Scrupull and other weights a gardiner ought to understand

A Scrupull of Barly-cornes

A Graine weights a Barly-corne.

A Scrupull is 20 Graines.

Obolus is 10 graines.

A Dram is 13 Oboluis.

An Ounce (no further explanation here).

A Pound is 12 Ounces of physical ingredients;

16 of other things.

A manuple is a good hand-full.

A pugill is a small hand-full, or as much as

you can take up with the tops of you fingers.

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And I thought it was a bit inconvenient to convert between grams and pounds, Celsius and Fahrenheit... How wrong I was. I could actually have been stuck with scrupulls, oboluis and drams, too. Well, to celebrate that the weekend is almost here, I just had a pugill of dark chocolate raisins. Cheers!

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From 'Directions for the Gardiner and other Horticultural Advice' by John Evelyn (1620-1707), edited by Maggie Campbell-Culver and published in 2009. This books is fantastic reading with practical gardening advice from the 17th century. It contains detailed instructions for cultivating and tending perennials, annuals, root vegetables and trees, and explainations of horticultural terminology, advice on tools and many other delicious things for real garden people. Highly recommended!

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Witch-hazels against mid-winter gloom

Hamamelis x intermedia 'Orange Beauty' in full bloom at the Witt Winter Garden.
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The witch-hazels are out again, spreading their spicy honey-scent around in the winter-wet gardens of Seattle. Two years ago, I wrote about witch-hazels and other midwinter wonders in the Witt Winter Garden at the Washington Arboretum, and yesterday, I decided to check out how they were doing this year. Wonderfully, as my pictures can tell.

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Hamamelis x intermedia 'Winter Beauty' with burnt orange stamens that darken towards the maroon flowers.

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I'd always thought that the name 'witch-hazel' had something to do with the plant's many medicinal qualities - it has been traditionally used as an astringent and to prevent hemorrhages - but Vita Sackville-West tells otherwise in her Garden book. She writes that the early settlers of North America took the characteristically forked twigs of the native Hamamelis virginiana and used them for water-divining, as they had used hazel-twigs back in England. The plant got its name from this as any twig that would twitch in the hand had something to do with a witch or a wizard in the old days, at least according to Vita.

*A Hamamelis x intermedia cultivar with a bit darker orange ribbons... it looks a lot like 'Jelena', but I couldn't find a name tag to confirm my thoughts.

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Besides the three native North American species, Hamamelis virginiana, H. ovalis och H. vernalis, the most beautiful witch-hazels come from China and Japan, as so many other distinct garden plants. Hamamelis x intermedia, a hybrid of Chinese H. mollis and Japanese H. japonica, has produced many garden-worthy species. Their flowers are like tiny fireworks, cascades of them exploding with both colour and scent from the twisted branches. As a picked flowers, witch-hazels are long-lasting and capable of filling a whole room with their fresh, spicy scent.

Hamamelis x intermedia 'Fire charm' has pinkish red stamens with delicate, white edging.
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Sometimes I entertain myself by making mental lists of plants that I would like to have in my garden in Saltsjöbaden. Witch-hazel always comes up there within the top ten or twenty, and luckily, there are several cultivars I could plant even in the cold climate of Sweden. As Vita says, they are tough and will grow in any soil and any aspect, though the better they are treated, the better they will do (she adds that this applies to most people too...). I think a little grove of them would make cheery sight together with the thousands of snowdrops that already thrive under the big oaks, brightening up dreary mid-winter days. As it seems now, I still have some time to decide which cultivar to choose from the all tempting alternatives...

I think I'll go for the 'Orange Beauty' - its lucious, citrusy colour scheme can truly chase away the gloom on a dark winter day.
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Cruden Farm - a lifelong source of gardening joy

Cruden Farm, Dame Elisabeth Murdoch's country garden at Langwarring in Australia.

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Driving through the sprawling suburbs on the highway towards the Mornington Peninsula south of Melbourne, one would never guess that a pair of modest wooden gates, opening directly from the freeway, leads to one of the most iconic gardens of Australia. Behind the gates, followed by a magnificent driveway of lemon-scented gums, lies Cruden Farm, home and country garden of Dame Elisabeth Murdoch, the widow of Australian media publisher Keith Murdoch and a great philanthropist, whose generous and passionate involvement in arts, medicine, research and many social causes has made a positive difference in the lives of countless Australians.

* 'Ibis' by Phil Price, a 100th birthday present to Dame Elisabeth from her family.

