accidentally bumping to other gardens lovers at every turn. Understandably, our experience of the otherwise lovely gardens was anything but zen.

The upper pond in the Strolling Pond Garden.

Waterfall running through the mossy stones to the lower, small pond.

Leaves and needles finding their way past mossy stones - a perfect miniature landscape.

A bit irritated by all busyness, I photographed my way through the gardens desperately trying to find angles without pink or yellow raincoats as unintended focus points. Only afterwards I realized that the crowd was just what I should have photographed. I mean, how many gardens are so well loved that hundreds of visitors from babies to centenarians gather there to spend their precious day off? Not many, but this one definately belongs to them. I missed my opportunity to tell that story, but here is a selection of my very deceptively empty garden pictures.

The Sand and Stone Garden; the leaves add movement to the otherwise static landscape...

The Sand and Stone Garden as seen from the upper level; the Japanese gardens are nestled on the deep western hills of the city of Portland.

The Flat Garden as seen from the Pavillion, which is used for exhibitions; this time, we saw "Mottainai", a beautifully touching exhibition of antique textiles from rural Japan.

The Flat Garden from another view point; this must have been the last weekend to see all the blazing autumn colors before the leaves fall.

The UFO has landed...

2011-11-10T09:18:00.000-08:00

I don't usually nick anyone's pictures, but will make an exception here out of nostalgic reasons. I am Finnish, after all.

Just look at these visions of modern Finnish living in the 1960s; wasn't it a glorious time when the human race thought it was facing an endlessly bright future rendered possible by limitless technical and scientific development? Has my own generation managed to design anything as radically creative, ambitious and well, crazy? I don't think so. My personal favorite is the picture with two guys in the plastic sauna with their little globe heater. Just hilarious.

From the landscaping point of view, if only the materials would be changed into something sustainable, these little UFOs would be very earth-friendly, leaving almost no footprint on the nature they float over. I can imagine one above a meadow of wild flowers, how extraterrestrially pretty. When I showed these to my girls, they wanted to have one directly. I wonder if there are any left, somewhere in the Finnish woods?

PS - Spett och Spade just published pictures of some cute space garden paintings; I've never seen a garden with space theme, but would love to see one...

Not an ash, not an elderberry... but a pinnate leaved lilac

2011-11-07T12:55:00.000-08:00

I always love plants in disguise, the ones that aren't easily recognized; I guess a bit of challenge adds flavor to anything one pursues. The plant above is one of them; when asked what it was during last Saturday's plant walk at the Kruckeberg Botanic Garden, I thought it was some kind of a dwarf ash or maybe an elderberry, but I would never have got it right. It was actually a very rare lilac called Syringa pinnatifolia, the only lilac species with pinnate leaves.

Syringa pinnatifolia was collected by the famous plant hunter E.H.Wilson at the elevation of 9000 feet (2700 meters) on the mountains of west China in 1907. Already Wilson reported it to be quite rare, and it has been listed as endangered species in China since 1989; only very few plants have been found living in its original habitat. Coming from the high altitudes, it tolerates cold winters and harsh climates well, and blooms with small panicles of highly fragrant lilac blooms in the spring.

Today, the pinnate leaved lilac grows mainly in botanical gardens and arboretums like the Kruckeberg's. It is available only from very few specialist nurseries and has never become a commercial success. The only reason for this must be that it is difficult to propagate, as while definitely not showy, a fully hardy lilac with fresh and delicate leaves and highly scented, white blooms should be covetable for many gardeners. I at least would love to have one; it is always fun to have this kind of "I would never have guessed" -plants to puzzle other plant geeks with, and there can never be too many fragrant, white shrubs in a garden.

Carpets of cyclamen

2011-11-07T10:34:00.000-08:00

November in the Kruckeberg Botanic Gardens in Shoreline near Seattle. No late autumn gloom in sight anywhere, just mounds of flourishing cyclamen peeking out midst the falling leaves... the joys of a mature, well-established garden!

Unexpected rewards amid a lifting fog

2011-11-04T12:47:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning was the coldest so far this autumn. A smoky fog raising from the still warmish Lake Washington blanketed the surrounding hills where we live. In the backyard, our terrace looked like an ocean liner ploughing through the milky haze, with leaves of fire-engine Euonymus and golden Hamamelis shining like bright lanterns in the mist.

When the fog started lifting, I discovered tall whips full of spidery witch-hazel flowers peeking out from bare branches at the back of the border. It turned out that the Hamamelis with bright golden leaves had been grafted into a stock of Hamamelis virginiana that now flowers for the first time. H. virginiana is a hardy native from the eastern North America that grows up to 6 meters, and it is a common practice for commercial growers to use it as a grafting rootstock for the more tender Hamamelis varieties. I'd been thinking of cutting off the vigorous suckers for some time, but hadn't gotten to it. And looking at the sunny little tassels, I don't think I have heart to do so at least until the flowers fade. Sometimes you get an unexpected reward for being lazy...

More posts about witch-hazels, one of my favorite winter flowering shrubs:

Witch-hazels against midwinter gloom

Witch-hazels and other midwinter wonders

A blanket of mist

2011-11-01T10:11:00.000-07:00

Perfect weather for photographing.

Glowing, blazing, burning

2011-10-27T14:09:00.000-07:00

The spindle tree, Euonymus alata, in my frontyard; I love how the colours shift from the brightest crimson to the deepest burgundy in one single plant.

While photographing for an article about Araucarias in the Washington Park Arboretum, I was stunned by the amazing fall foliage this year. It is probably the most blazing show I've ever seen here; usually, the Pacific Northwest does not get the bright colours so typical for the Northeastern States or Northern Europe. Afterwards, I continued my photo session in my own garden, trying to make the most of the day before the next rainburst. As a result, here is a selection of my favorites for autumn blaze in the garden. Click on the photos for larger pictures - just don't burn your eyes...
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Witch-hazels, members of the Hamamelis family, are one of my favorite shrubs, not only for their delicately scented winter flowers, but also for their glowing fall colour.
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Stewartias, here S. monadelpha, really do have it all: wonderful bark, beautiful flowers, elegant form, and then good autumn colour - they are an excellent choice for just about any garden...

Fothergillas are closely related to Hamamelis. Their leaves are quite similar, but they get a more mottled autumn colour, like a patchwork containing all alternatives on the warm spectrum, from yellows to dark maroon tones.

This is one eye-burning plant: the sourwood tree, Oxydendron arboreum. It is one of my new favorites here even if I don't normally love anything so extremely red. But this tree blooms with sprays of lily-of-the-valley -like flowers from July to August and ends the season with a blazing show that definitely brightens up gloomy autumn days. Very dramatic.

Of course, no autumn colour show would be complete without maple leaves... here some Japanese ones from the Arboretum. I love the gradation from intensely red to green and then to soft, burnt orange, all in the same branch.

My weeping Japanese maple, Acer palmatum dissectum atropurpureum, changes from burgundy via green to toffee before it drops its leaves. With its drooping habit, it looks like a hairy mammoth in the end of the season...
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And a final picture from my backyard. A dark purple smoke bush to the left, then some blazing spindle trees and a brownish Stewartia that already show their autumn colour; the witch-hazels to the right still are completely green, but will soon turn lemony yellow. To the right from here, there is a star magnolia and a large cherry tree that were unfortunately cut out from the picture.

Farewell season

2011-10-21T11:14:00.000-07:00

Gentiana asclepiadea, the Willow gentian, is still sending out some flowers, now much bluer than the skies...

No frost yet, but the rains arrived according to schedule. Soft drizzle with small breaks in between, long enough to lure one out in the garden, just to get drenched by the next cloudburst. Some plants are still hanging on as if there were no tomorrow. Perseverance, such an admirable quality to possess.

Tricyrtis 'White Towers', or white toad lilies. Such an unfairly ugly name on an elegant plant... They are still holding on, producing cascades of delicate, orchid-like flowers.

Applicable advice from the other great recession

2011-10-19T08:17:00.000-07:00

A tap on my own back again; my second article was just published in the Washington Park Arboretum Bulletin, which I am very happy about. This time, I wrote about the first region-specific gardening books published in the Pacific Northwest. These appeared in the 1930s; it seems that until then, gardeners here were satisfied by local newspaper and magazine articles and books published elsewhere.

The earliest book to come out was Pacific Northwest Garden Guide for the Puget Sound Country and Northern Oregon by Charles J. Love in 1933. This energetic nurseryman from Seattle was a predecessor of today's star gardeners who fill the media; he evolved into a well-known public figure with newspaper and magazine columns and even radio broadcasts. Much of his advice is still accurate, even if some of it raise a smile, like his comment about rhododendrons and azaleas, that according to him had “not yet gained the attention they deserve in Pacific Northwest gardens”. He was definitely heard, as they now fill gardens here.
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Besides plant information, Love explained gardening and horticultural techniques, especially concentrating on growing edibles. The spirit of the economical depression of the 1930s shines through clearly when Love contemplates:

“We have the same wealth we always had - more in fact than any other country on earth, but we have allowed that wealth to flow into one corner and our structure became unbalanced and toppled over. Going back to the land is significant and will help distribute our great wealth to every nook and corner of our land. Trade in your own locality with local men and watch the regaining of equilibrium.”

His words bear an almost uncanny reflection of our own economically distressed times. Despite having been written in the early 1930s, they could be from any Farmer’s Market or locavore manifesto of today. The circle seems to have closed, we are back in growing our own edibles and trying to find a way out from a new great recession. And I can't but agree with Mr. Love about the importance of using local produce and locally manufactured products as an important way for achieving this.

Washington Park Arboretum Bulletin

Bulbs, distracted

2011-10-14T11:40:00.000-07:00

Tulip bulbs ready to go to bed. This heap is only for the camera, I thought they looked so delicious... in reality I left much more space between the bulbs.

Yesterday, I tried to get some bulbs into the ground and into some pots and containers, but got severely distracted by our puppy Milo. She thought it was a great game trying to steal them from me, or to tear up the paper bags up and then hunt after the pieces in the wind. She was on tether, but after a while the subsequent yelping made me release her against the advice from our personal puppy trainer (only in America! :-). I admit that I'm still far from being a professional, consequent dog owner who knows how to handle these situations.

Porcelain blue Muscari armeniacum 'Valerie Finnis', which I planted in an Italian terracotta pot. I love these tightly planted in low containers, ready to lifted to places where they can be enjoyed at close distance in early spring.

Milo really is a major distraction to about everything in my life for the moment. Totally cute and lovely, but so much hard work, and I must admit that I wasn't prepared enough for either. So, instead of some well composed bulb photos, I'm just reverting to a couple of pics from last year (bulbs in pots) and some stolen from the bulb sellers website (I hope Van Bloem takes this as marketing and not stealing).

Anyway, here is what I planted:

Three large containers in my backyard:
White, green-striped lily flowering Tulipa 'Green Star' in the first container
Black Tulipa 'Queen of Night' in the second (I wonder how this will go, might be too strong combination)
Tulipa Clusiana in the third (cheery, hopefully only not too... but then I'll just lift it somewhere else)
all combined with Anemone blanda 'White Splendour'

Two smaller containers for the entrance:
Porcelain blue Muscari armeniacum 'Valerie Finnis' with Narcissus cyclamineus 'Jenny' in the first
Fritillaria meleagris mix in the second

For the front yard, amongst creeping Prunus laurocerasus:
Allium Schubertii (9 bulbs in total, just to see if it works - I don't want them to be too showy, but I've always wanted to grow this bulb and it never came up in Sweden, is was too cold)

I just love planting bulbs in containers, so I'm still hungry for planting more, there were so many temptations at the local nursery. We'll see, maybe in a week or two, if Milo allows me...

Tulipa 'Green Star'

A Brazilian at wrong latitudes

2011-10-12T10:20:00.000-07:00

Exotic looking with its red petals tinged with dark maroon and edged with green and cream, the parrot flower comes from the hot and humid savannas of Brazil.

Last Saturday, I went to a garden walk through two private gardens in North Seattle. Barely warmed by the thinning rays of sun, we wandered through the winding pathways of the two gardens that had been cultivated and loved for years. They were accordingly full of rarities and mature specimens of many interesting plants, which kept the participants - a group of landscape designers from the Seattle area - busy discussing their respective merits and qualities (of the plants, not the designers...) and possible uses in gardens.

The parrot flower blooms from July to October. The original species can become invasive, but there is a refined Japanese selection with cream-edged leaves that is much easier keep in bay.

One of them caught my eye, even if I really can't explain why. It was the parrot flower, Ahlstroemeria psittacina, a wild species from the Cerrado ecoregion of Brazil. Just looking at the words "Cerrado ecoregion of Brazil" makes me want to embark for a long botanical expedition to those hot and humid plains, said to be the richest savanna in the world. Think about all those flowers under the bright Brazilian sun, weaving through the abundant grasses and gently swaying in the wind.... What a bliss.
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Even the seedpods of the parrot flower look interesting, bursting out amongst the surrounding groundcovers.

Now, I have to confess that red has never really been my color in a garden; I don't think I've ever planted anything pure red in the three gardens I've had so far. But even if these parrot flowers really are a bit too christmassy (in New Zealand, where they are commonly grown in gardens, they are called New Zealand Christmas bells), they looked quite elegant in the garden, picking up colors of the surrounding plants and adding a hint of warmth to the composition. The original species has sometimes a tendency to become invasive, but there is a Japanese selection with refined, white-edged leaves that it much easier to control. An additional bonus is that hummingbirds feed easily from their narrow, tubular flowers, which always is a great feature in a plant. So even if mine might only be a case of projected wanderlust, I am considering planting some parrot flowers somewhere in my current garden...

