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

Sipsalo in late November 2009.

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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...?

My Japanese weeping maple...

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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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Seattle Chinese Garden - a work in progress

The windswept 'Knowing the Spring' courtyard.

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Newest of Seattle's many public gardens, the Seattle Chinese Garden was opened a couple of weeks ago to a great publicity. Admittedly still long from being finished, it has already been lauded as a breathtaking garden, "soon to be one of the most unique gardens and cultural centers in the country." Having recently fallen in love with the Classical Chinese Scholar's Garden in Vancouver, I unfortunately must admit that none of the warm, fuzzy feelings from the Vancouver visit filled my breast while I wandered in this fledgling of a garden, despite determinately keeping in mind that most of it still awaits completion.

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Tai Hu river rocks arranged in a corner of the 'Knowing the spring' courtyard; these water-carved rocks were very popular in classical Chinese gardens, their forms inviting for different interpretation depending on the changing light during the day.

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Wondering where my disappointment had its source, I came up with some thoughts. The site of the garden on the top of a windy, clear-felled hill, felt too exposed to the elements, both cold and warm. Despite all assurances of it being 'especially auspicious" in the provided garden leaflet, there was none of the magical feeling of popping in to a secret garden from the bustle of a city, which I felt in the Dr. Sun Yat-Sen garden of Vancouver. The 'Knowing the Spring' courtyard felt way too big and harsh as a space; there was nothing left unseen, no surprises unfolding behind corners, as there were no such around; this feeling was increased by the extensive paving made of harsh concrete, instead of the intricately hand-cut river stones often used in China (and in Vancouver, see pictures of the beautiful work there in my post of it). All walls and walkways were strictly straight, not bent and curved to fend off evil spirits like in Vancouver, which added further to the severe feeling of the building. A small water feature with jade-colored river stones was placed in one corner, but at least yet nothing could mirror itself on its surface.

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Leak windows, also made of concrete, offering framed views in and out of the courtyard.

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The Seattle Chinese Garden has been long in making, and it has a very ambitious plan; its goal is to be the largest, Sichuan-style Chinese garden outside China. When finished, the gardens will stretch over 5 acres of land, with lakes, bridges, pagodas, a banquet hall and a 70-foot tower overlooking the city. Despite the grand opening, only 0.5 acres of this has been carried out, and enormous resources are still needed before it will be finished. Luckily, being an important cultural symbol for the large Chinese community in Seattle and Washington state, there is a great commitment for completing the gardens.
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Song Mei pavilion, the only finished feature in the large area that surrounds the courtyard building. The land is still filled with rubble and stones and the only greenery provided by large bamboos.

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Strolling through the site, I appreciated the work that so many volunteers and enthusiasts had put into this garden during the many years the garden has been in making, but quietly couldn't help wondering why the plans had to be so grand and ambitious. When it comes to gardens, size never really matters, so wouldn't it had been better to make a smaller one, a little diamond that could instill the essence of a Sichuan-style Chinese garden, and get it done with lesser resources and time? As it is now, it will take several more years before this garden will be completed. Still, despite all my complaints above, I will be following its development with great interest and will be happy to see it evolve into what it was planned to be.

* The future garden will contain lakes, pavilions and several bridges, but it is still mostly filled with rubble and gravel.*

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Pssst - it's official...

Today, it is the first of March and officially the first day of spring. I can't think of a better day for Karin Boye's poem Yes, of course it hurts. One of the most quoted poems in Sweden, it is a touching and insightful allegory of one's search for perfection and insecurity in front of the unknown.

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Yes, of course it hurts

when buds start bursting.

Why otherwise would spring hesitate?

Why would all our fiery longing

be bound in winter's frosty haze?

Yet, the casing held the bud all winter.

What is this new that chafes and breaks?

Yes, of course it hurts

when buds start bursting,

hurts what grows

and hurts what wanes.

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- Karen Boye, from collection "För trädets skull", 1936 -

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As I've always loved this poem, I decided to translate it myself. The Swedish original poem, two English translations and much more about Karin Boye can be found here. The light will be back soon - I can't wait...

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Browsing the Northwest Flower & Garden Show in Seattle

A painting with Sedums and Echeverias at Ravenna Gardens display; nothing new, but still completely charming!