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Long before this first visit to Cruden Farm, I'd seen pictures from it garden books and publications, but had always been unable to travel when it was open to the public. This time, due to some very fortunate interference, my family got a tour of the gardens. And not just an ordinary one, but a ride on Dame Elisabeth's electric garden buggy together with Michael Morrison, who has gardened at Cruden Farm together with Dame Elisabeth for four decades. Michael told us about the trees and plants and the developments of the garden, pointed out Dame Elisabeth's favorite views and picked even roses named after Dame Elisabeth to both of our girls. His knowledge and love for the garden made the tour a memorable highlight of our Australian trip.

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Above: Copper beech, Fagus sylvatica Purpurea group forms a background for one flower border. Below: The stables were the centre of action in the 1930s and 40s.
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Cruden Farm had very romantic beginnings: it was given by Keith Murdoch as a wedding present to his young bride in 1928. Elisabeth loved her small farm and tended the garden from its earliest days. For decades, the farm provided a paradise for the growing family that gathered here for horse riding, fishing and entertaining during the weekends.
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The walled garden designed by Edna Walling in 1931 with sumptuous perennial borders.
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In 1931, Australia's then leading garden designer Edna Walling was commissioned to work on the areas nearest to the house. Inspired by the Arts and Crafts style, Ms. Walling's design included two walled gardens and a magnificent entrance driveway lined with lemon-scented gumtrees, leading to a circular lawn planted with three now large huge elm trees in front of the house. Sadly, the roses in one of the walled gardens never thrived in the sharp Australian sun that was additionally reflected by the thick brick walls, so eventually they had to be removed to another area. But the perennial borders of the second part of the walled garden, a project of continuous co-operation by Dame Elisabeth and Michael Morrison, were thriving luxuriously, their colour scheme offering a cool visual relief from the heat.
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Above: Shade provided by the now mature trees. Below: The glossy leaves of a huge Macedon oak, Querqus 'Firthii', listed on the register of significant trees in Victoria, Australia.

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In 1944, a devastating bushfire raged through the property and lead to new developments in the garden and farm on totally 54 hectares. Many of them have been related to water, always in scarce supply during the hot summers and especially during times of drought, of which the latest that just broke lasted for 12 years. Mains water was connected in 1975, which allowed the garden to be watered for the first time - until then, Dame Elisabeth had pumped the water and shifted the hoses herself at dawn or on dusk. In late 1980s, two dams behind the house were extended to form the beautiful large lake in the second picture, offering both water storage and making a perfect refuge for wildlife. In the late 1990s, another lagoon was created to secure water supply for the gardens.

Cruden Farm's now iconic driveway lined with lemon-scented gum trees (Eucalyptus sp.), a beautiful adaptation to the native flora of Australia.

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In 2009, Dame Elisabeth celebrated her 100th birthday. Determinately, she continues to work with Michael, always thinking of new ways to revise and improve what to most of gardeners already looks like a picture of perfection. 'One must always replenish for the future in a garden', as Dame Elisabeth says, now well into her ninth decade of gardening at Cruden Farm.

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Cruden Farm is private and visits can be done by prior appointment or on one of its open days.

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Waking up, yawning

Galanthus nivalis 'Flore Pleno'

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Just found these little ones under a Japanese maple in my garden. Still sleepy, not quite ready to show off all their frilly petticoats. How I love their nodding heads, peeking up from the moist soil like dainty drops of flawless perfection...
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Rippon Lea - a well preserved Victorian with a great fernery

The fernery, or the 'Grand Shade House' at Rippon Lea, is home to over 230 species of ferns.*

Coincidentally, the latest issue of the Garden Design magazine that dropped down two days ago in the mailbox was titled "The New Victorian Age". It was full of Victoriana and pteridomania (which translates to fern craze or fever), two tightly related subjects, and contained some remarkably beautiful, overexposed pictures of ferns by Bryan Whitney on its pages. Ferns have been a stable in gardens and as indoor plants since the Victorian times, but it seems that there is a renewed fever in the air, ferns popping up again in interior design, on sheets, prints and other decorative elements. And considering the many articles and garden books about the Victorian age that have been published lately, maybe there is something to the magazine's claim of the Victorian period's 'second coming'... we'll see.

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The shady verandas and terraces leading to the gardens; my girls are having a rest from the heat in the white garden chairs...