Embracing the rain...

2011-10-11T14:44:00.000-07:00

Quick-silver on Ginko biloba leaves...

Didn't someone say that if you can't beat them, join them? So foolish. I've never thought joining one's adversaries is a great idea, however strong they might be. But sometimes one needs to do exceptions, so instead of cursing the ever-present rain, I decided to embrace it. And despite difficulties in keeping my camera dry, there seemed to be something to that old saying, after all.

A magnifying splash on velvety Geranium renardii leaves.

Tradescantias with little drops lining the edges of their leaves; how did they arrange themselves so neatly?

A Tropaeolum speciosum, climbing nasturtium vine, with a string of pearls. Maybe it wanted to be pretty even after the flowers have faded?

Fuchsias still hanging out there

2011-10-07T12:55:00.000-07:00

Named after one of the great figures of German botany, Leonhart Fuchs (1501-66), there's nothing foxy with the delicate flowers of Fuchsia magellanica var. alba... A favorite in the Victorian England, they look gracefully elegant their shell-pink tutus.

Hardy fuchsias are still blooming with undiminished vigor. Like small lanterns, their flowers hang from elegantly arching canes, lighting up half-shady parts of the gardens. In this mild climate, many Fuchsia species form large shrubs that feed whole families of hummingbirds throughout their long flowering season from July until the first frosts nip them off in November.
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Hailing from Central and South America (and with a couple of cousins in New Zealand), they look decidedly exotic in the evergreen Pacific Northwest gardens. I don't mind this, even if as a garden plant, I prefer the slimmer species, like the many F. magellanica varieties (the big, colorful cultivars I think look best planted in pots and containers at these latitudes). Their only drawback is that their buds are all too skinny to be popped, which is not a trivial matter, as popping them (secretly) certainly belongs to the joys of childhood that stay forever in one's memory...

Dark, cherry-red berries of Fuchsia magellanica, with color-matching stems.

A plateful of cyclamen, with regret

2011-10-04T14:48:00.000-07:00

One of the five, old cyclamen tubers I got from Marian. They all were over 20 cm/ 8 inches in diameter and almost 10 cm/4 inches high, with leaves and flowers sprouting from the top.

Sometimes I just want to kick myself, and hard. Why? Well, two years ago, I got five old, large Cyclamen hederifolium tubers from Marian, a wonderfully talented gardener in my neighborhood who I met briefly just before she moved and left her amazing garden behind. Very fond of cyclamen of any kind, I planted them like delighted squirrel under a weeping old Japanese maple in front of our bedroom window, where I thought I would be able to enjoy their delicate and nodding flowers first thing on drizzly autumn mornings.

A baby tuber beside the old lady; cyclamen thrive in the mild climate of Pacific Northwest and naturalize easily in gardens here.

Last summer I got help with some of the Sisyphean task of weeding this garden. But only now, waiting for some flowers to emerge, did I notice that these hard-handed young guys hadn't cared much of what had stuck into their rakes. They had pulled off four of the five of my cyclamen tubers from the ground and apparently disposed them into the compost bin of their big truck. So now I only have this old lady left, together with a sore conscience for my own laziness. I mean, if you don't do all of your own gardening (which is fine when things get too tedious), how difficult is it at least to mark plants that are dormant? None of that 'everybody makes mistakes' compassion will do today, I'm full pure and clear regret.

Flowers and leaves sprout from woody stems called "floral trunks" on the top of old tubers. They eventually form showy mats of tiny flowers, preferably under large trees.

Marble guardians of Nolhaga

2011-10-03T13:30:00.000-07:00

These white marble Guardians by Italian sculptor Stefano Beccari stand in the park of Nolhaga Slott in Alingsås, Sweden. Like full-length, frozen versions of Giuseppe Arcimboldo's crazy vegetable portrait heads, they stand in the middle of a clearing amongst tall, old beech trees. With their rigid, voluptuously decorated forms, they command one's attention, managing at the same time to look a tiny bit ridiculous, just like real-life guardians with their showy uniforms in front of palaces and castles often tend to do.

Part of a temporary sculpture exhibition until 2012, they are a great addition to this modest but charming little park. I only wish that the park department or whoever is in charge here would have spent more in lawn care. Now weeds and bare patches of worn lawn draw one's attention, when a dark, velvety lawn or a carefully composed planting of perennial grasses would have formed a magnificent stage for these guys, adding a mysterious note to the setting. Still, it is wonderful to see that the authorities of a small town like Alingsås do invest in art, as they did here together with two local art societies. As they say, one cannot live on bread alone.

(PS - Nolhaga Slott means Nolhaga Palace, but this 19th century building is really only a middle-sized mansion).

Pehr Kalm's Sipsalo sold

2011-10-01T09:26:00.000-07:00

Pehr Kalm's Sipsalo, the farm where he cultivated seeds from his botanical voyage as a disciple of Carl Linnaeus to North America in 1748-51, was sold in late July to a private owner. Appeals were made for the city of Turku to use its pre-emptive right to buy the property, but this week, Turku City made its final decision of not using this right, and leaving Sipsalo to its new owner. The new owner has expressed interest for the cultural history of the place and will hopefully at least not be doing any harm to the gardens. As is usual with historic places, the buildings are protected, but the garden (or what remains of it) is not.

Despite being overgrown and neglected, some plants from the time of Kalm still grow at Sipsalo, forming a living link to its past. As the only remaining site and garden where Pehr Kalm worked, Sipsalo represents an important piece of history of scientific, cultural and botanical relationships between Finland, Sweden and the United States. With its tight connection with the Linnaean legacy, it is a highly interesting and important site for botanists, garden historians and researchers internationally.

However culturally interested the new owner might be, Turku did lose a major opportunity for research and cultural exchange that otherwise could have taken place in Sipsalo. Sipsalo could have been a center where young and old students could have learned about botany and plants, and about the history of research and science. Exchange of students and researchers from different countries could have taken place here in the spirit of both Kalm and Linnaeus, and as a tribute to their contribution to botany and science. Now this possibility was lost. I truly hope that the new owner understands the value of Sipsalo, so that it will be saved to the future generations.

All posts of the passionate effort to save this 18th century garden for future generations I've been involved in:

Save the forgotten gardens of Pehr Kalm, August 2009
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Sipsalo, again, December 2009
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Late November is Sipsalo, December 2009
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Saving Sipsalo, one small step at a time, December 2010
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Delivered today: an international appeal to save Pehr Kalm's experimental garden in Sipsalo, March 2011 (details of international support and summary of articles up to that date that were published about Sipsalo)
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Still not giving up on Pehr Kalm's Sipsalo... August 2011 (about plants in Sipsalo)

My new little gardening friend...

2011-09-29T16:08:00.000-07:00

Milo, our eight weeks old Portuguese water dog came home two days ago. She is interested in just about everything, sniffing and chewing her way through our house and garden. After her exhausting puppy toils, she falls asleep wherever she happens to be. We'll see how much gardening will get done during the next couple of weeks...

Naked ladies, next door

2011-09-23T13:08:00.000-07:00

'Naked ladies', Colchicum autumnale, with Geraniums and Tanacetums in my neighbors garden.

A dear old gardening lady lives just a couple of houses from us, and these luxuriant bulbs are now blossoming against a tapestry of small flowers in her front yard. Her garden is full of carefully planned combinations like this; just look how well the purple-pink petals and sunny stamens of the 'naked ladies' pick up the tones of the delicate purple veining of the Geraniums and the yellow buttons of the Tanacetums. So pretty. While passing, I always think how her garden is so not my style, but I love seeing it anyway. I guess it is the joy of gardening that I enjoy, so evident in everything she does.

My own 'Naked ladies' don't seem to have any lust of showing themselves this year. I don't know what has happened. They produced huge, lush leaves after last season's flowers faded, so I thought they were doing well and ready to bloom again this autumn. But now, nothing. Maybe they would like to have prettier companions around them, like my neighbors do?

You talkin' to me?

2011-09-22T11:44:00.000-07:00

Just met this Doll's eyes plant (Actaea pachypoda), staring me down with its crooked little eyeballs at the Bellevue Botanical gardens. Although aesthetically interesting, I still find it a bit creepy; there is something crazy, almost sinister in its expression. And not without a reason; the whole plant is highly toxic, just a couple of berries are enough to cause a cardiac arrest and even death. Perfect for a garden with a Halloween theme...?

Transplanting wayward Miscanthus babies

2011-09-20T13:52:00.000-07:00

While weeding an embarrassingly neglected part of my garden, I just found eight little Miscanthus babies amongst the other thugs. I didn't even know Miscanthus grasses self-seed, and especially not that they just in one season produce sturdy little babies that would perfectly fit a pint sized container.

I'd been thinking of sowing some tall grasses to fill up an area that desperately needs some 'vertical interest', but now I just moved these little guys there, hoping that they'll grow as fast they have until now. There are still several smaller seedlings left that I can add to the group later.

I'm not sure if this is a good decision, or if I will end up with a forest of Miscanthus in a couple of years from now. Still, I just couldn't resist using these cheeky little guys, they just looked so keen on being a part of my garden.

Very green, and only green

2011-09-15T16:04:00.000-07:00

In his book The Education of a Gardener, Russell Page describes a small garden in the middle of Paris as following:

"I went down a narrow flight of steps into another world, a dark and shady wood, utterly restful, with no disturbing element and no hint that at any point one was only a few yards from the busy street. The achievement was remarkable and the means most ordinary. There were a few old trees underplanted with yews allowed to grow quite freely; ivy was used to cover the high surrounding walls and to carpet the ground. A gravel path wandered about in this maze of green; and that was all. In this particular case, (the gardener) not only accepted the very limited possibilities, but achieved a remarkable garden. Since it had to be shady, he made it very shady, and since green is precious in the city, he made his garden very green and only green."

"Since it had to be shady, he made it very shady, and since green is precious in the city, he made his garden very green and only green". This is one of my favorite lines in gardening literature, ever; a brilliant summary of how the discipline (and courage) of keeping things simple while carrying out one's idea based on the character and qualities of one's site is the key to creating a 'remarkable' garden. Finding the 'very green and only green' of a garden is the most difficult but also the most rewarding problem of making a garden, and I think that no one has described it better than Russell Page is that short, eloquent paragraph.

Pictures from the Bloedel Reserve, a garden whose owners definitely understood the 'very green and only green' of their garden. As I've mentioned a couple of times, The Education of a Gardener by Russell Page (1962) is one of my favorite gardening books.

In the belly of a sunken porcelain cargo ship...

2011-09-12T16:33:00.000-07:00

In July, on our short trip to Gothenburg on the west coast of Sweden, I visited Trädgårdsföreningen, the Garden Society of Gothenburg. Just a stone's throw from the city centre, these are one of the best preserved 19th century gardens in Sweden, and seem always be full of appreciating citizens and visitors, exploring the well-preserved Palmhouse from 1878 and rambling around the many themed gardens.

Since a couple years had passed since my previous visit, I found some new additions to this well-loved park. One of them was a 'grotto' designed by art director Nina Thalinson and architect Gert Wingårdh called The Sunken Garden. Nina and Gert had been inspired both by classical English sunken gardens and the Swedish East Indiaman Götheborg, that sank in 1745 only 900 meters from its home harbour in Gothenburg while approaching it after a 30-month trip to China.

Constructed like a stylized ship, visitors walk into this garden like into a cave, shaded by a vegetative laser-cut steel roof hang on steel beams and surrounded by dark-coloured concrete walls. An abundant, romantic planting in green, white, pink and burgundy tones - always a safe and stylish combination - flows over the walls, offering a soft contrast to the no-nonsense, industrial materials. Everything was, as expected, well-designed, modern and even trendy. But what I especially liked, was a 12-meter long waterfall wall that ran along one of the sides. Like a giant mosaic, this wall was covered with delicately painted blue and white Chinese porcelain fragments, excavated and rescued from the sunken remains of the original ship after spending over 250 years in the cold waters of the Nordic sea.

Looking at all these porcelain pieces, once exclusive and elaborately painted dishes made by Chinese artisans and then carried across the seas by Swedish merchants, immediately tickled my imagination. They made me think about the skilled hands painting them, knowing nothing of the countries where the results of their work would be sent; about the long and dangerous voyage through the seas; and about the people who waited for the ship with its precious cargo for 30 months, only to see it sink in front of their eyes. How maddeningly disappointing it must have been, even if no lives were lost. Gazing at those glistening blue and white pieces, once again covered with water, made the sunken garden feel like a great memento for all the work and effort - however commercial in its original nature - that went wasted. At the same time, it felt stragely consoling, reminding me that luckily, the little disappointments of my fast, modern life seldom are at the same scale. Which I think is not a bad achievement for any garden, and especially not for a small, imaginative one.

Late summer notes from my front yard...