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I do understand that fixing dates for a major garden show must be a logistic challenge, but staging one in the middle of winter school break period is still quite naughty. So I was a bit grumpy when I realized that Dan Pearson from UK would be visiting, and holding his presentation at the same time as I would be sliding down the hills of Whistler! A longtime fan of Dan's writing, I had hoped to get to hear him in person, and maybe even to get my copy of his extraordinary book Spirit - Garden Inspiration signed. Instead, was forced to take this as an good opportunity to build character... and as the skiing was great, I guess I shouldn't complain too much.

*Christianson's Nursery and Greenhouse had installed an abundant display with great attention to details. The plantings were a symphony of greys, whites and pale pinks, very traditional and pleasing without being boring...

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Sunday was the last day of the show, and luckily, I was able to tempt my whole family there. The girls were eager to see show gardens representing stories as Wind in the Willows and Rapunzel, and my husband generously agreed to look after them, kept happy with a good magazine and a large, hot coffee. Myself, I wanted to get a short peak of the show gardens, even if they always tend to be a bit exhausted on the last show day. And as I had read the Seattle Times Garden Show special issue from February 20th that highlighted edibles, kitchen gardening and outdoor living, I was curious about seeing how this would play out in the show garden designs.

The Christianson's show garden from another angle, with a huge white wisteria in full bloom to the right; they had done a great work in forcing hundreds of flowering plants to bloom for the show. I would love to get some rhubarb forcers (terracotta pots in the front) to my garden in Saltsjöbaden...

Many of the show gardens were executed with great skill and resources, but I couldn't really warm up to most of them. Same color combinations and plants from evergreens to flowering perennials were in the limelight, just like at countless shows before. Lots of recycled materials were on display as can be expected, from pots and pans to a whole cargo container that served as a garden shed in one of the show gardens. Green walls hang down in many gardens, but not in any way out of the ordinary. I don't want to sound arrogant, but I don't' think much at the show felt new. Based on the articles at the Seattle Times special issue, I had expected at least some clever displays incorporating edibles in unexpected ways to a garden. An edible flower border or an edible meadow, combining perennials and annuals with "victuals" would have been so exciting to see! Alas, no luck at that front.

The Ravenna Garden Sedum painting, once more...

A bit lazy with my camera, I took pictures of two show gardens that I liked, even if they comply with my quibbles above. Still, these two show gardens were skillfully carried out and nicely, albeit very traditionally designed. And even if I didn't get my kick of the avant-garde, it was a pleasure to take in the wonderful scents of all hyacinths, daffodils and even huge flowering wisterias blooming everywhere at the show, like a teaser for what will be out in our gardens just in a couple of weeks. I just hope for a better timing for the show next year...
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The Ravenna Garden display called A Passion for Purple. Recycled containers filled with plants in contrasting colors. The little, portable meadow to lay down one's feet on is really cute, too. Ravenna is Seattle's answer to San Francisco's Flora Grubb...

The timeless grounds of Pukkila Manor

The kitchen garden at Pukkila, or Buckila Manor, with horseradish and cardoons growing in front of old fruit trees.

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While browsing through old photos, I stumbled upon some of Pukkila (or Buckila in Swedish) Manor, one of my favorite places near Turku in southwestern Finland. This beautiful estate and farm was named after the Bock family who owned it from 1540s until 1720s. In those days, Turku (or Åbo as it is called in Swedish) was the capital of Finland that formed the eastern part of the kingdom of Sweden; several members of the Bock family worked as high officials for the King's administration.

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Cabbages and onions take the front stage at the Pukkila gardens. Fire-engine red bee balm (Monarda) and other ornamentals can be seen nearer the house.

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The current, red-painted manor house with a heavy mansard roof was built in 1762. In its dignified simplicity, it is a handsome representative for the pared down Scandinavian rococo style typical for the period. Its deep red color is called 'Falu red' or Falu röd in Swedish, and it was used to imitate the fine brick houses of Stockholm and other larger cities (later, this copper based color became extremely popular and was used to paint smaller houses and even barns, a custom that Scandinavian emigrants took with them to their new homesteads on the other side of the Atlantic). Today, Pukkila Manor belongs to Finland's National Board of Antiquities, and it is meticulously restored and furnished as a 18th century family home.

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Entrance through the red picket fence to the kitchen gardens; tall hop-poles against the fields (I compressed these pictures for years ago so their quality is unfortunately poor).

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The gardens of Pukkila are skillfully tended and planted with herbs, vegetables and flowering plants that were popular in the 18th century. Old fruit trees and red-painted picket fences surround the lush kitchen gardens where cabbages and root vegetables play the leading roles once again. Sturdy hop-poles stand in attention against wide grain fields that separate Pukkila from the bustle of the surrounding world. Just some 20 minutes from the city centre, time seems to have forgotten its duties in Pukkila, making it an excellent destination for gardeners who are fond of time traveling.