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All this focus on Victoriana ties nicely together with my recent visit to Rippon Lea in the suburb of Elsternwick in Melbourne. Rippon Lea is a national treasure that has since 2006 been included in Australia's top heritage listing. It is the last of the great privately owned 19th century suburban estates to survive largely intact in Australia. Built and developed between 1868 and 1903 by leading Melbourne businessman and politician Frederick Thomas Sargood, the house was designed in Romanesque style by Joseph Reed, then one of the most prominent architects in Melbourne. *

*The lake, with ornamental cast iron bridges - cast iron was another Victorian invention and favorite - leading from one side to the other.
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Although the surrounding suburbia has crept closer and the Rippon Lea gardens now are reduced from their original size, they still are of international significance as an excellent example of Victorian garden making. The last owners of the Rippon Lea, Benjamin Nathan and his daughter Louisa Jones, preserved the gardens relatively intact, and they still retain many features from the times of Frederick Sargood: a lake, a mound and grotto, extensive lawns, a huge fernery, a conservatory and a serpentine carriageway. To sustain his extensive gardens through the hot Melbournian summers, Sargood designed a sophisticated underground irrigation system that was driven by a wind-mill that still exists on the grounds.

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The conservatory and a view from the fernery, constructed of cast iron arches supported by cast iron pillars, and covered with wooden slats.*

How ferns reproduce was not properly understood until the 1830s. Once the mystery was solved (by accident in London) and nurseries could start propagating them, a fern craze swept over Great Britain and spread over to its colonies. A fernery became an essential element of large Victorian gardens, and as a passionate garden person, Frederick Sargood built in 1884 a 'Grand Shade House', a huge fernery imitating an Australian gully, to house his collection of more than 230 species from all around the world, including huge specimens of Australian tree ferns.

*The shady, serpentine drive way, overhang with Moreton Bay figs.
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The day of our visit was hot, up to 38 degrees C (100 degrees F), so the long, winding driveway overhang with huge Moreton Bay figs (Ficus macrophylla) provided a longed-for, shady welcome to the estate of Rippon Lea. But even more welcome was the coolness of the Great Shade House where we lingered for a long time admiring its lush verdant inhabitants, their fronds filling the air like huge lacy tentacles, hanging from the walls and covering the ground with their intricate, leathery leaves. I could completely understand the Victorians' infatuation with ferns and ferneries, and thought I would be more than delighted with their revival - just like we have experienced the renaissance of stumperies, another Victorian folly, during the last decade. So new Victorians - what comes to ferneries, I guess you can count me in!

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* More about Rippon Lea, Elsternwick near Melbourne, Victoria, Australia.

Fond of fronds - the Otways in southeastern Australia

Soft tree ferns, Dicksonia antarctica, in their natural environment in the Otways National Park.

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Divided by the immense Pacific ocean, one could think that there's not much that connects the deep, coniferous forests of Northwest America with the Eucalyptus-scented southeastern shores of Australia. Looking closer, you find they they actually share a living link: both areas are home for some of the few remaining cool temperate rain forests in the world. A bit warmer and drier than Olympic National Park, its North American cousin, the Otways National Park in Victoria, Australia, still nurtures some of the oldest plant species of the world, dating from the ancient times of the Gondwanaland that included most of the landmasses of the southern hemisphere - Antarctica, South America, Africa, Madagascar, Australia, New Zealand, New Guinea, Arabia and most of the Indian subcontinent.

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An old myrtle beech with its clouds of glossy small leaves leaning over towards the moist gully.

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One of the Gondwanaland species that still survives in the moist, loamy gullies of the Otways is the myrtle beech (Nothofagus cunninghamii). It predates the more fire-resistant eucalypts, banksias and acacias, and unlike them, it has never adapted to bush fires that kill both the plants and their seeds. These slow growing, magnificent trees with clouds of tiny, glossy leaves can live up to 300 years, sometimes reaching the staggering height of 110 feet.

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A towering messmate, its huge canopy reaching towards the skies above.

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The Otways is also home for several species of eucalypts; especially the messmates. The origin of this funny name is uncertain - a messmate means someone you share meals in a military kitchen with - but my (quite unseriously meant) theory is that the new settlers just thought these 'mates' that shed their bark all year around were especially messy. Two species, the Eucalyptus obliqua and E. regnans, are especially common, and there is even a third species, the Otways messmate, which is a hybrid of both (E. obliqua-regnans). Even these trees reach great hights in this area; just before we visited during Christmas week, a huge Otways messmate measuring 88 feet around the base had fallen down in the Melba Gully area, taking down numerous surrounding young trees and tree ferns with it.

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One of the many waterfalls cutting through the sandstone in the Otways area.

Given the high rainfall in the Otways, many creeks ripple through the gullies, sometimes carving their way through the porous sandstone, forming dramatic waterfalls that fill the air with their soft moist. Numerous small mosses and ferns cling to the dank stonewalls, providing excellent hiding places for tiny tree frogs and other amphibians and insects. Despite their tiny size, the frogs call out to their mates with an amazing volume, sometimes even managing to drown the sound of the waterfalls.