2011-09-09T11:30:00.000-07:00

A vase-formed Japanese Zelkova (Z. serrata) on the left, I like its distinct form and serrated leaves that shiver with the smallest breath of wind. Behind it, a large, old Japanese maple with purplish leaves, it looks like a huge wig... The tall shrub by the chimney is a Cornus kousa var. chinensis. A group of Viburnum tinus and Camellia Nuccio's pearl, which don't really show in the picture, but stay green through the winter months. Otherwise, hydrangeas (unfortunately blue, I would prefer white oak-leaf hydrangeas instead, but I don't have the heart to dig up these oldies...), a couple of varieties of hostas, hellebores, Miscanthus sinensis 'Morning light', variegated ground elder (suck!), and a bit of Sedum. And bulbs, like snowdrops, white Crocus Jeanne d'Arc and Narcissus Thalia.

Why do I think it is so embarrassing to publish pictures of my garden? Somehow, it feels a bit too public, too revealing, even if I think it is perfectly natural for others to do so. Anyway, here are some pictures from today morning, and now I have to go back and hyperventilate for a while. These are from the entrance to our house in Seattle. It is from the 60s and designed by Ralph Anderson, a local architect of Scandinavian origin. He worked in the Pacific Northwest contemporary style, which took influences from Japanese and Scandinavian design - even the garden has many plants of Asian origin. The house sits well in the landscape, following the terrain instead of dominating it; built on 4 half-levels, it opens up to the back high above the hill.

Between the entrance above and the street, there is an island bed with both evergreens and perennials, first picture facing north and second south. This is where the lavender in the previous post grows, now cut back and all grey. Usually, it flowers again after the big chop, but this year spring was so late that I don't think it will have time to do so. Sedums are in full bloom now, a bit boring but very tolerant of drought and completely hardy. I'll add some Allium schubertii bulbs here for next spring, so that they poke up from the Dwarf English laurel (which does not show so well, but it is there between the sedums and lavender...). Otherwise, I would like to loosen this up, get some more movement into it, but I'm not quite sure how.

And this is our entrance, with my reflection on the front door. I love large pots, and can never get enough of them. I don't know how to transport them all to Sweden, when that day comes. I really would love to take some of my plants with me too, but they would not survive nearly three months in an international moving container. I'll have to figure out something. This year, I didn't plant any flowering things here as we were away for such a long time, but these perennials - Daphne odora, hellebores, grasses, an asparagus fern etc - survived the random watering very well. Also, we love gathering seashells and 'special' stones on the beaches; I keep them in a large, low terracotta bowl by the entrance as mementos of our beach trips (the large round shell in the middle is my favorite...).

View from the entrance out to the street, which you can't even see - the large plant island really provides privacy here, so I like it despite its 'shrubbiness'. The large washed seastone paving is not my favorite, but it really is typical of the 60s (the house was renovated in 2007; in the garden, original materials were used...), so it will stay. My favorite is the beautifully scented Daphne odora 'Aureomarginata' on the corner, it fills the whole area with its heavenly scent during late winter and early spring. And now - happy weekend!

Dry, golden, mellow

2011-09-08T13:40:00.000-07:00

We're living through the last glorious days of summer. Like a misbehaving guest who arrived embarrassingly late to the party, it now refuses to leave, trying to make up for the mistake by showing just how charming it can be... It has been hot and balmy, with temperatures raising over 80/25 degrees for days; I find it difficult to fathom that autumn with its ubiquitous rainproof jackets is lurching just around the corner.

The sky is bright and high, and lawns start to turn brown. This August, Seattle got only 0.13 inches/0.33 cm of rain, and September still hasn't seen its first drops. Surprisingly, nature here does not seem to be especially bothered by the lack of water. Due to the cold and wet spring, trees and shrubs carry a heavy coat of greenery, but despite all dry days, they still look great, showing no stress or signs of thirst at least by the coast. I'm not sure how they manage, but maybe they just are used to this yearly cycle of wet and dry, as most of the rain Seattle is so famous for really only falls between the months of October and May.

There are no water restrictions, so I've been watering my garden, even if most of it would probably do quite well without my help. In the front garden, a fraction of which is pictured above, long drifts of Spanish lavender alternate with Sedums which are now in full bloom. Both species mingle with five large stone boulders, groups of evergreens like dwarf English laurels, burning bushes (Euonymus alatus) and five Magnolia grandifloras, just to mention a few. This autumn, I'm thinking of adding some Alliums to send up their little fireworks between the dwarf laurels next spring.

The western side of the front garden needs some work, too. The skeleton is fine, with burning bushes, dark purple smoke bushes and groupings of Viburnum davidii forming soft mounds, all of which are amazingly drought tolerant and hardy. But then, several azaleas were planted in this area, which is completely insane as it faces full west, with no shade during the whole day. Quite expected, many of them have died, leaving screaming cavities behind. I've always found this planting too shrubby, so now I can soften it up and breathe some life and movement into this area. I've been looking at tall grasses, like Stipa giganteas or Molinia caeruleas, to be planted plant in large wavy bands between the shrubs. Then, I'm thinking of adding some spiky perennials like Perowskias and Agastaches, and accent bulbs, maybe Alliums or even Eremurus between the grasses and lower shrubs. We'll see. But until any work can be done, the rains need to start, so it seems that I still have some time for planning...

Digging the DIG

2011-09-01T17:03:00.000-07:00

This huge rusty iron sphere got on my 'would-love-to-have' list directly... such a presence.

The school is starting next Tuesday, so we got into a serious 'last days of summer vacation - let's make the most of it' frenzy... So despite having last Sunday visited DIG Nursery on Vashon Island near Seattle, which I think must be one of the most charming nurseries on this part of the country, I still haven't had time to post one single photo of it until now.

More rusty details: repurposed steel drawers were planted with succulents and miniature conifers; you could make a low wall out of these as a divider for garden spaces.

Pots and containers of all forms and sizes; I can never get enough of well-made ceramic pots. Many of these would happily have followed me home, if my budget would only had allowed it...

I've been followed by a glaring sunshine where ever I have been this summer (which is nice from the vacation point of view, but less preferable for taking photos of any further quality), so the pictures here don't do justice to the very pleasing experience of visiting the DIG Nursery. I had heard about it from a friend for a while ago, but as getting there is a bit of a hike involving a ferry trip, I'd unfortunately postponed it to a undefined future. This is a pity, as DIG turned to be just the kind of nursery that I love, with a thoughtful and personal touch to everything on display. Their selection of grasses, succulents and other garden plants is excellent, but what I loved most was their creative displays of pots and vessels of all kinds, from new, sleek and chic to repurposed, buckled and rusty. Sometimes planted with delicate grasses and sometimes with grand conifers, the combinations filling the ground were always interesting and stylish. And even if I'm not usually fond of an overflow of decorative items, I found here quite a few temptations that I would love to see somewhere in my garden...

My youngest daughter got her doggie-fix by playing with Sophia, who was cooling down in her clever house made out of a concrete culvert and complete with a flowering sedum roof!

Cattle feed troughs were used for kitchen gardens plantings, and here a huge one was raised up as a gazebo to provide both shade and protect from rain - a clever and unusual 'farming chic' solution.

My older daughter, tired from the sun, took fancy in this bright tangerine bench; I loved the sedum-filled rusty steel containers that were hanging on the gabion walls that act as space dividers in the nursery.

Address and more on DIG's own beautiful website.

Gunnebo - the ultimate riches to rags in less than a generation

2011-08-27T12:15:00.000-07:00

Gunnebo from the south side facing the formal French gardens with bosquets surrounded by lime alleys.

At first sight, Gunnebo's looks are utterly deceiving. Like a shining pearl, this petite 18th century palace stands on top of a ridge, forming a perfect centre point to its well-manicured, French-inspired gardens leading away along north and south facing axes. But in all its minute perfectness, Gunnebo really is a memorial to a love story that went awfully wrong; a mistress that seduced and held its masters captured until all their means were exhausted.

The terraced entrance garden facing north. Originally, Gunnebo's orangery and greenhouses contained over 100 lemon-, bitter lemon and orange trees, almond, mulberry, bay and olive trees, 125 pineapples grown in containers and over 200 species of other exotic plants. All these were the first to perish after John Hall Jr.'s bankruptcy. Today, some of the species are displayed on the terraces.

Gunnebo was built as a summer residence for John Hall Sr. (1735-1802), a son of a British immigrant who became a successful Gothenburg merchant; for some time, he was one of the wealthiest men in Sweden. After acquiring the lands of Gunnebo in 1778 he gave Carl Wilhelm Carlberg, then the town architect of Gothenburg, completely free hands to design everything from the house, utility buildings and gardens to the smallest interior details as door handles and flower pots.

Clearly a dream commission for any architect, Carlberg embarked on a creative frenzy seldom experienced in the usually simplicity-loving Scandinavia. He had just returned from a lengthy visit to central Europe full of inspiration and ideas, and in Gunnebo, he got a unique chance to put all of them in practice. Especially fond of the Palladian villas of Italy and gardens of Louis XIV in France, he held them as model at Gunnebo despite the huge difference in scale. No expenses were saved; with strict attention to detail and workmanship, Carlberg hired the carpenters and craftsmen, overlooked the building work and even paid their wages.

The beautiful kitchen gardens and utility buildings were reconstructed in the 1990s according to Carlberg's original drawings. The produce is used at the excellent restaurant housed in the yellow building in the first picture, worth even a longer trip to visit.

Twenty four years later in 1802, John Hall Sr. died without seeing Gunnebo being finished. Up till then, over 600 000 riksdaler had been spent on it, and the costs were still running with no end in sight. As a comparison, Carlberg's annual salary was 150 riksdaler; the head gardener of Gunnebo had to make with 50 riksdaler a year. Christina Hall, John Sr.'s wife, wrote already in 1794 to a friend how the project was draining their resources, and just five years after John Sr.'s death, his son John Hall Jr. (1771-1830), a bohemian and artistic man without any business skills, was declared bankrupt. Still a wealthy man and equally obsessed with Gunnebo as his father, he tried to regain it through several unsuccessful lawsuits and eventually became destitute in the process. John Hall Jr. spent the last years of his life begging and wandering around the streets of Stockholm; in the end, his worn out and threadbare body was found in a roadside gutter of the city centre.

The orangery, also reconstructed in the 1990s after drawings from beginning of the 19th century. The kitchen gardens are planted creatively to provide both produce and to be visually attractive. Here cardoons and marigolds mingle together.

Soon after the bankruptcy, Gunnebo fell into deep decay. The luxurious plants in its orangery and greenhouses died, the ponds of the gardens grew over and its windows crashed in the storms; a contemporary eyewitness described it as a 'living corpse". The fast fall from immense riches to the deepest misery attracted visitors from afar and the dilapidated house with its overgrow gardens became a popular attraction in Gothenburg. In 1832, what remained of Gunnebo was sold on auction for 6786 riksdaler to a new owner. In 1948, the city of Mölndal bought Gunnebo. In 1990s, it went through an extensive restoration and reconstruction, meticulously executed after Carlberg's original drawings and carried through with authentic 18th century methods and materials.

Magnificent stairs lead from the house to the formal gardens on the south side, a pool with a fountain and clipped lime trees act as a end to the central axis. The formal style of Gunnebo was considered old-fashioned already when it was being built; surprisingly, the English landscape garden style that otherwise was all the rage during that time made no impact in Carlberg despite his spending over a year in the country during his travels.

I visited Gunnebo with my family for the first time in 2006. Initially, I had difficulties in comprehending what had gotten such a talented business man as John Hall Sr. to spend so much on something that gave him nothing in return? And his artistic son to hold on to something as material as a house and a garden, instead of letting it go and living a comfortable life secured by the means he had inherited?

During that visit, we ended up in the middle of a 18th century enactment, complete with children dressed in period clothes and a battle taking place on the otherwise bucolic fields of the English park behind the French terraces and bosquets of the formal gardens. The buildings had only just been finished according to the original drawings and specifications from the original period. Usually, I am a real 'ruin romantic'; I love the patina and decay that only real passing of time can generate, so I was uncertain what to think about this gleaming building with its manicured gardens. But instead of longing for the patina, Gunnebo's polished state made me feel I was transferred to the time of its first owners, who sadly never saw it finished. I could understand, or maybe more feel, what had seduced the Halls - both Senior and Junior - so badly that they never recovered. Gunnebo was, and now again is, the perfect little palace (really too small to be called as such), an escapist dream inspired by the southern latitudes of Europe, landed amongst the northern forests and shores of Sweden. A folly, yes, but a beautiful one.

One of the few places at Gunnebo where the passing of time is evident...

We all dream, and in our gardens, we often express those dreams with the choices we make. And maybe that is why Gunnebo still manages to captivate us with its charms, two hundred years after it was originally built. It was and still is the ultimate dream its first owners, and simply by being that it resonates with the dreams that we all bear inside us, whatever the final outcome.

I can almost smell the coffee...

2011-08-24T10:12:00.000-07:00

A bit of nostalgia: I just stumbled upon this picture from our garden in Sweden. This is where I used to take my morning coffee on the old wooden bench, gazing at the sprinkles of sun reflected by the nearby waves and listening to the hum of the tireless little bees working through the lavender. I find it curious that I thought there was so much to do, so much to improve in this garden... Now, three years later, I would be happy if everything would just be as it was when I left. A good lesson, I guess.

The Porphyry vase: the most absurd garden element in Sweden?

2011-08-19T12:15:00.000-07:00

A light-hearted Friday post about what I think is the wackiest garden element in Sweden: the huge Porphyry vase in the gardens of the Rosendal Palace on the island of Djurgården in Stockholm. This 5 meter high tazza was commissioned by King Charles XIV John of Sweden, a Napoleon's Marchal who became a King of Sweden (his might be one of the most successful careers on record). It was carved out of a single 140 tonne piece of granite from the King's mines in Älvdalen i northern Dalarna. After two years of meticulous carving and polishing, the finished piece weighing 9 tonnes was transported to Stockholm with the help of 100 strong men, tens of draft horses and a fiddler (nice touch, the last!).

