You might (or might not) remember that a year and a half ago, a few members of Blithewold’s staff were invited to be in Martha Stewart’s Gardening Show studio audience. It was a hoot to sit in those bleachers watching the goings on of (part of) an empire and I have little memory anymore of what it felt like to drive to NYC in the wee hours of a should-be-sleeping-in morning. But I do still have some of the swag she gave away. By far the best thing in the tubtrug full of stuff was a book by her (magazine’s) gardening editorial director. Tomorrow’s Garden: Design and Inspiration for a New Age of Sustainable Gardening by Stephen Orr is full of gorgeous photos (taken by Orr) of inspiring modern gardens all over the country that illustrate a full spectrum of garden-with-nature possibilities. Along with telling his own garden’s story, he interviewed the other gardens’ gardeners on how their designs were created and maintained. And it’s generously peppered with plant lists and tips. The only beef I have with the book is that so many of the designs and ideas appeal to me that I’m no closer to deciding what to do in my own garden.

But it’s time for another look through it because this the time of year, when the season’s successes and problems are still fresh in my mind, is when I do my best thinking about garden design. Just this week, even in the soggy aftermath of the storm, Gail and I worked on a new vision for the moongate bed under the Sophora outside of the Rose Garden. That bed, which is our best example of dry shady conditions, has grown so well it had finally become almost overgrown. The plants we chose for that garden, things like epimedium, liriope, ginger, carex, hosta and tricyrtis, almost all going on 5 years old now, have proven themselves easily sustainable, with minimal supplemental watering during drought, and were finally in need of redistribution to (re)create a more aesthetically pleasing design. Since this is the best time to move epimedium (because it blooms so early in spring) and because this is when our brains are ready for that sort of exercise, we spent yesterday playing musical perennials. (Now that I’ve had a little practice again, I might be ready to make some decisions at home…)

If you are raring for inspiration the way I always am right about now, I say buy the book. –But wouldn’t it be even better to meet the author and hear his freshest thoughts on the subject? I’m so excited that Stephen Orr will be speaking at Blithewold’s annual Garden Design Luncheon next Thursday, November 8, 10am-2pm. A few (a very few) tickets are still available so register here asap. (Our fingers are crossed that his books will arrive in time from storm ravaged New York… If you already have a copy, bring it with you for him to sign.)

There are often artists in the garden. Some bring easels and paints, others bring notebooks and pens, or just their imagination. Ellen Hoverkamp brought her flatbed scanner and laptop.

If you did as I suggested back in May and bought Ken Druse’s latest book, Natural Companions: A Garden Lover’s Guide to Plant Combinations, you’d recognize Ellen as the artist who so beautifully illustrated those pages.

For two full days last week Ellen was an artist in residence, camped out in the carriage house making bee-like forays back and forth into the gardens for stems and branches.

She drew the shades and made the room as dark as possible to create portraits of Blithewold’s gardens on the surface of her scanner that have the immediacy of a plein air painting with the detail of a botanical etching months in the making. Given the ephemeral nature of cut specimen, Ellen has to work quickly to capture their vitality but what isn’t obvious, because the images are so fresh, is how much time she takes and how much care she puts into each composition. It’s only when you really stare into their details that you notice the details within the details. How one flower sort of speaks to another and how the eye is allowed to travel around without slamming against anything out of place.

I probably wouldn’t even be aware of how perfect her compositions are (which is part of what makes them so enjoyable) except that when I visited her at the end of my work day, she was taking tweezers to a tiny portion of a petal in a corner of the corner that didn’t hit her eye quite right and showed no sign of fatigue. She’s got serious skill wrapped around the kind of hyper-critical perfectionist temperament artists are often born with, coupled with a patience some of us (I) lack. It was such a wonderful treat to get to get a glimpse of her process and help her pick from the gardens. And I’m thrilled that she’ll be back next Thursday, 6-8pm to show off what she made here. Come if you possibly can. Her work is inspiring on its own but her enthusiasm adds a-whole-nother dimension to it. And if you haven’t bought a copy of the book yet you’ll have that chance as well. I’m hoping she’ll have prints for sale too. There’s one I covet of the pollinator bed, with a sprig of Boltonia ‘Nally’s Lime Dot’ whispering in the ear of a big orange dahlia, that has me seriously reconsidering whether I really need things like lightbulbs, toothpaste, and trousers more than art…

Have you met Ellen or her art yet? Will you come on Thursday?

Tricia Bailey, our gardens intern this year, is a horticultural therapist by training and instinct has an infectious enthusiasm and energy for the work she clearly loves to do. She is even willing to write about it, which is a wonderful treat for me, and I believe will be a breath of fresh air for you. (See if you can feel it…) She and Gail clearly had fun working (playing) together to create a tour of the property that indulges and excites all of the senses. (Accompanying photos by Gail Read.)

Gail and I had the great pleasure of taking seven guests on our first sensory walk. It was Saturday, the first day of fall. The autumnal equinox is now upon us and with it the sky’s appearance changes, the colors are fading, the clouds are more expressive, the temperature slightly cooler and the air a bit crisper. It was a perfect day to enjoy our natural environment.