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A well and outbuildings for housing workers and other personnel at Pukkila.

PS - Turku is a little, historic town where I spent the formative years between 11 and 22, and despite the many places I've lived in since then, I still usually call it my hometown. I've posted about some other favorites as Luostarinmäki, Sagalund and Källskär, just a few amongst many beautiful places there. This year, Turku shares with Tallinn the well-earned honor of being the European Capital of Culture, so despite the somewhat poor quality of the pictures, I wanted to show what kind of lovely scenes are waiting if your path ever takes you to the southern shores of Finland.

A scented escape

Chimonanthus praecox, also called Japanese allspice or fragrant wintersweet tree; its waxy, white flowers with burgundy eyes emit a spicy perfume.*

I've been chasing a story that seems to escape every time I think I'm getting nearer. Instead of pressing myself in front of the white screen, I fled to the Washington Park Arboretum, hoping to find an opening or at least some fresh inspiration. Instead, I captured portraits of some fragrant, winter-flowering shrubs that were generously spreading around their uplifting scent of spring. So I'm happy, even if still no closer to my teasingly evasive story...

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The evergreen Himalayan Sarcococca, Sarcococca hookeriana var. 'Humilis'; taking in just one twig fills the room with its wonderful fragrance.
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Winter honeysuckle, Lonicera standishii, originates from China. Like most honeysuckles, it is highly perfumed, but flowers in mid-winter. This photo does its own tricks; the twig should be horizontal with the flowers hanging...
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Winter jasmine, Jasminum nudiflorum, opens its sunny, bright flowers before its leaves emerge, just as its Latin name indicates. Also highly scented, it is hardy and tolerates pretty much any type of soil.
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An unidentified witch hazel, Hamamelis x intermedia, is one of my favorites. I love its soft scent that I think is a mixture of honey and lemon.

Winter hazel, Corylopsis spicata, comes from the woodlands of Japan and is related to the witch hazels. Its hanging, greenish yellow flowers emerge from bare branches in early February and continue to bloom until late April, forming an excellent background to small spring bulbs, Hellebores and other early bulbs and perennials. It has a very delicate, honey-like scent.

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More complete, by adding

A garden is not complete

until nothing more can be removed.

*- Japanese proverb -

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On the way to the school bus this morning, my girls found this stone by the sidewalk. "Look, mom, it's a perfect miniature mountain! Let's take it home!" So I carried it home with red, frostbitten fingers (no gloves again, one gets so lazy when they are seldom needed). Under some big trees behind the house, it now forms an enchanted little landscape together with the ever-flourishing mosses, like a tiny shard of completeness amongst all imperfection.

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I just wonder how I can keep the maintenance guys from removing it, without marking it with some kind of an ugly label?

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Fragrant raw material for making Washi

The furry, soft buds of Edgeworthia chrysantha, just opening to reveal its bright, yellow flowers.

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Given the mild climate of the Pacific Northwest, gardeners here are spoiled with a wide choice of plants to enliven their gardens through the rainy, foggy winters. As a result, I've been been acquainted with a completely new palette of shrubs and other plants that would never survive either the cold Scandinavian winters or the hot Australian summers; some of them attractive for their scent, some for the flowers, and a few lucky for both.

The nodding buds lift up their heads, eventually forming a globe of yellow flowers.

Paper bush, Edgeworthia chrysantha, is one of these happy new discoveries. For the moment, an old specimen is starting to flower at the Bellevue Botanical Gardens nearby, so ventured there to get a closer look. It wasn't quite open yet, so I couldn't detect any scent, but it is described as beautiful, Edgeworthia being part of the family of Daphnes so well-known for their heavy fragrance. It has a similar form too, as the new stems reach out in 45 degree angles from the older branches. Ultimately, it becomes a bush of about 5 ft by 5 ft, but it can also be grown as a single stemmed, little tree. Edgeworthia is very picky of its growing conditions and requires heavy loam and a sheltered location with no major frosts to thrive. Its flowers are quite insignificant, yellow tubular ones growing in tight clusters, but they are really wonderful when still in bud, covered by a silky, silvery hair, soft like rabbits ears if you touch them.

Trying to get a glimpse of the reluctant buds...