I'm sure psychologists and political scientists could elaborate in length about the King's motives to produce this huge statement; boasting about the natural resources and skillful subjects of his newly acquired kingdom surely were two, and self-aggrandizement certainly still another of them. Despite countless fountains and sculptures of all forms and sizes in Swedish parks and gardens, the Porphyry vase still holds an unique position amongst them. In way, it is completely out of scale and it has no function whatsoever. It just stands in the middle of a circular island of lawn, its base adorned with flowerbeds of dubious beauty. In my eyes it would have made much more sense as a fountain with water running down its scalloped rim; all it had needed was a large basin below.

All the same, I find the Porphyry vase handsome and almost deliberating in its massive, classicistic grandeur so far away from all moderation and self-restraint that usually are the preferred virtues of the Swedish society. I mean, there is so much beautiful art, architecture and gardens in that country, from harmonious 18th century interiors to airy modernist creations and contemporary sleek Scandinavian design. But as much I love it all, sometimes all that "good taste" (I'm well aware of the relativity of the concept) makes me crave for a bit of craziness. And that is where I think the Porphyry vase comes into the picture; with its gigantic size, it provides a vital touch of the slightly absurd and out-of-scale in the middle of the well-tempered beauty of Djurgården.

Rewinding to early spring at Mount Rainier

2011-08-17T10:48:00.000-07:00

Just a couple of pictures from our recent hike on the slopes of Mount Rainier, 1,5 hours drive south of Seattle. Not very experienced hikers of this iconic mountain in Washington state, we didn't undertake any treacherous mountain climbing expedition, but a relatively easy hike to a nearby top with amazing views of the ice-covered Rainier.
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Arriving at the trail head at some 5700 feet above the sea level, we were immediately transferred from late summer back to early spring. As the first half of this summer had been the coldest on record, snow still covered the north-facing slopes, forcing us to climb over man-high mounds while tracing the constantly disappearing trail through the forests. Despite the cold, an amazing botanical variety greeted us: glacier lilies (Erythronium grandiflorum) peeked through the snow and filled the melting meadows at sunnier glades and thrifts of the American false hellebore (Veratrum viride) pushed towards the sun at the mountain sides. At the top, tiny penstemons (pink P. davidsonii and blue P. procerus) and western pasqueflowers (Anemone occidentalis) popped up from the the gravel-covered steep ground like small, delicate jewels.

Glacier lily pushing through snow; western pasqueflower; American false hellebore.

I love alpine plants, but I've never been a great fan of man-made rock or alpine gardens. I find them too artificial, as they usually are awkwardly filled with boulders to simulate the extreme conditions that these tough but discriminating plants need to survive (I'm not talking here of rock gardens on natural cliffs - they can be simply stunning). To really appreciate the resilient beauty and hardiness of these tinies, they need to be seen amongst the rocks, snow and hard winds of the mountain sides where they originally grow. But that would deny access to them for many plant lovers, so I understand why botanical gardens around the world keep building their alpine gardens despite often being close to sea-level.

Phlox caespitosa; unidentified little bellis-like plant; Penstemon davisonii.

In private gardens, I seldom think it is a good idea to compose mini-Matterhorns or Mount Rainiers to grow alpines. Instead of engaging in that kind of "make-believe", growing them in stone troughs and planters mulched with small gravel is so much more beautiful and stylish, allowing easy access to the small plants by lifting them to the eye level (Vita's old troughs with alpines in Sissinghurst are an excellent example of this). As I love alpine plants, I decided adding a "Mount Rainier alpine collection" somewhere on my garden in Sweden as a reminder of these majestic slopes. There are great cliffs already, so just need to find a couple of old stone troughs to be used as a focal point...

It is impossible to create better alpine displays than these found on the slopes of Mount Rainier ... but I still would love to have a couple of old stone troughs with some of these gems.

Still not giving up on Pehr Kalm's Sipsalo...

2011-08-12T21:40:00.000-07:00

A large oak stands in the far end of Pehr Kalm's experimental garden in Sipsalo; supposedly, it formed the end of the central axis of the garden. A long vertical scar runs through its trunk, so it was propably struck by lightning when young.

As some of you might know, Pehr Kalm's Sipsalo, the farm where he cultivated seeds from his botanical voyage to North America in 1748-51, was sold in late July for a new owner who wants to remain private. The Green Party has made an appeal for the city of Turku to use its pre-emptive right to buy the property, which is now being examined further. However culturally interested the new owner might be, in private hands we do lose a major opportunity for research and cultural exchange that otherwise could have taken place in Sipsalo. (To read about our passionate effort to save this 18th century garden for future generations, please start here.)

The main house at Sipsalo where Kalm worked; Siberian crab apples, Malus baccata: a large old Malus baccata that Carl Linnaeus loved still stands on the grounds of his farm called Hammarby in Sweden. He got the seeds from Finnish natural historian Eric Laxman, who served as a clergyman in Siberia in 1765. Could Kalm's trees be of the same origin?

Just before Sipsalo was sold, I made a summer excursion there with Katri Sarlund and Kalle Euro, who have both been very much involved in the project. During our short visit, we managed to find many plants directly connected to both Linnaeus and Kalm in the lush, jungle-like gardens. Only a plant detective with proper DNA-analyzing equipment could tell if these plants originate from Kalm's American seed collections or from Linnaeus' botanical gardens in Hammarby, but with their botanical and historical connections, I found it extremely exciting to find them growing in the middle of the neglected Sipsalo.

The stables just outside Kalm's garden are from the 1930s and could be used as an excellent space for research and exhibitions; Amelanchier canadensis was on Kalm's original list of seeds that he brought from North America in 1751. Could these struggling self-seeded whips that we found in the garden be great-grandchildren of those seeds?

An old thicket of Siberian pea tree, Caragana arborecens, grows near the house in Sipsalo; Linnaeus had some growing in Hammarby, too. He was concerned about the large amount of trees cut down to build fences, and preferred living fences planted with these thorny shrubs.

Crataegus coccinea (now C. flabellata var. grayana) was also on Pehr Kalm's list of seeds he imported from North America. Small plants grow abundantly in the woods of Sipsalo.

Musk strawberry, Fragaria moschata, and sweet cicely, Myrrhis odorata, are two plants that were commonly grown in gardens in the 18th century. Musk strawberries grow into large plants with hairy leaves, but they need both male and female plants to produce their delicious fruit, so they were replaced by new hybrids of the garden strawberry (F. x ananassa) in the 19th century. The scented leaves and stems of sweet cicely have been used for medicine and cooking. Musk strawberries and sweet cicely thrive also in the glades of Linnaeus' Hammarby, and maybe Linnaeus used them to treat his gout, as both plants were used to cure it in his time.

Roseroot, Rhodiola rosea, grows wild in Lappland, and Linnaeus used its Swedish name 'rosenrot' in 1755. It was used as a cure for arthritis and headache, and got its name after its roots, which could be destilled to produce rose-scented oils and waters.

Several huge old Salix purpurea and Salix viminalis grow in Sipsalo, planted in a similar manner as some Salix bushes at Hammarby. There is evidence that Kalm got cuttings from Linnaeus in 1771 (mentioned in a letter), and these bushes could be those same cuttings that have survived the time.

As you understand, I want to remain optimistic about the city of Turku acquiring Sipsalo, even if I feel that there might be little hope for it. Seeing what a national treasure Linnaeus' Hammarby is in Sweden, it would be highly regrettable to miss the chance of creating a similar monument for the history of botany, culture and science in Turku. I hope the decision makers will wake up, now.
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You can support saving Sipsalo on Facebook. I have some really great sources from 1751, 1929, 1955 and 2009 for this post plus my own visits in Sipsalo in 2009 and 2011 - just contact me for more info.

Recreating your paradises: Ornö - Chelsea

2011-08-10T12:35:00.000-07:00

One of the most captivating views of my vacation was this field of barley, grown as fodder for the sheep of the beautiful island of Ornö near Stockholm. Like sparkling sapphires emerging from a feathery sea, bright cornflowers filled the stony soil between soft mounds of bedrock, blissfully oblivious to the fact that weed-free, roundup-ready seed for barley has ever been invented... The golden greens and radiant blues were stunning in their simplicity, shimmering against a background of leaden greys and greens provided by the surrounding cliffs and forests.

While contemplating how hard the elysian look of natural meadows is to recreate, I suddenly remembered a picture that I snapped at the Chelsea Flower Show back in 2007. Somehow this tiny, highly-groomed show garden planted with Mexican feather grass and hot orange Potentillas managed to deliver an impression that resonated with the ancient agrarian fields of Ornö, despite their being each others complete opposites in purpose and execution, and even contrasting in colours.

At their best, meadows are like grassy seas interlaced with flowers, large enough to be waded through to get that special feeling of paradise-like freedom that I think is so typical for them. Usually, to achieve their natural, wild beauty, a fair amount of space and land is required. But sometimes, as the picture from Chelsea shows, miniature meadows can work like gem-like icons, conveying in a condensed form all the qualities of a larger meadow.

I'll keep this pair of pictures in my mind; I find them completely fascinating. And maybe, a mini-Ornö will appear somewhere in my garden one day. You never know.

Special greetings to my friend Yvonne, with whom I've wandered through both show gardens in Chelsea and barley fields at Ornö...

A little pat on my own back...

2011-08-05T12:32:00.000-07:00

Just have to share this with you... a day before leaving for Scandinavia, the summer issue of Washington Park Arboretum Bulletin came out, carrying my first published article here in the US. My article was about the Otways Rainforests in South-Eastern Australia, and the cover - a photo of mine - depicted old giant myrtle beeches that have grown in the area since all continents were joined as the supercontinent of Gondwana.

Since the 1930s, many prominent botanists, horticulturalists and other garden professionals have contributed to this quarterly journal. As you can imagine, I am extremely honoured to have been included in it. And now, after patting myself on the back a little, I need to get back to work with the next article, which will be about the Garden of Souls at the Utopian Heights in Seattle...

Gathering thoughts, chasing words...

2011-08-05T10:27:00.000-07:00

If there would be one single picture to describe the last four weeks, it would be the one above. Despite being back at home in Seattle for over a week now, I'm still trying to gather my thoughts to scribble down one single post on my blog.
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Not being connected is completely addictive. Just being present in one's own, slow-paced life, and not skimming through the ever-changing virtual reality of the net. I think I even heard my own thoughts for a while, and listened to them, too.
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Swimming amongst waterlilies, picking some blueberries and chanterelles, and just enjoying the calm stillness of the Scandinavian summer. Complete bliss. Now I just need to wake up and find the way back to my words again.

Summer lull

2011-07-01T12:52:00.000-07:00

Time for a break; no internet, no email, just a good, old-fashioned summer holiday by the shores of Scandinavia. I'll be back in late July - all the best until then.

Variegated Aegopodium - don't even think about it, ever

2011-06-23T15:01:00.000-07:00

Variegated ground elder reverts often back into the common, all green version; both turn easily into an invasive nuisance in a garden.

Browsing The English Garden magazine July 2011 issue for a dose of old European garden charm, I was surprised to learn that it recommended the variegated ground elder, Aegopodium podagraria 'Variegatum', on a list for 'pale and interesting plants for a star role in the garden'. With a dreamy picture of its creamy-white leaves, the article promotes it as 'a pretty and useful perennial for narrow borders or to edge a scheme', advising that it is less invasive than its non-variegated brother.

The same plant, happily strangling a Viburnum davidii in my front yard...

I do not agree for a split second with this choice. Instead, I would loudly advice everyone against including an Aegopodium into any kind of a garden scheme that cannot be mown down with a strong lawn mover or some other power tool. And unfortunately I have the proof for this from my garden in Seattle, where an unsuspecting landscape architect planted it a couple of years ago as a contrast to some bold-leaved shrubs and perennials (this was before we moved here). At the same time, he managed to create a lasting problem for all gardeners to follow. Just look at the pictures, and take my word for it: Don't plant it. Never. Ever. If you don't want it to take over and strangle everything on its way, covering the soil with an impenetrable mesh of wiry roots on its wake. The only way to get rid of an Aegopodium is a considerable squirt of Roundup, and that's not the kind of plant a gardener wants to live with.

Here, it has self-seeded into another area in the garden, easily taking over the blue star creeper, Pratia pedunculata, if not treated carefully with some very inorganic gardening methods...

Spanish lavender in my front yard, now

2011-06-16T09:49:00.000-07:00

...and the bees are busy.

Prince Eugen's Waldemarsudde at Djurgården

2011-06-14T18:40:00.000-07:00

Auguste Rodin's 'Thinker' deeply in thoughts on one of Waldemarudde's terraces, with Rundtemplet ("Round Temple") behind him by the inlet to Stockholm.

One more 'homesick' post: I just want to share some pictures from one of my favorite places in Stockholm... Waldemarsudde is a picturesque destination for garden lovers at the island of Djurgården just outside Stockholm city. Built as home for Prince Eugen (1865-1947), one of the foremost landscape painters in Sweden of his time, this palatial manor with spacious parklike gardens by the inlet of Stockholm has been a popular art gallery and museum since his death.