We had designed our walk to be a personal exploration with nature. We would stop at a chosen specimen where Gail would make the introduction and acquaint us with its plant biography and then I would encourage each guest to engage one or more of their senses for a more personal experience.

We decided to begin our walk among our majestic trees. It was so fitting for the beginning of our journey. Our sensory system is akin to being the roots of a tree. Without strong roots the tree cannot flourish and without a strong sensory foundation, we may not either.

During our walk we felt soft needles, hairy bark, rough cones and velvety catkins. We smelled the many plants that emit sweet, spicy, and woodsy tones. We listened for wind, waves, rustling grasses, birdsong and buzzing insects. We viewed colors, shadows, shapes, contrasts and reflections.

We finished our walk and indulged in refreshments that engaged the taste buds. We enjoyed sweet, sour and salty. We shared memories, laughter and conversation.

I’m reminded of the quote from English writer Hanna Rion Ver Beck –

“The greatest gift of the garden is the restoration of the five senses.”

Blithewold is truly a sensory delight.

Do you feel restored after a walk in nature?  Do you have a familiar sound, smell or taste that sparks a memory of good times?

I believe every day is a flower show but an honest-to-goodness Flower Show like the one at Rosecliff in Newport this weekend is a true extravaganza of floriferousness. And I’m not just saying that because we have an entry in one of the competitions. What makes a flower show showier than an everyday flower show in an everyday garden is that every combination of plants – every plant and every leaf of every plant, and every flower is perfectly perfect: scrutinized and meticulously groomed and then judged accordingly. Each designer’s garden is amazing, no leaf out of place and no weeds allowed (not like at home); the containers are all stupendous; the flower arrangements are out of this world; and the cut specimen are always truly outstanding. I think that’s my favorite part of this show and I might just have to go back tomorrow to see what beauties were entered. It’s a great way to learn about new plants.

Competition makes a real Flower Show especially intense and that’s why when we were first invited, along with 5 other professional gardeners, to fill an enormous container with a “Samba Parade” theme, we balked. But then we totally got into it. Gail, Tricia and I put our heads together, floated all sorts of ideas and crazy hare-brained schemes over weeks of lunch breaks, cleared a large corner of the greenhouse to pair plants with ideas and decide on colors, and then went shopping.

We’ve actually been trying to beef up our own container show here with new pots and an exciting mix of plants but strive for sustainable combinations – either one plant or species per pot or just a few different things that will play nicely together, with nothing overtaking and not packed so tightly that they’ll need to be watered more than once every day or two or three. But the Samba Parade container only needs to thrive until we pick it up Monday morning so we jammed 10 different species in and hoped for the best: the plants survival and a blue ribbon.

Fingers are still crossed that the plants will make it through a warm weekend but I just found out that we won a red ribbon. Second best is nothing to sneeze at when the competition is so fierce. The judge’s comment on our entry card reads, “Festive choice of plant material. Design is divided by airy hopbush and dense group of tropicals.” We’ll take that and shoot for cohesion next time. We definitely had an advantage of a greenhouse full of mature and interesting plants to choose from – the purple-leaf hopbush (Dodonea viscosa) intrigued everyone who walked by as we worked – but we felt at a disadvantage to those professionals who are practiced at creating beautiful pots for clients every season and who are in the habit of ranging further afield than we do to find fabulous plants. What’s cool is that all of the containers in this class were winners. The blue ribbon went to one of our very favorite philanthropists, Mrs. Hamilton who employs a team of geniuses; two second place ribbons were awarded, and three were given third place.

Have you ever entered a container or cut specimen in a flower show? Would you do it again?

I would never complain about getting rain when we need it but almost every week for the last few we’ve lost at least one day with our volunteers. It has interfered with our planting schedule and dampness has made us postpone necessary deadheading and weeding to keep from compacting the soil. But the worst part is, this year the volunteer ranks have swelled to almost 40 hardy souls and our time getting to know the newbies and hanging out with old friends keeps getting interrupted. Today, despite the damp dreariness of the morning, some of those hardy souls, newbies and veterans alike, came prepared to lean into the Rose and North Garden from the very edges to deadhead and weed as much as we could reach from arms’ length. It’s a testament to our volunteers’ dedication that they would be so willing to be so sopping.

Last night at Blithewold’s annual meeting we were able to honor one of our most dedicated and loyal Wednesday “Rockettes”, Beverly Christ with the Anne Archibald Volunteer Service Award. As Gail said in her introduction, Bev has been quietly and steadily tending to the details of the minutia of the Rock Garden for well over 20 years, and we have come to rely very heavily on her to start seeds for us in spring. As quiet and tiny as Beverly is, she’s no mouse. She’s tough as nails and doesn’t suffer fools. She takes my cheek on the chin and gives it right back. I love her more than words can say – and that’s saying something.

I know I’ve said this before but it bears repeating over and over: Blithewold is a beautiful and special place because of the people who love it. Like any garden, it wouldn’t be worth visiting if no one poured heart and soul into it. We’re very, very lucky. Because when it rains, it totally pours.