The cinnamon-brown, wiry pelt of the soft tree fern provides a perfect home for another, tiny fern species.

Another prehistoric plant in the Otways is the tree fern, of which two species, the soft tree fern (Dicksonia antarctica), and the rough tree fern (Cyanthea australis) are the two most common. Once food of the dinosaurs, this beautiful, almost regal plant became highest horticultural fashion during the Victorian fern craze, from the mid 1800s to the early 1900s, and has been newly popular since the 1990s. The two species can easily be recognized by their trunks; the soft tree ferns is like wiry pelt of a mammoth, whereas the rough tree ferns is more like a scaly reptile. Tree ferns are quite hardy, up to -10 degrees C/ 10 degrees F. They grow slowly, about 30cm/ 1 feet every ten years, so large specimens are expensive to buy, but at the same time, they make an architectural statement even in the smallest of gardens with their gracefully arching, lush green fronds.

A huge, old eucalypt covered in kangaroo ferns, Microsorum pustulatum.*

The Otways share a long history of logging with the Olympic National Park since the new settlers arrived in both areas in the mid 1800s. The surviving pockets of old-growth forest with their huge trees are effective reminders of the time it takes to produce such majestics giants; also, they demonstrate clearly we should be aware of the consequences of our often thoughtless actions leading only to short-term economic benefits. Luckily, both areas are now protected as national parks for the coming generations.

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As I tampled on the muddy paths covered with eucalypt bark and listening to the tree frogs and kookaburras, it was hard to imagine that the area had just emerged from a decade-long drought. Navigating back to the starting point through the dense understory of tree ferns, I could only hope that the Otways will survive even the next huge challenge of the impending climate change.

Feeling a bit ... (sea) weedy

A giant kelp slowly breaking down on the pale sands of Apollo Bay.

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Back home; we had a fantastic time 'Down Under', but now my body seems a bit reluctant to adjust to the climes and times of the northern hemisphere. For the moment, I'm sorting out my bountiful harvest of 1265 (!) photos, all taken under those two wonderful weeks. This one shows exactly how I've been feeling the last couple of days (well, I'm not exactly breaking down, just deadly tired from the long trip...), but then, I guess there's always a price to pay for having such fun. Anyway, I'll be back soon with some wonderful stuff to share with you, maybe even a bit later today evening. Until then, have a great weekend.

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The connection between tree ferns and wild strawberries

Great Ocean Road in Victoria, southeastern Australia

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We're taking a little break from the chilly rain and escaping to the southern shores of Victoria to celebrate Christmas with our Aussie friends by surfing on the beach and trekking the verdant tree-fern filled forests by the Great Ocean Road. I can almost smell the eucalyptus and tea trees already... and feel the salty surf against my cheeks. A couple of captivating gardens are on the agenda, to be shared with you in January. Smultronställe, which literally translates "a good spot for finding wild strawberries", is a Swedish word for describing the most special places in ones life, and today, we are heading off to one of ours, far away in Australia.

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With luggage ready by the entrance and a taxi waiting to take us to the airport, I wish you all a peaceful holiday season whatever and where ever you are celebrating. All the best for the coming new year, and I'll be back in January 2011!

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Rain and the zen of moss gardening

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The weather gods of the Pacific Northwest are showing off all their muscles. Since last Friday, they have bestowed Seattle with almost six inches of rain and there still seems to be no end to their generosity. Some coastal areas have got drenched with 12 inches in three days, which equals half the yearly rainfall of Stockholm or Melbourne pouring down during just one long weekend. Our air humidity is now close to 90%, but unfortunately that's where all similarities stop with the velvety, balm climes of Singapore...

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Not tempted to stick my nose out and get soaked, I've been perusing George Schenk's remarkable book Moss Gardening Including Lichens, Liverworts, and Other Miniatures (Timber Press, 1997). It is a perfect companion for rainy winter months, the high season of all mosses; when else do their emerald, smooth cushions look so soft and becoming than during the coldest and wettest days of the year?

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Originating from the moist shores of the Pacific Northwest, George draws from his long experience of moss gardening on three continents and offers fascinating insights to how his tiny subjects have been used in the gardens of East and West. With his expressive pen, he blends garden history and design with horticultural practices into a delightful mixture of knowledge, wit and entertainment. Many pictures in his book are highly inspiring, and George can now be blamed for getting me all fired up about growing mosses in containers, especially on flat bonsai trays. Just imagine low, unglazed trays holding miniature landscapes of soft, billowy mosses: so poetic, unusual, easy to care for and hardy - in my eyes, absolutely irresistible!