Buxus-edged flowerbeds filled with pelargoniums. Carl Milles's fountain called 'Triton' as a focal point in the middle, and Nike of Samothrace on the upper terrace.

Beautiful stonework, and group of comfortable chairs for visitors to enjoy the view.

The gardens of Waldemarsudde were designed by Prince Eugen himself. He wrote once to a friend that flowers were his second strongest passion after art, and he gave strict instructions on what to plant, when and where in the gardens. Still today, skillful gardeners keep the gardens as Prince Eugen wished, working long hours in the greenhouses and gardens propagating plants and flowers for both indoor and outdoor use.

The old linseed oil mill from the 18th century in the background, and another terrace with both bedding plants and sculpture.

The 'Round Temple' by the Stockholm inlet by is a popular spot for lovers...

Prince Eugen was especially fond of what was called 'old-fashioned flowers' during his day; he especially liked tagetes, morning glory and marigolds, which all were grown from seeds in the hothouses on his property. Many tender perennials like pelargoniums were kept in greenhouses during the winter, and lifted out as bedding plants during the summer months. Probably influenced by the carpet bedding craze of the Victorian time, he loved massed plantings in blocks of singular colour; blue, yellow, white and pink were his favorite colours. All flowerbeds were framed with low and tightly trimmed buxus hedges. The Italianate terraces that Prince Eugen designed nearest the main house provided a well-structured background to his collection of French and Swedish sculpture, and copies of classical works of Roman and Greek origin, like the well-known figure of Nike of Samothrace cast after the original in Louvre.

Prince Eugen's garage with an adjoining orangery, which is still used for winter storage of plants.One of the most beautiful orangeries in Stockholm with its magnificent sea view.

The old garage; the orangery enter is from the left door, towards the sea.

Further away from the main house, centuries old oaks give character to the lush parklands and meadows around the buildings, and in early summer, a strong scent of lilacs lingers around, pleasantly tempered by the salty sea breeze. Wandering along the paths, it is impossible to not think about what an incredibly privileged life Prince Eugen led, and how this garden was made with all resources and possibilities only a member of the royal family could possess. Here, he combined two of his greatest passions, art and gardens, into a classisistic synthesis: conservative and traditional, but still arrestingly beautiful in its magnificent setting. After his death, Prince Eugen left Waldemarsudde with its galleries and beautiful grounds for everyone to visit and enjoy, and so it soon became the most beloved artwork of his, visited by thousands of Stockholmers and tourists every year.

The kitchen garden and orchard towards the greenhouses.

Pick-Your-Own organic flowers at Rosendals trädgård

2011-06-13T14:03:00.000-07:00

Pick you own flowers, pay at the plant shop, 30:- per hg.

I can't believe we'll be back in Scandinavia in just a couple of weeks; only for a short vacation, but still. While browsing my last years crop of photos, I found some that I'd ignored as boring earlier, but now think are completely fine. Maybe the long winter has changed my eyes...

Anyway, Rosendals Trädgård is a favorite haunt of many Stockholmers, an organic oasis on an island just outside the city center. Besides getting your thirst and hunger deliciously silenced, whole fields of bright annuals wait pickers to carry them away against a small payment. It is amazing to see what people choose for their bouquets; some go for one single variety, some create a firework of everything they can find. I wonder if their homes and lives reflect their choices?

Orange is for optimism

2011-06-09T13:45:00.000-07:00

Californian poppies, powerful enough to light up grey days in Seattle ...

No, I'm not going to whine about the freezing cold in Seattle - we've had three over 70 degree (20 C) days so far, and it's been the coldest spring and early summer on record. About the only heat we get is the hot orange of the Californian poppies (Eschscholzia californica) that are sticking up their bright, papery petals everywhere. They self-seed and spread copiously here and bring a welcome splash of sun to these dull grey days.

Unfurling buds of Californian poppies - I love rose pink collar under the petals.

In my garden in Sweden, hardy Icelandic poppies (Papaver nudicaule) had the same effect as the Californian ones here. Initially, I was annoyed with their habit of impudently disturbing my carefully considered color combinations. But after a while, I grew to love their cheeky self-confidence. It felt like they were shouting with their yellow and tangerine petals "look at me - aren't I gorgeous together with this guy, too?". And in a mysterious way that is difficult for us humans to copy, they often managed to create unexpectedly gorgeous combinations.

Years ago in Melbourne, I bought a book called Healing Gardens (Romy Rawlings, 1998) with generous advice on how to make gardens that benefit our physical and mental health. Besides aromatherapy, Feng Shui and herbalism, this book devotes a large part to colour therapy, explaining the effect colours have on our lives. According to it, orange is the colour of joy and optimism, and exposure to it promotes a feeling of well-being by providing a release from the everyday worries of life. Orange also provokes change, says the book, so it is a good colour for putting one's life back together when grieving or in shock. When used carefully, the 'healing properties' of orange can be harnessed to lift the spirits, combat depression and fight unknown fears. It is also supposed to improve social behaviour, lessen irritability, and increase appetite - maybe something to think about when planting around the outdoor dining area.

A seed pod ripening...

All goodness, I think, until the writer claims that orange can also be used in the treatment of arthritis, asthma, gallstones, hip problems, impotence, infertility and underactive thyroid, which would be a lot to expect from any modern medicine alone, not to mention a poor single colour, however bright and cheery. But there's no harm trying, and at least for me, orange works well as a pick-me-up on those occasional blue days (they are contrast colours, after all...).

Even if I love poppy-filled meadows, tagetes peeking up from parsley and nasturtiums in late summer, orange is an intensive colour that grabs one's attention, and too much of it can be overpowering in a garden. Just a dab is often enough; besides the plants above, a well-placed (by nature or a skillful gardener...) lily or dahlia, a tuft of daylilies or kniphofias, or a coppery rose can light up a little fire in a garden. Together with dark or even bronze foliage, orange can form striking combinations. In autumn, berries often do the job - rosehips, stinking iris (Iris foetidissima) seeds, crab apple fruit, viburnum berries - even a little illusion of warmth is welcome as the days grow cooler. In winter, many maples, like paperbark maple (Acer griseum), have coppery bark, and when the year starts again, witch hazels (Hamamelis) unfurl their tiny fireworks of golden petals. Therapeutic or not, I'm sure most of us could do with a dash of orange in our lives and gardens.

Lakewold Gardens - a drop of Old World in the New

2011-06-06T12:50:00.000-07:00

Blue poppies, Meconopsis betonicifolia, a favorite of Mrs. Eulalie Wagner's, remain a signature plant of the Lakewold Gardens.

I've always loved the work of Thomas Church, one of the greatest and most influential landscape architects of the last century. Anyone with the slightest interest in garden design cannot have escaped seeing pictures of his most famous work with its iconic, kidney-shaped pool from the mid-50s, the Donnell Garden in Sonoma, California. Also, his book Gardens are for people was one of the best-selling garden books of the 20th century, an influential and inspirational source for generations of professional designers and laymen gardenlovers alike.

Above: The main house as seen from behind the buxus parterres. Below: The brick walk towards the belvedere, past the buxus parterres filled with perennials and white flowering Mt. Fuji cherries, Prunus serrulata 'Mt. Fuji'.

Here in Washington state were are lucky to have two gardens on grand scale by Church that are open to the public. One of them is the Bloedel Reserve on Bainbridge Island, a magnificent garden with great calm and elegant simplicity that I never get tired of visiting. The garden design is not completely by Church, but it includes many features by him, like the impressively architectural Reflective Pool at the end of the long garden walk. The other is the Lakewold Gardens, a large estate garden an hours drive south from Seattle. With its Church-credentials, it had been on my radar for a while, but had somehow managed to escape closer attention.

Unnamed peonies from the cutting garden.

Built as a typical weekend 'playground' for a wealthy Northwest family in the early 20th century, Lakewold entered its golden age when it was sold to Corydon Wagner and his garden-loving wife Eulalie in 1938. It was Eulalie, an eager gardener and plantswoman, who commissioned Church in 1958 to create a framework that would provide a structural background to her beloved plants and flowers.
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The gardens were laid out as a series of garden rooms in a formal, traditional style that blends European influences from Edwardian gardens in England to French parterres. A medieval knot garden, a rose-covered belvedere, a swimming pool disguised by its formal quatrefoil form, parterres with topiary swans, a fern grotto and a Japanese influenced woodland garden complete with a rippling stream are only a few eclectic features of the Lakewold Gardens, all surrounded by naturalistic areas that mix native vegetation with choice exotics. Considering the mix, it is remarkable how serene the gardens appear when strolling through the areas.

The medievally inspired knot garden and the Wisteria-clad verandah.

Despite being clear that a masterful hand had planned the garden, I still did not experience that blissful elation that usually follows visits to gardens I really enjoy and admire. All exquisite plants excepted, I found the design too traditional and conservative; just like the pictures of it that I'd seen in Gardens are for people, it just did not stir my senses and feelings like the Reflective Pool at Bloedel or pictures of the Donnell Garden manage to do every time I see them.

The lion fountain; it forms a focal point at one end of the axis that runs between the buxus parterres and through the quatrefoil pool to a sun dial.

Over 30 species of Japanese maples grow in the gardens; here the deep blush leaves of Acer 'Shindeshojo' brighten up the shady paths that lead through the Japanese gardens.

One would think I am a one-track modernist, but that is not the case; at times, I thoroughly enjoy traditional, formal gardens, or romantic and eclectic ones. But while the Donnell Garden and the Bloedel Reserve express and reflect their time, place and the surrounding landscape - they are all about celebrating genius loci - the Lakewold gardens, impressively beautiful as they were, still felt like a well-arranged collection of features from the history of European garden design spread into the forests of the Pacific Northwest. But then, as much as he was celebrated for his designing skills, Thomas Church was also admired for his ability to let the garden reflect the owner's personality. In Lakewold, while not creating his best or most avant-garde design, he made a magnificent garden for its owner to love and cherish. And maybe that is what made him the extraordinary designer he was.

The quatrefoil pool, originally a swimming pool disguised as a formal water feature behind buxus parterres. Divers used to jump off the planting boxes in the middle.

The mysterious mounds of Mima

2011-06-02T11:20:00.000-07:00

In spring, the soft mounds of the Mima prairie are covered with a delicate tapestry of grasses and flowering plants.

Last Monday was a holiday, so we decided to visit the Mima Mounds, one of the last remaining prairies in Washington state. This strictly protected natural park with its undulating, rounded mounds is something of a mystery. Six to eight feet high and thirty feet across, these soft hummocks form a strange, unreal landscape that no-one has been able to explain how it came into being.
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The Mima Mounds prairie covers today about 700 acres, but is greatly diminished from its earlier days.

There has been several theories of how the Mima Mounds were formed. The Upper Chehalis Tribe, the first peoples of the area, believed that they were left behind after a great flood subsided. "It rained and rained... and the whole world was flooded... there was nothing but prairie land beneath the water... at last the water fell, but the earth still remained in the form of waves." In the 1800s, European travelers and explorers were intrigued by the rounded, wavy prairie and their explanations for the mounds ranged from ancient burial sites to water-sculpted river beds.

The delicate stars of Camas, Camassia quamash. It was cultivated as an edible by the first nations of the Pacific Northwest.

Fine-leaved desert parsley, Lomatium utriculatum, is a favorite of butterflies.

Today, modern science has established that the Mima Mounds were formed after the ice-age glaciers receded about 16 500 years ago, but it is still a mystery exactly how. There are theories of intersecting earthquake waves that would have collected soil into tops and dales, about water patterns, and even that they were the work of pocket gophers excavating nest chambers (some industrious gophers, as the prairie reaches several miles in diameter).

Early blue violets, Viola adunca, provide food for caterpillars and butterflies. Many of them lay their eggs in the wilting leaves of the violets.

Prairie lupin, Lupinus lepidus, is another important food plant for caterpillars and butterflies.

Western buttercup, Ranunculus occidentalis, is native to the prairies of the West.

The Mima Mounds is home to several plant species, and in the spring time they form a delicate tapestry of flowers and grasses, filled with Camas, violets, chocolate lilies, buttercups and many other prairie species that are today well-known as garden plants around the world. For the first peoples, these prairies were an important source of food, and rights to tend parts of the prairie were inherited from generation to generation. Especially bulbs of the Camas, Camassia quamash, were an important source of carbohydrates, as they are sweet and tasty when slowly cooked. To keep the prairie from turning into forest, the first peoples burned their areas early or late in season, when the bulbs were dormant.

An old mound, overgrown with trees. If the prairie would not be burn with regular intervals, the forest would take over. The trees prefer to grow on the top of the mounds.

Today, some 700 acres of the Mima prairies are tended by the Nature Conservancy and the Department of Natural Resources, who practice controlled burning and weed management in the area. A small display about the history and vegetation has been installed for visitors, and platforms and pathways guide them through the area without damaging the fragile environment.

While wandering around the beautiful, slightly bizarre meadow, we couldn't help trying to find our own solution to the unsolved mystery. My daughters theory was that a flock of dinosaurs had laid their eggs and then been disturbed by something, leaving behind the soil-covered eggs. I thought theirs was at least as good as the gopher theory... until someone figures out what really happened.

Belltown P-Patch garden - a haven for urban farmers

2011-05-26T11:15:00.000-07:00

Belltown P-Patch garden is a haven even for some smaller inhabitants; this little bird was busy feeding her noisy chicks inside the house... (perching on the flower stake with a duck).

