Late summer notes from my front yard...

A vase-formed Japanese tree Zelkova 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!

Orange is for optimism

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.

Meadows, meadows everywhere

Meadow gardening in Sweden in the 1930s. Picture by Sven A. Hermelin, published in Hem i Sverige 1935.

Meadow gardening has really taken off during the recent years and seems to create as much headlines here in the U.S. as it does in Sweden and other European countries. One of the most beautiful books in this area is the late Christopher Lloyd's "Meadows" (Timber Press, 2004), a captivating guide about how to preserve grasslands, and establish and maintain meadows. Of course, other excellent books exist, but I am a long time fan of Christopher Lloyd's writing, which always is extremely well-informed, entertaining and lively. (Sadly, he died just before my first visit to Great Dixter, and wandering there knowing he would never be gardening or writing again was a very sad moment. It is strange how some writers make you feel like you would know them personally - for me, I really felt like I had lost a close friend, even if I never met him).

Meadow at Great Dixter. The strictness of the huge Taxus topiary figures contrast so well with the dainty meadow flowers. And my daughters are taking in all the beauty.

Meadows as a gardening practice are decendants of two different origins: natural meadows, and a farming practice, which resulted in meadows. A natural meadow is a perpetual grassland - a habitat of rolling or flat terrain where grasses predominate. These grasslands are so called climax ecosystems that are capable of sustaining themselves; environmental factors restrict the growth of woody plants and therefore the grasslands are kept clean of shrubs and trees, which otherwise would succeed the grasses. Some typical environments for natural meadows are the alps, coasts, deserts and the prairies, all with harsh growing conditions (cold, wind, salt, heat, drought).

The meadow in my garden in Saltsjöbaden - kept in bay by the cold and salty winds from the sea, but still needing maintenance to keep out the unwanted invaders.

Meadows formed also as a result from the ancient farming practice of growing winter feed for the cattle on open land. The grasses were cut down in the end of the summer and carted away and their seeds were left on the fields, and so could regenerate the vegetation the following spring. Pastures are not really meadows as they are continuously grazed by animals that keep the grass short the whole season.

Beautiful, seaside pastureland with grazing sheep at Beachyhead, East Sussex; I warmly recommend it as a a wonderful place to visit.

Meadow gardening and "prairie style" gardening have been popular since the 1990's when Piet Oudolf's and Oehme & van Sweden's designs (only mention a very few) got a lot of space in the gardening magazines. And of course, Christopher Lloyd's many books, with beautiful pictures of lovely meadows have had an enormous impact. In my research for my first garden history thesis, I found some wonderful articles in Swedish gardening magazines from the 1930s promoting meadows in gardens, as the first picture above. During the 1930s, meadows as an agricultural practise was disappearing and many garden writers were worried about that the cultural and ecological environments would disappear as well. One of the most popular garden architects in Sweden during that time, Sven A. Hermelin, suggested using meadows instead of lawns in gardens, as they are more esthetically pleasing and give a larger biodiversity than the monotonity of a close-cut lawn. It just took another 60 years before his thoughts became popular... is nothing ever new in gardening?

A birds-eye view of the meadow towards the moat and the pavillion at Sissinghurst, with mown paths, roses and fruit trees in the grass. I took this picture from Vita Sackville-Wests writing tower.

Later update: see also my post European meadows, American meadows.