Nomen est omen... moving soon to Singapore

It is a glorious spring, probably the finest I've experienced in my four years in Seattle. And I'm too busy enjoying it. The reason is that I'm actually preparing to move to Singapore in July - getting the house ready to be sold, sorting out things to be donated or sold, filling out countless pages of immigration forms, school admission application forms for the girls and who knows what else administrative stuff that always comes with relocating internationally. At least my US driver's license can be easily converted into a Singaporean one;  I've already taken driving tests in Finland, Australia and USA (Sweden luckily let's one drive with a license from another Nordic country...), so told my husband that I'm not taking one single test again but showing all my four license that they can choose from.

So somehow, the name of my blog - The Intercontinental Gardener - really feels appropriate at last. It really was a bit of a joke in the beginning, even if I already then had gardened on three continents. At the same time, I felt sometimes that the name was a bit pretentious, as I've mainly been blogging about my gardening life after I moved to the US, and not so much about other countries I've lived in or even visited. But the name stuck, and now it seems more befitting than ever, even if I'm probably not going to be able to grow much else than orchids on a balcony in Singapore.

I'll try to update my blog somewhat regularly, even if it is quite hard to find time to really sit and think about other than these 'earthly matters' of life for the moment. But that will only be temporary - and I really can't wait to be able to 'report' about all things related to gardens from Singapore and other Southeast Asian countries soon! 

Above - Magnolia salicifolia 'Else Frye' in full bloom in Washington Park Arboretum in Seattle.

Peeking through a knot-hole...

I know one is not supposed to peek through other people's fences - after all, that is why they are there, to give privacy from curious passers-by. But tempted by a gorgeous Magnolia in full bloom, I just had to see how the little back-yard completely engulfed by it looked like.

After a while I spotted a tiny knot-hole in the fence and peeked through it. And I wasn't disappointed; old, thick Magnolia trunks gnarled upwards forming a huge, blooming umbrella. In the soft shade under it, a carpet of lush Hellebores were just finishing their abundant show, pips of lily-of-the-valleys were eagerly pushing upwards accompanied by unfurling ferns and sky-blue Pulmonarias. How wonderful it must be to sit on the little wooden bench this time of the year and see the garden come alive under the canopy of soft pink Magnolia flowers. The present owners surely send some deeply thankful thoughts to the gardener who planted it what must have been over a century ago... 

The Royal Azaleas from Korea are out...

I'm full of cold, and in no form of reporting anything more advanced - but the Royal Azaleas from Korea, Rhododendron Schlippenbachiis, are out and just amazingly delicate and exquisite.

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Oh, was there ever a more radiant spring day as today; the sun is out together with the mountain (you need to be from Seattle to know that this means Mount Rainier being free and visible from the heavy clouds so common here) and it is warmer than it has ever been so far this all too soggy year. Just fantastic - now I just need to know why they are called the Royal Azaleas... need to clear my head from this cold before I'm up to any reseach. Sigh.

A borrowed soulangeana...

I've caught a huge cold and feel miserable, so this view from my kitchen windows is about as much I can manage to blog despite all spring ephemerals sprouting up in my backyard.

My next door neighbours' - a couple in their late 80s - amazing Magnolia soulangeana is just starting to open its shell-pink buds. This probably 50 years old tree reaches up to at least 8 meters into the sky and provides a breathtaking show every spring - we live uphill from them and get to admire its large goblet-formed blooms at "eye level", which is fantastic. 

Magnolias must have been the "it-plant" in the 60s when many of the older homes in this area were built; I think they would definitely be a good enough reason to buy any of the houses when they come to the market; you can always redo the house, but you can't buy 50 years of "Magnolia time" in any other way. Unfortunately, most house buyers of my generation don't share my opinion and rip them off from the way of their all too large, new mansions.

Another old house close-by that I could buy just for the sake of the huge Magnolia in front - my definition of 'curb-appeal' is a bit different from most real estate agents, I guess... I would put a wicker chair under it and sip some champagne under its amazing canopy of shell-pink blooms.

A drippingly delicious star magnolia...

A dripping Magnolia stellata in my backyard - she seems to take the weather better than I do...

If you can't beat them, join them - or maybe "if you can't change it, embrace it"? Yesterday, there was a sudden and unusual break in the continuous downpour, but I was too busy and missed documenting one of the most glorious days of this award-winningly wet spring (already over 17 inches of rain so far, compared to the average of 13...). Oh, well, at least now I know the sun still exists; today, it is as grey as ever again.
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A bit irritated on myself for missing out a day of perfect photographing weather, I tried to "embrace what I got" and create some drippingly delicious Magnolia portraits with the help of a new little umbrella that attaches directly to my camera. Alas, it didn't save me from getting drenched, so I had to give up after a while. Here are some of the results, and I hope the rain will tire itself out soon again so that I can make a new try. The Magnolia soulangeanas are out and some of them are just stunning...
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Start of the sakura season

I've been a bit unfair to the local weather; after all my whining about the perpetual rain, we actually had a couple of gloriously sunny spring days during the weekend. Unfortunately, I was all too busy either to take photographs or to blog about it, so you just have to take my word for it. For the moment it is pouring rain again, so I had to postpone my planned cherry photography session...