Make no mistake: Seattleites are one eco-friendly bunch of people. They bike (or at least drive a hybrid), and with their fleeces and sensible shoes, they generally look like they would just be heading off for a tough hike somewhere off the beaten tracks. They recycle religiously, use their own latte mugs instead of disposable ones, and eat organic food, preferably bought at the local farmers markets. So it is no surprise that growing one's own food is hugely popular here, and living in the middle of the city can do nothing to curb that passion.

Entrance to the garden, with a solar-powered fountain and mosaics by local artists.

For the moment, the city of Seattle has totally 73 community gardens where urban gardeners can get their nails dirty. Since the early 1990s, the number of gardens have more than doubled, but this hasn't been enough to satisfy the eager growers; at the same time, the queue for allotments has more than doubled, too; in the most popular gardens you now need to wait over three years for a lot. In Seattle, community gardens are called P-Patch gardens after the first of them, Picardo Farm, which was bought by the city in 1973 and rented as allotments for the citizens. Belltown P-Patch is from the mid-90s. It is the most urban of the P-Patch gardens, situated just a stone's throw from the business district of Seattle city centre.

A salmon-colored aquilegia in full bloom.

Only three of the original cottages are left, showing the scale of the city for a century ago. Two of these now are appointed for writers-in-residence from the Hugo House Writers Centre, the third is for community gatherings.

Belltown P-Patch has a decidedly arty air, with works by many local artists enhancing the garden. Many of the works are both beautiful and practical, like the great welded entry gate and the elaborate railings around the garden. Colorful mosaics fill the heavy retaining walls that are indispensable for keeping the soil in place. Many of the urban farmers have kept to the same theme, filling their lots with re-purposed objects, all arranged according to their personal tastes.

Delicately stripy fava beans need more sun and warmth to develop their delicious pods.

Surrounding high-rises; the garden is an oasis for local residents and people working in the city centre alike.

For many Europeans, United States unfortunately stands for all things fast and big - junk food, high energy consumption and water usage just to mention some. But community gardens like Belltown P-Patch are the antithesis of all that, and they show the other side of US that seldom gets into the spotlight abroad. With urban farming gaining momentum and farmers markets popping up everywhere, ecological thinking and great concern for nature and food are growing like a great wave all over the country. Is tremendously exciting to see how committed and engaged people are to making things better. Jamie Oliver got colossal attention when he took his Food Revolution- show to the US last year. But in Seattle, and many other parts of the country, Americans were well on their way towards healthier food and lifestyle long before he crossed the Atlantic.

Open to the public, 2516 Elliott Avenue, Seattle.

Some arty barrels

2011-05-23T18:05:00.000-07:00

While photographing an inner-city garden near Seattle waterfront, I came across a couple of cool installations by the intersection of Vine Street and Alaskan Way. Several crumpled, distressed-looking oil barrels were tied together on grey steel pallets. All barrels had the word PURGE neatly punched on, and billowy perennials - lavender, Gaura, Achillea, creeping thyme, daylilies, grasses - sprouted from their tops.

I couldn't find any signs or notes telling who made them and why. The Seattle Art Institute is housed in the buildings behind, so I suspect they could have something to do with them. Driving home, I contemplated the meaning of "purge" here. Could it mean elimination or removal, or getting rid of and cleaning up? As oil is usually stored in this kind of barrels, could the word refer to the power of oil - and to all it symbolizes - in our daily lives? And how we should be ditching it altogether and replacing it with green alternatives?

Whatever their intended meaning, I loved the plantings and the zink-colored barrels with their sculptural, soft buckles. Utilitarian in their origin, they suited well the half-industrial environment of the Seattle waterfront, making an earnest but humorous comment on our modern lifestyle. And if you know who made them, please let me know... I would love to hear more.

Vibes about Viburnums

2011-05-19T20:00:00.000-07:00

Doublefile viburnum, Viburnum plicatum var. tomentosum 'Snowflake', a sculptural, layered shrub with creamy-white lacecap flowers.

Have you ever heard anybody to say that they just love Viburnums? Not often, I assume, even if they are such deserving plants. And maybe that's just the problem; they are far too accommodating to really be the stars of a garden. Still, there are such a variety of great species and cultivars to be grown; some of them evergreen, some highly fragrant, some with beautiful form and/or flowers,some with great fruit and some with vibrant autumn color. No single Viburnum really combines all of these features, but then, that kind of a sensory overload might be hard to handle...

Viburnum opulus 'Roseum' and the wild species, V. opulus; both are great, large shrubs for the wilder parts of the garden (or all parts, if its naturalistic...).

With its mild climate, the Pacific Northwest is a heaven for growing almost any of the around 180 species of Viburnums. One of the oldest garden varieties is the snowball tree, or V. opulus 'Roseum'; it has been deservedly popular in European gardens since the 17th century. I've always loved the creamy lime-color of the unfurling globes of flowers. This and the wild species called European cranberry bush, V. opulus, are both great transition plants between the more formal and informal parts of the garden, or as in my garden in Sweden, where the forest takes over. The birds love the opulus-berries which is a bonus.

The highly fragrant flowers of Viburnum x Burkwoodii; it is semi-evergreen in cold climates.

Of the sweetly fragrant ones, V. x bodnantense 'Dawn" is one of the earliest to flower, starting in November or December and continuing until late February in these mild climates. Later in March or April, V. x Burkwoodii has a similar scent, reminding of both lilacs and lily-of-the-valleys at the same time. I had a large, old specimen in my garden in Melbourne and I loved coming home through the garden gate as my Burkwoodii gave me a scented welcome in early spring.

V. rhytidophyllum, an evergreen viburnum for milder climates. A bit coarse-looking, but a great background for other plants.

Most of the evergreen ones are too fragile for Scandinavia, where only the toughest like V. 'Eskimo' are semi-evergreen at their best, just like the scented V. x Burkwoodii above. In my present garden, I grow several other tough viburnum species, like the leatherleaf viburnums V. davidii and V. rhytidophyllum. None of them are really exciting, but they offer a great year around structure and background in the garden.

Viburnum plicatum tomentosum 'Mariesii', here in my neighbor's garden in Seattle.

If I should name my favorite Viburnum (besides the old-fashioned snowball tree that I have loved since I was tiny), it probably would be the doublefile viburnum, V. plicatum tomentosum. It has a great sculptural, layered form and clean, white flowers that hover elegantly above the sligthly veined leaves. 'Mariesii' is one of the best cultivars, with slender, arching stems; it needs space around it and preferably a darker green background to be appreciated properly. But I'd rather not to be restricted to only one cultivar, as there are such a variety of great plants to choose from.

A Chinese viburnum that I don't know the exact name for - a new find that I'm fond of, I love its slender, evergreen leaves and fragrant, delicate flowers. A must have, here we go again...

Making a prairie, today

2011-05-18T11:32:00.000-07:00

To make a prairie it takes one clover and one bee,

One clover and a bee, and revery.

The revery alone will do, if bees are few.

- Emily Dickinson -

Today, bees are few, but luckily, there's enough clover to make a whole prairie. I just love Emily's writing.

Pleated, edged

2011-05-15T18:58:00.000-07:00

Lately, I've been drawn to plants with less than obvious charms. Certainly, I still enjoy a gorgeous flower, but subtle nuances rather than explicitness increasingly catch my attention.

I guess the buttercup winterhazel, Corylopsis pauciflora, is an excellent example of a plant that I'd probably had walked past for ten years ago, not really noticing its many merits... Its buttery, delicately scented flowers appear in mid-winter like tiny lanterns hanging from its bare branches. After they fade in late March or April, its bright green, pleated leaves unfurl and reveal their elegant, burgundy edges; I think they are even more striking that its flowers. Slowly, its slender branches grow into a sculptural vase-formed shrub that seldom exceeds breast height. This winterhazel looks striking with early spring ephemerals, like cyclamen, Helleborus, snowdrops and crocuses.

Maybe it's my age (somewhere in the middle of life, with a bit of luck...), but there's something soothing to realize that it is not only about the grandifloras, but that the paucifloras can have just as much to give.

Photographed at the Elisabeth C. Miller Botanical Garden, May 5th 2011.

Pssst, honey...

2011-05-13T10:41:00.000-07:00

I've been doing so little in my garden that I shouldn't even call myself a gardener anymore... Maybe it's the chilly weather, or maybe something else that I don't really want to define for the moment.
*

Anyway, I decided to make amends, weeding myself through the worst parts of the borders. I found dozens of alert little baby Irises that had self-seeded into all the wrong places but were too cute to be tugged out; and then, these two love birds, cooing soft little nothings to each other... Spring is definately in the air, not even the freezing cold can hold it back now.

These excellent, sometimes invasive groundcover violets were sold as Viola labradorica that are native to Labrador, Greenland and Nova Scotia, but they probably are V. riviana, a garden variety from Europe (it is improbable that the arctic variety would thrive at these latitudes...). I love their dark leaves with a purple tinge, and the edible flowers are perfect to decorate chocolate cakes with. Might actually make one for tonight, after all, it is Friday...

The Elisabeth C. Miller Botanical Garden

2011-05-09T11:51:00.000-07:00

The beautiful Japanese hybrid Iris x nada. Everywhere in the Elisabeth C. Miller Botanical Garden, large urns are filled with exquisite plants, like this iris.

Since I moved to the Seattle area and started visiting gardens here, I noticed a strange, expressive blick in the eyes of local garden aficionados when "the Miller garden" was mentioned. Sometimes named the jewel of Pacific Northwest gardens, the Elisabeth Carey Miller Botanical Garden is notoriously difficult to get to. Only 500 visitors are admitted there between the months of April and October, and when tour bookings start in early February, they fill up within a couple of hours. There are no chances for peeking in over the fences; its position is such a well-kept secret that even the most hard-core gardeners here don't know its exact address (and even if they would, it wouldn't help, as it is situated in a gated and closely guarded neighborhood, one of the most exclusive in the Seattle area...).

Epimediums are a signature plant of the Elisabeth C. Miller Botanical garden; she loved these shade-tolerant, tough perennials, and over 200 species of them grow in the gardens. Here E. grandiflorum.

The spiderlike flowers of Epimedium ilicifolium.

On the given date, I'd been waiting by the phone all morning to book, and you can understand that my spirits were high when I received my tour confirmation for May 5th. I had learned about the significance of Elisabeth C. Miller (1914-1994) in the botanical and horticultural sphere in this part of the world, continuously bumping into her name in various connections from the Centre of Urban Horticulture, Elisabeth C. Miller botanical library to the Great Plant Picks program and diverse lectures and events arranged by the Northwest Horticultural Society. With unstoppable energy, Elisabeth played an important part in founding and being active within all these organizations and societies, besides building her own, now seminal garden.

The beautiful, highly textured bark of a Parrotia persica, Persian ironwood tree.

Cloranthus serratus, a pretty woodland groundcover; I think it looks like a hybrid between Rodgersia and Fothergilla...

Immaculate, white Trillium chloropetalum alba, with ferns and Tiarellas around in the woodland garden.

Originally, the Miller garden was the private home of Elisabeth and Pendleton Miller, who in 1948 bought 5 acres of land in the Highlands area situated on a steep bluff above the deep green waters of the Puget Sound. It was here that the 34 years old Elisabeth started to work with her garden, expanding and developing it as her gardening skills and plant knowledge increased. From the very beginning, she was interested in using native plant material and environmentally friendly gardening methods. Also, she shunned formality in her garden, wanting it to blend with the surrounding nature. Only a small lawn near the house was included, making the Miller garden a huge contrast to the surrounding, large houses with their extensive, short-clipped lawns. Stonework, skillfully used for terraces and paths, was a favorite of hers, and provided structure in the otherwise very informal garden. From quite modest beginnings, Elisabeth's garden grew into a tour de force that contains over 5000 species of choice, often rare plants from over 35 countries around the world.

The stately stone steps to the lower part of the garden, finished after Betty's death. Countless large pots in all imaginable materials fill the terraces and pathways, all filled with rare, exquisite specimens. The egg-shaped stone planter in the first picture was my favorite...

And did the garden meet my highly-set expectations? Yes. In a way, it wasn't and isn't a revolutionary garden. But still, it is the quintessential Pacific Northwest garden with its informal layout, its sensitivity to the landscape, existing nature and vegetation, its botanical and horticultural excellence, and its touch of the Japanese (the first two of which were also characteristic to the Olmsted brothers, who were active in the region in the beginning of the 20th century and whose work Elisabeth knew well). Even today, Elisabeth's passion for plants gives her garden its special appeal and charm. And fortunately, it is now in the hands of some of the most experienced gardeners and plantsmen in the region, who skillfully tend her gardens, making sure that it continues to be an outstanding testament to her life's work and her botanical and horticultural passion.

Some members of Elisabeth's collection of Hepaticas; there are over 100 species from Japan and Europa, many of them extremely rare.

The working area was filled with amazing plants, temporarily housed in thousands of pots, waiting to find their homes on the slopes of the large garden.

More information, see Elisabeth C. Miller Botanical Garden.

Holly, thank you for a wonderful tour and congratulations again for your new job as a head gardener!

The Garden of Souls in the Utopian Heights Neighborhood

2011-05-02T12:40:00.000-07:00

Asked to write about the garden of Seattle artists Nancy Mee and Dennis Evans, I was invited to their home and garden last Friday. The visit has kept my thoughts occupied ever since. Filled with art by themselves, their artist friends and artisans from faraway cultures around the world, Nancy's and Dennis's home, ateliers and garden were a visual and intellectual synthesis that merged their passions, interests and work into one seamless, harmonious whole.