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I've always loved Japanese paper, those light-weight, translucent sheets that reveal a fine structure if held against light, which can be found in good art supply stores. So I was quite intrigued to find out that Edgeworthia, or Mitsumata in Japanese, is actually one of the three most common raw materials for making Washi, a Japanese paper used for calligraphy and printmaking. The Grove Encyclopedia of materials and techniques in art tells that the Japanese farmers have since the 10th century cultivated Mitsumata to make paper during the cold winter months; low temperature discourages mold growth and tightens the fibres to produce crisper sheets. The fibre from the inner bark is washed and beaten by hand and foot in the clear running winter streams (I shiver even at the thought of this), then cooked with wood ash and washed again several times before it is set in bamboo and silk screens and processed further to become sheets of smooth, glossy, insect-resistant paper.

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The Japanese tea house at the Bellevue Botanical Garden; traditionally, Washi was used to make screens and windows for Japanese houses.

Edgeworthia is still used to make Washi paper today, even if I suspect that only few farmers produce it with the ancient method described above. And even if yellow is not my favorite color in the spring garden (besides Hamamelis, I usually find white flowers from Narcissus to tulips a bit more attractive, even if I'm not fully consistent on this...), I think Edgeworthia with its wonderful scent and interesting history would definitely be worth a try in a garden with the right conditions.

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A biased report of the Royal Botanic Gardens in Melbourne

Entrance to the Ian Potter Foundation Children's Garden... with Muehlbeckia sculptures trained on wire (bad hair day! as my girls said), and tactile fronds of asparagus fern, Asparagus densiflorus.

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A friend of mine who also happens to be a psychiatrist, said once that women always have a special relationship with the houses they lived in when they got their babies. I think this could be extended to other significant places from that same period of time in life, like the parks and gardens where they went with their babies. Just thinking of the first steps my daughters took on the rolling lawns of the Royal Botanic Gardens in Melbourne makes me completely and positively biased towards this peaceful, blooming park by the Yarra river, just a stone's throw from the bustling tennis courts of the Australian Open tournament.

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A Victorian house for private functions with adjoining perennial border.

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Furry stems and flowers of kangaroo paw, Anigozanthos 'Big Red'.

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Founded in 1845, only ten years later than the City of Melbourne, the Royal Botanic Gardens follows the proud tradition of botanical gardens around the world. Trees, shrubs and other plants form all around the world grow on the grounds, many of them gathered in special collections highlighting special plant habitats or regions. Many plants are neatly labeled, which helps the curious visitor to identify the surrounding botanical riches. Extensive lawns that were designed in the mid-1900s provide sweeping views of the plantings, which are often gathered into islands and large beds. Large ornamental ponds reflect the greenery and double as water reservoirs.

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Red flowering gum, Corymbia ficifolia 'Summertime' in full bloom in the children's garden.
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Queensland bottle trees, Brachychiton rupestris, by the entrance of the children's gardens. Tower of the Governor's House in the background.

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A bamboo grove for young explorers to get lost in.

One of the most exciting parts of the gardens is the new Ian Potter Foundation Children's Garden, where kids can run around, explore and learn about plants. It is beautifully designed, with tunnels, water rills and climbing platforms to enjoy water or the canopies of the high bamboos. Alternatively, they can check our what's in season the kitchen garden - during our visit, salads had already bolted, but radishes and onions looked delicious.
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View from the kitchen garden.

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Echinaceas thriving in the kitchen garden.

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It would be very spoilt to say that there is nothing extraordinary about the Royal Botanic Gardens in Melbourne, even if in one sense there isn't - all features of the gardens have been done elsewhere in other botanical gardens, even if the children's garden is one of the best I've seen. But the abundant vegetation, temperate climate, softly rolling hills and location by the river Yarra make their magic here. And the way Melburnians use their gardens, from sunrise to sunset.

The herb garden.
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Buds and flowers of pomegranate, Punica granatum.

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First thing in the morning, early joggers 'do the Tan', a nickname for the path that leads around the gardens (out of nostalgia, I did the Tan every day during our visit, exchanging a smiling good morning with every jogger I met...). Later, moms with strollers and the lunch crowds arrive, and during afternoons, whole families gather to play together in the gardens. In the evenings, culture aficionados devour Shakespeare plays or all kinds of concerts under the starry skies. So even without my memories about my girls, with unsteady steps and eager to smell the flowers, nosediving into the lush flowerbeds, this garden would be a wonderful oasis to visit. And with those memories attached, it is one of the special places in my and my daughters' lives.

Families teaching cricket to their toddlers in front of the bamboo groves (ball games are strictly prohibited, but quietly tolerated when the participants are under 5...).

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