Flowering cherries are extremely popular in the Pacific Northwest gardens, which is one living proof of the tight east-west connections of the area. Many single-flowered species are out now, but their petals have unfortunately been ripped of by the winds and water all too soon after opening. I caught these white ones by a nearby roadside two days ago, and now they are already gone. Buds of the double-bloomed cherries are still swelling, wisely waiting for better weather before bursting out. I'm following them daily and hoping for a dry spell, if only for a couple of hours... I'm dreaming of a Hanami - a cherry blossom viewing party - under the big, double pink cherry tree in our backyard, but we'll see if the weather gods think it is a good idea or vote it down with their showers. 

Surviving the hail... but only just

It is really all too windy today for taking any photographs, but I nevertheless had to check what's going on with my star magnolia in the backyard...

Late yesterday evening, a hailstorm  combined with strong cast winds covered the ground with almost two inches of marble-sized ice stones. Of course there are bigger problems in life, but it is still a nuisance (or of course, a disappointment - haven't I learned my lesson yet...), especially when magnolias have just started opening their buds. Last year, a freaky late frost took them; this year, the hail? But as you can see, nothing was really broken and the opening petals had only some brown spots. And what is even better, there is still a chance for many unblemished blooms as many of them still are safely wrapped in their downy covers. This might still develop into a good (or lucky?) magnolia year...

(I just can't enough of these soft, downy buds....)

A golden tree called "spring"

If we poor Seattleites don't even have a season called spring (see my previous post - but today, the sun actually peeked through the thick clouds...), then the Mexicans are so much more lucky; they both have the season and also Primavera, a golden tree named after it. 

I found this glorious Primavera reaching over the magnificent stone wall of a garden that I almost saw a couple of weeks ago - the Jardín Etnobotánico in Oaxaca in southern Mexico. As I never got inside the walls, I can only assume that it is Tabebuia chrysantha, a Primavera native to the area. Several species of Tabebuias grow in Central and South Americas and their hard weather- and insect resistant wood is better known as "ipê", a hardwood commonly used for building decks and outdoor furniture around the world. I'll never be able to look at an ipê-deck again without thinking of these golden flowers...

A young Jacaranda tree radiating purple on Monte Albán close to Oaxaca... if you look closely, you can see the city on the left side below the pyramids. 

Because of its magnificent flowers, Tabebuias are hugely popular as ornamental trees, but they have also several other uses from medicinal to agricultural, and are also an important source or nectar for hummingbirds and bees - always a recommendation for any plant to me. Many of its relatives have similar, showy flowers. One example is Jacaranda; while we visited, I spotted a beautiful young tree covered in bright, lavender-blue flowers at the altitude of 2000 meters at Monte Albán close to Oaxaca (see above). Unfortunately, the climate of Seattle is far too cold for Tabebuias and Jacarandas to thrive, but some other of their trumpet-flowered relatives like Catalpas can cope with these northern latitudes and could be used for creating a similar, slightly tropical touch with their clusters of pearly white flowers and huge, heartshaped leaves.

An exception to the rule of not posting pictures of my family... here with my daughters under a flowering Jacaranda tree in the Royal Botanic Gardens in Melbourne, Australia... what a bliss!

No spring, just a season of "disappointment"

Rain, rain go away - come again another day...

Earlier this week, the Seattle Times ran an article that exactly expressed thoughts that I hadn't really formed into words during my almost four years in this wet, northwest part of the country. In it, Chris Burke, a long time meteorologist at the National Weather Service in Seattle, talked about his definitions for the seasons, declaring the usual solstice- and equinox-relational connections completely obsolete in this area.

According to him, summer starts here first in July and lasts generously until August; then autumn spans over September and October, and winter lasts from November through February. But the oddest thing is that there is no such thing as spring, only a cold and wet, everlasting transitional period between February and July, which he generously dubs as the season of "disappointment".  

I'm more than ready to agree with him. As usual this time of the year, the heavens have been throwing on us hail, snow, rain mixed with hail and/or snow, or rain with drops so large that they could drown mice (unfortunately, they don't seem to have effect on the moles or voles that are messing up my lawn for the moment). I come from Finland with a climate so much colder than this, but I don't mind cold as long as it is dry, preferably with snow covering the ground. What I really dislike is this perpetual wetness; some days I'm sure I'm starting to grow gills, or at least small webs between my toes. 

When discreetly complain about the weather to the locals, they look at me as if I was mad, asking me what I did expect. I don't like them doing that. But then, by now I should have learned my lesson and not to expect a real spring, but a season of - disappointment. 

A dainty new favorite - Tulipa polychroma

I've just discovered a new tulip favorite : Tulipa polychroma, a wild species from the rugged mountainsides of Iran and Afghanistan. I've never grown it before; a herd of deer make nocturnal grazing visits to my garden (they just chomped the heads off of most of my white crocuses...), so I haven't invested much in planting them. Instead, I grow them and other 'deer delicacies' in shallow terracotta pots on the balcony under my kitchen windows, which is not a bad solution, as in this way I can follow them closely. Without the deer, this species would be perfect left to naturalize in the rocky parts of the garden.

What I love most of this tulip is its delicately veined petals - just take a closer look at them in the first picture. What comes to flowers, I usually fall for anything veined or striped or otherwise reminiscent of watercolor painting, preferably with a white base color acting as a canvas, so these little fellows match perfectly my tastes. The outer petals are tinged with olive and mauve with a hint of yellow at the tip of the petal. The white inner ones have distinct, thin strokes of olive in the middle, emerging from a yellow base - so elegant. A bit temperamental, the buds only open in full sun, turning their own yolk-yellow centers to the light. And just like they wouldn't already be quite perfect, they also carry a fresh, sweet scent - in short, is has everything you could wish for in a small, species tulip.