Nancy and Dennis have been living and making art in their Utopian Heights Studios in the Bryant-Assumption neighborhood in Seattle since 1976. Both are successful, well-established artists - Nancy a sculptor and Dennis a painter - and their creativity touches everything around them.

Nancy and Dennis believe that art is about sharing. Around their home and ateliers, they have put this belief into practice, transforming their garden, the surrounding parking strips and an adjacent lot into the Utopian Heights Neighborhood, complete with a very official-looking (but unofficial) sign stating the name. Here, forty bright pink Prunus 'Thundercloud' trees, carefully selected stones and sculptures, bronze plaques with philosophical passages and minimalistic benches offer nourishment and rest for the eyes, minds and legs of the occasional passers-by and residents of the area.

On the parking strips, Dennis has placed several, beautiful limestones from North Dakota. These were formed and partly turned into marble by high pressure under the snow masses during the ice-age. They form contemplative focal points and invite to touching and closer examination, evoking thoughts of petrified trees or waterfalls. A seasonal dial (instead of a sun dial) tells when it is time to celebrate the spring and autumn equinoxes, or summer and winter solstices, and sometimes Nancy and Dennis arrange a celebration together with their neighbors. Along the sidewalks, Dennis's bronze plaques bear messages like "A permanent state of transition is man's most noble condition" or "The wise man changes his mind - the fool, never"; a gentle poke on the minds of even the most hurried walkers.

From the sidewalk, there is an opening into the Garden of Souls, a secluded garden that is open to the public. Here, in a setting of several small rooms filled with plants and water features, Nancy's large glass and metal sculptures meet the visitors, looking like beautiful hybrids between ancient Japanese Torii-gates and sea marks that radiate both strength and fragility at the same time.

The Garden of Souls was begun - inadvertently, as Nancy and Dennis say - on September 11, 2001, and it was completed within six weeks out of pure frustration with the acts of terror happening that day. It has evolved during the bygone decade, with Dennis planting and shaping the structure and Nancy working with the sculptures, but it still functions as a place for contemplation and reflection, and as a memorial for all souls that were lost - or passed forward, as Dennis and Nancy say - during that single day.

In their neighborhood park, Nancy and Dennis have even included a small, wooden shrine, where passers-by can leave their thoughts and prayers. These are gathered and burned every six months, and so joined with the universe. Small presents are often left on the little altar, and someone even carried a bright green Buddha here; now, it welcomes visitors with a broad smile among the lush ivy under the altar. The most private and touching little notes filled the shrine when I visited, reminding of the deep need of spirituality in our daily lives. And maybe the park and shrine are especially protected, as they so far have been safe from graffiti and other foul deeds.

As number three of Dennis's bronze plagues by the sidewalk says: "Be happy with what you have and are, be generous with both, and you won't have to hunt for happiness." In my mind, no-one fulfills that better than Nancy and Dennis themselves, who are happily doing what they love and so generously sharing it all with us others.

More about Nancy's and Dennis's art: Utopian Heights Studios.

The Kruckeberg Botanic Garden - for the love of botany

2011-04-26T13:44:00.000-07:00

Young, juicy needles of Dawn Redwood, Metasequoia glyptostroboides from China. They are so soft when they emerge after winter, I think they look completely edible...

As I wrote in my previous post, the Pacific Northwest coast of North America is a real plantsmen's paradise. The botanical and horticultural interest and knowledge here are amazing, and I've often called this area for a "horticultural hotbed". I guarantee that I don't exaggerate one single bit. The propitious growing conditions here allow an extremely wide range of plants to thrive, so many gardeners embrace the possibilities with open arms and minds (to a degree that I sometimes quite miss a good garden design focused discussion...).

A soft green carpet of Oxalis oregana, the Oregon oxalis or sorrel. It is native to the Pacific Northwest.

The Kruckeberg Botanic Garden is a iconic testimonial for the botanically oriented spirit of the Pacific Northwest. Founded in 1958 by Dr. Arthur Kruckeberg and his late wife Mareen Schultz Kruckeberg, who both were botanists and horticulturalists (Dr, Kruckeberg retired from the University of Washington as Professor Emeritus of Botany in 1989), it became the showcase for their love for plants in general and for the Pacific Northwest species in special. In a now mature, naturalistic woodland setting, over 2000 species of plants (many of which are rare) from all over the world grow in complete harmony with natives from the area. Without being design oriented, the garden offers many pleasing views and vistas along its winding paths, but clearly its soul is its exquisite inhabitants and the excellent planting combinations they form with each other.

Parrotiopsis jaquemontiana from the Western Himalayas; it belongs to the witch-hazel family, Hamamelidaceae. One of the "I've never seen this before"-plants for me...

A bit more common... Anemone 'Robinsoniana'. I couldn't resist buying one for my garden, their soft lavender flowers are so lovely.

The Kruckeberg Botanic Garden is also home for MsK Rare Plants Nursery that Mareen started in 1969 and named after her initials; it still operates on the site. Her aim was to provide Northwest gardeners with interesting plant material. Most of the plants she sold were grown from seeds and cuttings from the garden; a combination of natives and carefully selected exotics, many of them from China and Japan. I was surprised to see the range of its offerings; many tables were filled with healthy plants not often seen in commercial nurseries, and large "flats" with groundcovers as rare Smilacinas, Anemones and many rare other species stood in the shade of huge conifers, waiting for the appreciating gardener to take them home.

Abundant offerings from the MsK Rare Plants Nursery.

Besides their garden and the nursery, the Kruckebergs worked to form and were active in several horticultural societies and interest groups in the Northwest, like the Washington Native Plant Society, the Hardy Fern Foundation and the Northwest Horticultural Society. Also, Dr. Kruckeberg published several botanical and horticultural books. The most well-known of them is Gardening with Native Plants of the Pacific Northwest, which he wrote together with Mareen; it became a classic and one of the 50 top American gardening books chosen by the American Horticultural Society.

Alert, young shoots of an unidentified member of the Acer family.

Today, the Kruckeberg Botanic Garden is owned by the City of Shoreline and the non-profit Kruckeberg Garden Foundation is committed to maintaining the garden. Mrs. Kruckeberg passed away in 2003, but Dr. Kruckeberg still lives as the property; he recently celebrated his 90th birthday and still works often in the garden. Unfortunately, I didn't have the honor to meet him, but just visiting his and Mareen's garden made me feel completely connected with the gardening roots of the area; this very place was and still is one of the "horticultural hotbeds" from where botanical and horticultural excellence spread to the rest of the Pacific Northwest. Luckily it is now well protected for the coming generations of gardeners.

A double white Trillium grandiflorum, probably one of the more common plants in the Kruckeberg garden....

(I am completely exhausted by my blogging program - I don't know what is happening, but it throws many of my pictures horizontally and makes them look like they are not in focus, plus editing has become really hard.. I'm exploring for alternatives...)

Defying the chill

2011-04-19T12:16:00.000-07:00

Thrillium cuneatum; cuneatum means wedge-like, referring to the shape of the basal half of its petal. Their blood-red flowers last for a long time, and they are on my must-have list for my garden in Sweden...

It is officially cold: today the Seattle Times reported that this April has been the coldest on record. So I was quite right yesterday when I wrote that the weather was chilly while we were visiting the plant sale at the Bloedel Reserve. All this means that the mosses are thriving luxuriously, but many others are completely out of their ordinary calendar. In my own backyard a neon-yellow Forsythia is blooming side by side with a fire-engine red Rhododendron, so I need sunglasses when looking at that direction despite the overcast skies. Usually, I only have to suffer one of these "lovelies" at a time.

Instead of making the big eye-sore in my backyard public, I opted for showing some more sophisticated choices from the Bloedel, that I saw during our walk there after the plant sale last Sunday (maybe I just should rename my blog "The Bloedel Observer"...). As I wrote earlier, the Pacific Northwest is a plantsman's paradise, especially if you are into shade-loving spring ephemerals. Here are some of the lovelies that were out despite the great chill...

Trillium grandiflorum is one of the most loved Trilliums as garden plants, and they deserve that position with their showy flowers and generous flowering habit. I also grow them in my garden in Seattle.

Hacquetia epipactis is one of my springtime favorites. It comes from Middle and Southern Europe and is a tiny member of the Apiaceae (commonly called umbellifers) family, related to parsley, carrots and celery amongst many others. It is fully hardy and thrives in part or full shade, and lightens up early spring with its green flowers with sunny buttons.

Western skunk-cabbages or swamp lanterns, Lysichiton americanus, are members of the Arum family and native to the Pacific Northwest. Their smell is impossible to forget, but I don't find it unpleasant, just unusual...

Erythronium revolutum, pink or coast fawn lilies, are also native to this area. Once established, they increase freely from seeds. I wouldn't necessarily grow then with yellow Primulas as here (even if it is also was Christopher Lloyd's favorite color combination...), but they are still completely irresistible in shady woodland gardens.

Checking out the Bloedel Reserve spring plant sale

2011-04-18T11:32:00.000-07:00

Searching for treasures at the Bloedel Reserve Spring plant sale...

Everything about Bloedel Reserve is first class - the site, the vast gardens, the house... and so even their annual plant sale that took place last weekend. Due to other commitments, I unfortunately missed world-famous explorer and plantsman Dan Hinckley's lecture, but I did manage to get there on Sunday to browse the offered goodies. And what an amazing choice of plants there were; in true Pacific Northwest style, a great variety of rare perennials and shrubs were available from the well-stocked growers.

Sometimes I've thought that if I was to choose the main characteristic of the Northwest horticultural scene, it would be excellent plantmanship. Collecting, growing and planting unusual plants is almost a sport here, the more rare genus and species, the better. It has been amazing (and instructive - I've learned so much during my almost 3 years here) to follow the extraordinarily knowledgeable local gardening community both in horticultural and botanical terms. This time, despite all the temptations, the only goodies I carried home were the pictures on my camera. I wonder if I should be worried...?

A deep red Trillium cuneatum - any takers...?

An erect Arisaema sikokianum - a quite streamlined, architectural little plant.

A masuri berry, Coriaria nepalensis, is a rare, deciduous shrub with arching stems. It bears red, hanging flowers during the summer. Something for my all too sunny backyard?

The large entrance pond by the main house. The plant sale took place on the front lawn; a magnificent setting for a botanical event.

Fully charged... soon?

2011-04-15T11:25:00.000-07:00

Some unspecified Pulmonarias are in full bloom in my garden. Their flowers flicker, shimmer, beam into my winter-weary eyes, charging my depleted batteries with their electric blue current. Sustainable energy, I assume.

Mystery solved - and some other goodies from my garden

2011-04-15T10:10:00.000-07:00

At last I found the name of my mystery Fritillaria with checkered racing stripes on its waxy, green petals, that I wrote about two posts ago. As I suspected, it is not a F. pontica at all, but Fritillaria hermonis ssp. amana, native to Turkey, Syria and Lebanon. It is a vigorous bulb, and there is a small forest of tiny shoots on its feet, all coming up from bulbils that emerge from the mother bulbs.

Another slender-stemmed Fritillaria species is also in full bloom in my garden for the moment. Fritillaria latakiensis has green-striped, almost black flowers with a brush-stroke of yellow on the petal tips. It comes from the hills of Southern Turkey and Syria. Just like F. hermonis above, it also loves well-drained soil in a sunny spot and increases obligingly if left undisturbed.

I don't think Anemone nemorosa 'Monstrosa' is monstrous at all; I rather find its frilly flowers a fun, extravagant contrast to the common, modest A. nemorosa flowers. It is a bit like a tiny drag queen, wanting to put up a show instead of being proper. Still, with its small stature and the freshest of spring colours, white and green, it never goes over the top.

The lemony-white Erythronium citrinums, citrus or cream fawn lilies from Oregon and northern California, are also out; I have several tufts of them in the back of my garden now. I've written about them in a earlier post, and they really are one of my favorites (hmmm... do I use that word too much in connection to plants?). I've been planning to plant a part of my garden in Saltsjöbaden with native North American West Coast plants. Erythroniums will definitely be included in it, together with trilliums and other wonderful woodland goodies from these shores. Actually, I might start collecting them here on my blog first...

A touch of the tropics on a rainy day

2011-04-04T11:00:00.000-07:00

Agapetes 'Ludgvan Cross' is an amazing member of the heather family; the form of its delicately striped flowers reminds me of glass vases of the Art Nouveau-period.

With so many plants already blooming in gardens, I shouldn't be complaining, but the tireless rain makes enjoying them challenging. So yesterday, we took ourselves to the Volunteer Park Conservatory. It is one of my favorite garden haunts in Seattle, an classic, old-fashioned greenhouse with great selection of ferns, palms, cacti och other exotics. As I've already written its story (we'll at least a short version of it...) earlier, I won't be repeating any of it here, I'll just show some of the treats we found yesterday. If only they would have turtles and butterflies, the whole family would be pretty well catered for...