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On the pages of Moss gardening, I especially enjoy George's thoughts of what he calls 'ocular gardening', or gardening by eyes only, where the gardener draws back all her efforts instead of bending the nature to her ideas. This minimalist gardening practice is unique to moss gardeners and consists of waiting for nature to plant mosses best suited for the place, providing only a minimum of help by watering occasionally and by picking up wind-blown debris. According to George, in a couple of years, the patient gardener is rewarded with a luxuriant carpet of mosses. Not the most patient gardener myself, I'm intrigued by this zen-like idea of letting go and enjoying the slowly emerging results, even if I know from experience that the reality is seldom as easy as that, not even in a moss-prone area like the Pacific Northwest.

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A carpet of moss is a great awakener of the sensuous human being that I think every gardener must by nature be, writes George in his wonderful, spirited book. I cannot but agree, and leave you with his favorite haiku by Ikiru from Japan, the country of the masters of moss gardening:

On the shingled gate

Where in rain moss grows jade-bright
Earth and heaven merge.

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Saving Sipsalo, one small step at a time...

The main house of Sipsalo farm, where Pehr Kalm grew his North American plants in the 1750s.

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It is almost a year ago that I last wrote about Sipsalo, the forgotten gardens of botanical explorer Pehr Kalm.

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A student of Carl Linnaeus, Pehr Kalm was one of the lucky few who managed to return alive from his plant collecting tours, having visited the relatively safe target destination of North America in 1748-51. Back in Finland, he worked as a professor at the Turku Academy, dutifully propagating in Sipsalo his admirable collection of seeds of over 400 plants. Many of them failed in the harsh climate - for example, the utopian idea of establishing silk industry in Finland failed miserably as both the silkworms and mulberry trees soon froze to death - but some of them, like Parthenocissus vitacea (syn. P. inserta), Rubus odorata and Crataegus grayana, are now a common part of the flora of Finland.

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A small copper sign tells quietly about the fascinating past of Sipsalo.

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As I wrote a year ago, Sipsalo will be sold during next spring (2011) and its future remains uncertain. Since last November, many contacts have been taken on both sides of the Atlantic ocean. Many leading researchers, scientists and historians have taken a keen interest in Sipsalo and agreed on that Sipsalo has an inestimable value as a place where botanical, horticultural and scientific heritages of three countries, Finland, Sweden and the United States of America, touch each other.

During the past year, several Finnish organizations with potential capacity for owning and managing Sipsalo have been contacted. The local universities, the National Board of Antiquities and the Finnish Cultural Heritage Foundation have been some of the suitable candidates. The tough economic times have certainly played in as great interest have been shown by many, but so far, none of them has had the courage and money (a long time commitment like this demands a great deal of planning and resources) to buy Sipsalo, and secure its future for the coming generations. Understandable, but at the same time, very sad and disappointing.

A south-facing meadow and old apple trees in front of the buildings of Sipsalo.

For a while, I almost lost my hope for Sipsalo, and felt that maybe nothing will came out of all work that I and many others have done to rescue Sipsalo (for example, an article that I wrote about the international interest for Sipsalo was published in Turun Sanomat in June 2010 - all response was very positive, but there were no other immediate results). Then, last week I was told that Katri Sarlund from the city council of Turku had made an initiative that the city should purchase Sipsalo.

After contacting Katri, we agreed on that an international petition by the community of researchers, scientists and writers would be highly desirable, and probably effective in promoting the cause. So I wrote one, and so far, I've been very happy to receive great response from everyone I've contacted. In January, Turku City Council will receive an international petition letter for Sipsalo with a handsome list of supporters from three continents.

So no happy ending yet, but I do have high hopes for one. And even if the work in not quite done, I already admit that I have learned a lot during the process. Like that next time I try to save an old garden, I will go and take a lesson in community organizing first. Nevertheless, I am very glad that I've tried and I sincerely hope that Sipsalo at last will be saved to the coming generations. I will keep you posted.

An old oak tree planted by Pehr Kalm in the 18th century by the Aura river in Turku. The Botanical Gardens that surrounded the oak were destroyed in the 1960s. If Sipsalo is lost to new housing development, this old oak tree will be the only remaining evidence of and memorial to Kalm's work.

My three earlier posts about Sipsalo: Save the forgotten gardens of Pehr Kalm, August 2009. Sipsalo, again, December 2009. Late November in Sipsalo, December 2009.
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Unfortunately, my article in Turun Sanomat is not available on-line, and I haven't found a way to download the pdf here on my blog.

Please leave a comment if you need more information about Sipsalo.

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