The lush displays of the five rooms of the greenhouse are continuosly updated with seasonal displays of flowering plants with well-coordinated colours.*

Some kind of an Impatiens, I think; I couldn't find the name tag of this plant with delicate, pinkish white flowers.*

Even the fly-eating plants, Saracenia alata, were in full bloom; I've never seen them flowering before.*

An unspecified member of the Ficus-family, with bright, leathery, orange fruit growing along its erect stems.*

Tiny flowers of variegated Devil's backbone, Pedilanthus tithymaloides variegata (well, that's a mouthfull...), this amazingly sculptural plant in the cacti room comes from Mexico.*

And another beauty from the cacti room; Pachypodium succulentum from Africa; I think its flowers are amazingly similar to pelagoniums.

**And finally, another angle of the interior of the beautiful fern house.

A mysterious Fritillaria

2011-04-01T09:34:00.000-07:00

A mysterious Fritillaria pontica, as you can see, its petals are clearly checkered...

I think some of my Fritillarias are behaving quite strangely, and I'm not trying to come with a late April Fools Day joke... I got these bulbs a year and a half ago from Marian, who always had the most amazing and rare plants in her garden. I had labeled them as Fritillaria pontica, the Balkan fritillary, and I swear they looked like the ones below last year, when they flowered for the first time in my garden. But yesterday, when I photographed them, I noticed that they are clearly checkered, which Balkan fritillarias are not supposed to be. Now I've been wondering if I've just lost my control and forgotten what I've planted. Or have they really changed? Maybe they were inspired by the more common Fritillaria meleagris nearby and wanted checkered skirts this spring, too? This is a bit of a mystery, I must follow closely as they keep opening their buds...

Fritillaria ponticas, when they still were at home in Marian's garden.

And here they are in my garden; I think they look so demure with their nodding bells and elegantly unfurling leaves... Must plant early perennials around them, they look so lonely peeking up from the naked soil.

A thank you with cherry blossoms

2011-03-30T10:32:00.001-07:00

Blushing petals of Yoshino-cherries, Prunus x yedoensis, opening up towards the sun peeking out between the leaden clouds.

At noon today, 70 boxes of children's clothing are being collected to be airlifted to an orphanage in northern Japan. Since the recent tsunami, they are in great need; instead of having 40 little wards, they now have 70, and the number is still growing. This operation was organized by a young marine biologist who is deployed in Japan by the US Army; during his leave at home in our neighborhood, he wanted to do what he can to ease the distress of the people in the catastrophe area.

Despite looking almost ancient, these trees were moved to the 'Quad' in 1964, away from highway construction near the Washington Park Arboretum. Cherry viewing has become an important springtime celebration at the University of Washington, for students and even other residents of Seattle.

I'd been reluctant to publish my pictures of the blossom-laden cherries that are just now opening up at the Liberal Arts Quadrangle ('the Quad') at the University of Washington in Seattle. After all, sakura, or cherry blossoms, are inseparable from Japan, where they have been celebrated for centuries with Hanami, cherry viewing parties, and where their fleeting beauty is considered a symbol for ultimate beauty and quick death, and a metaphor for the transience of life. Contemplating this felt all to literal, to insensitive, in light of all recent loss and sorrow in Japan.

Yoshino-cherries are relatively short-lived as trees; their expected lifespan is only 80 years. These trees are nearing the end of theirs, but still provide a luxurious show every spring, flowers sprouting out even from their gnarled, moss-covered trunks.

But disasters do happen, every day, on every scale, everywhere in the world. Ignoring beauty around us does not help anyone in need, just like empathy without deeds does not lead anywhere. As an older, (gardening) lady in the neighborhood said earlier when Haiti was daily in the headlines: "there's no use whinging, just count your blessings, and do something practical to help". Which is exactly what this young man did. So, I'm not congratulating here myself in public for doing good, I'm thanking him and his co-helpers, who did "something practical", and provided us others with an excellent chance to do so, too. With these cherry blossoms, I thank you all.

* Clouds of young blossoms, just starting to open up.

In just at couple of days, shell-pink cherry petal confetti will cover the brick-clad pathways and soggy lawns between the Gothic revival style University buildings.

Messing with Messel

2011-03-23T13:38:00.000-07:00

Early Magnolias, like 'Leonard Messel' above, are now in full bloom in Seattle.
*

I'm completely distracted. I'm trying to write about Nymans, the house and gardens of Leonard Messel and his family; I visited the place a couple of years ago, but nothing that I type down feels right. The only thing I have to offer are these pictures of his namesake Magnolia that I took this morning at the gardens of the Elisabeth C. Miller Library. I think I'll just leave it there.

Bloedel Reserve, revisited

2011-03-14T15:33:00.000-07:00

The Reflective Garden with its magnificent dark pool filled with natural groundwater. It was built in 1970 with some advice from Landscape Architect Thomas Church. This garden was a favorite of the Bloedels; after their death, their remains were placed here.

Last weekend, I had an urgent need to wander through the mossy forests of the Bloedel Reserve and see if it is starting to wake up from its winter sleep. And yes, small shoots were emerging, sending out their tentative, green tips to the cool, moist spring air. I've written about this amazing garden twice earlier and visited several times more, but strolling through the woodlands at Bloedel Reserve never ceases to delight me with its tranquil beauty.

This garden never feels like it was imposed to the landscape; rather, it sensitively and respectfully heightens what already was magnificent. I've always loved the Bloedels' concept of "we provide the frame; nature provides the painting", which they had as a guiding thought for the famous Reflective Pool, but which could even be applied to the garden as a whole. It is a calming and thought-evoking place that restores one's senses with its peaceful, harmonious scenery. Let my pictures tell you more...

The moss garden - a magic playground for little goblins... this was planted in 1982 with input from Landscape Architect Richard Haag and Reserve Director Richard Brown.

The entrance gate to the Japanese Garden from two directions. I love the variation in the stonework and the surrounding dark Mondo grass, alternative moss carpet.

View from the guest house to the former pool, now a gravel filled Japanese Zen garden. The guest house, designed by Paul Hayden Kirk in 1964 in a hybrid of Japanese and Native American styles, was open to the public, which is very unusual. A pink Japanese cherry tree was already in full bloom just outside the Zen garden.

If I was a bird, I would move in here, out from the rain... I love just about everything about the Japanese garden, even these hand-thrown bird houses hanging from the pines around.

There are several large ponds at the Reserve. This one is in front of the main house, welcoming the visitors that suddenly emerge from the trail winding through wilder parts of the Reserve. The soft form of the weeping willow forms a wonderful contrast to the erect, evergreen conifers behind.

The dark mirror of the pond by the the Bird Marsh. This area provides a natural wetland habitat for countless bird species, from herons to kingfishers.

See also my earlier posts, Bloedel Reserve and Bloedel Reserve, once more.

European meadows, American meadows

2011-03-10T13:01:00.000-08:00

A seaside meadow, technically really a pasture, by the seashore in Victoria, Australia.

I've had a long lasting love affair with meadows, which I've confessed earlier in a post called Meadows, meadows everywhere. And the larger community of gardeners seem to share my affection for meadows, judged by the steady flow of articles, books and blog posts that fill the media on all continents.

So as you can guess, it didn't take long to make John Greenlee's book The American Meadow Garden - Creating a Natural Alternative to the Traditional Lawn (Timber Press, 2010) the newest addition to my library. Based on Greenlee's decades long experience as a nurseryman and garden designer, and illustrated with Saxon Holt's lavish photographs from all corners of the US, this well-written book is a real treasure for devotees of all things grassy - lawns strictly excluded. Covering all bases from natural habitats and design tips to plant information and advice on cultivation, it will probably be "the classic American grass gardening book" for years to come.

Saxon Holt's pictures in The American Meadow Garden are both instructive and inspirational at the same time, not an easy feat to achieve. (I snatched this picture from the net, shame on me...)
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Greenlee's language reflects his deep passion for his subject: "Grasses are sensual. You can smell them, and hear them, and watch them move. Meadows are sexy, just like lovers - they never stop changing, never ceasing to surprise." Likewise, it shows his contempt for lawns; according to him, traditional such are "huge, time-consuming, water-guzzling, synthetic-chemical-sucking mistakes". He shows no mercy for any historic or geographic considerations to nail down his point, which sometimes feels a bit simplistic. After all, in some climates, lawns can be maintained with little or no watering, in small gardens, muscle-powered reel movers are perfectly ecological, and using harmful chemicals is not a necessity. And anyone who thinks that a perennial-filled large meadow thrives with "minimal input" of anything must be dreaming. Still, Holt's pictures of Greenlee's designs show temptingly shimmering gardens that are sensual and hugely attractive, two characteristics that few lawn gardens can boast of.

A meadow in front of the old barn at Christopher Lloyd's Great Dixter. His book "Meadows" is still one of the best ever written about the subject.

I love Greenlee's enthusiasm and commitment to challenging the dominance of lawns in American gardens. Throughout the book, his designs are both beautiful and ecologically sound, and his deep knowledge of his subject makes the book both practical and instructive. There is only one thing that bothers me (and even then slightly), and it is the use of term meadow of Greenlee's gardens.

When I think of a meadow, I think of a delicate tapestry of breezy grasses interlaced with fleeting shows of dainty flowers. Probably because of my northern European background, my mind goes back to the Scandinavian meadows that carpet hills, forests sides and seaside clearings after the dark, frozen winters like small wonders (like the one below...). Or alpine flower meadows that look like a perfect background for Fräulein Maria and the von Trapp children to frolic on.

I know I've published this before, but this is still my favorite meadow...

So when looking at some of the meadow designs in this book, I have difficulties with thinking of them as such; especially when large specimens of Miscanthus grasses, sedges, and perennials are grown in well-positioned swathes, all arranged for the maximum effect. These gardens are well-designed and often stunning, but are they really meadows? Greenlee talks about them as "designed meadows", but rather than a carefully arranged design, isn't a meadow more a process with an amount of unpredictability to it, even when it has been created with a great care to its habitat? And isn't it just that unpredictability and randomness the reason why we are drawn to their natural or naturalistic beauty? Beautiful as they are (just like any well-designed gardens), I think Greenlee's grass gardens have too much control to really be meadows.

But then, Greenlee writes about The American Meadow Garden; just like when an European orders an entrée before and an American for his/her main course, we might think about and see meadows differently, too, having been influenced by the natural habitats of our continents (like most things in America, the meadows too are often more lush and taller than their European cousins). But whether or not meadows, Greenlee's grass gardens are often breathtakingly beautiful and always ecologically sound, and they are well worth to be studied by all gardeners interested in creating earth-friendly habitats.

Delivered today: an international appeal to save Pehr Kalm's experimental garden in Sipsalo

2011-03-07T08:06:00.000-08:00

Sipsalo in late November 2009.

Today, March 7th, an international appeal signed by some leading researchers, garden historians and writers in the United States, Sweden and Finland was delivered to Aleksi Randell, the Mayor of Turku, to Minna Arve, the Chairwoman of the City Board and to Seppo Lehtinen, the Chairman of the City Council.

This appeal explains the concern of the fate of Sipsalo, site for Pehr Kalm's experimental gardens, where he grew seeds and plants from his botanical expedition to North America in 1748-51. The owners of Sipsalo are planning to sell the farm that includes the lands and gardens of Sipsalo during this spring, and if no institutional buyer is found, Sipsalo and its culturally important associations with Pehr Kalm could be lost forever. The appeal asks the city of Turku to consider taking action to secure a safe future for Sipsalo.

My sister, Architect Hanna Euro delivered the signed document to the leaders of City of Turku. As a initiator of this appeal, I am greatly thankful for all signers for supporting this appeal. I would also like to thank my sister Hanna for all her research and work with the appeal, my brother Kalle Euro for helping with contacts within the management of City of Turku and the Finnish media, and Katri Sarlund from the Green Party of Turku for her support for this appeal.

I am very excited and hopeful for that this appeal will be an important step towards saving Sipsalo. I'll be back about all developments; keep your fingers crossed!

Latest news:

Vetoomus Pehr Kalmin puutarhan säilyttämiseksi Sipsalossa, (An appeal for saving Pehr Kalm's garden in Sipsalo), text and picture from the delivery of the address today, March 7, 2011

Turun johto saa vetoomuksen Sipsalon suojelun puolesta, (The leaders of Turku City receive an appeal to save Sipsalo), Turun Sanomat, March 7, 2011

Kansainvälinen adressi Sipsalon säilyttämiseksi, Turku TV, March 7, 2011 (Click on "Paikallisuutiset" dated March 7, 6:28 minutes into the sending)

Kalmin puutarha halutaan säilyttää, Radio Sata, March 8, 2011

Older articles about Sipsalo in Finnish press (in Finnish):
Kalmin salaisen puutarhan kohtalo auki, (The fate of Kalm's secret garden unclear), Turun Sanomat, August 28, 2009
Hirvensalon Sipsalo halutaan Ruotsissa Unescon listalle, (Sipsalo in Hirvensalo is wanted on Unesco's world heritage list), Turun Sanomat, November 30, 2009
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My earlier posts about Sipsalo:
Save the forgotten gardens of Pehr Kalm, August 2009
Sipsalo, again, December 2009
Late November is Sipsalo, December 2009
Saving Sipsalo, one small step at a time, December 2010
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Now and Zen...?

2011-03-04T10:10:00.000-08:00

My Japanese weeping maple...

One of my Azaleas...
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My flowering Japanese cherry...
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My Stewartia pseudocamellia...
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My witch-hazel, Hamamelis x intermedia...
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Another of my witch-hazels...
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And another of my Azaleas...
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I have strange feeling that my garden is trying to tell me something. Maybe I should just let go and watch as it evolves into a full-blown moss garden?
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