Ruby takes a nice splash after her run

From the outset my intention was to create a garden where various creatures would feel and be safe. One of my first considerations was the dogs. Border Collies need ample room to run. They just do. Those of you familiar with the breed will testify that they are very high energy dogs and need to express that energy or they will become, well, unhappy and destructive. The simple act of chasing a ball and returning with it will do. Over and over again, several times each day. So that was first on my list, a place where Conner (and later Ruby) could safely play. The garden is a block deep, and well fenced in. Perfect blessing.

I also wanted privacy, and as long ago the original owner of this charming craftsman house was president of the local garden club, as I mentioned recently, I benefitted greatly that her plantings had reached full maturity. Thus the fig tree, the apple tree, the plum tree, the myrtle, the forsythia, the rose arbor, the high fencing and the many trumpet vines all helped encase the deep yard with a dense wall of greenery and protection. I have only added to that with abundant bamboo, butterfly bush and mallow. Augmenting the insular aura is a patch of forest like greenery in the back half of the south side of the yard. Yes, we are quite protected.

Within this lovely field there is the critical element of the invitation. Who would find themselves welcomed, and how would they know? The butterflies will recognize the invitation of the butterfly bush.

The honeybees thrive in the many roses, the poppies and the large old stands of lavender. The little black rumps of bumblebees dance happily among the pink and white and red hollyhocks.

The hummingbirds dart daringly from the ample orange trumpet vine to trumpet vine, which spills up through the rose arbor into a blue sky.

Then there are the scrubjays. Longtime readers will recall I have become very fond of a family of scrubjays now having thoroughly claimed this garden as their own. I have witnessed now three years of nesting and fledges. But this year is different and very very special. This year the three fledglings have really never left, and have very specific patterns of using the garden, which they do very boldly. Early in the morning they squawk about the kitchen windows, just beyond where their birth nest lay, reminding me it clearly is time for their share of my peanuts. Oh, yes. I leave shelled peanuts on the sidewalk in clear view, and whistle, and within moments they land on the fence to verify their breakfast is ready.

They are charming and endearing, bringing an early morning smile to my lips. Once this ritual has been performed they seem to take off about the neighborhood, but always by mid-morning they appear in the back garden where they basically take over. If the dogs come out, they do not fly away. Oh, no. They are more likely to protest, as it is clearly their turn. We usually oblige. They bathe in the birdbath. They poop on all the lawn furniture. Yes, they do. And they scratch about in the ground, eat ripe plums from the plum tree, and bask in the morning sun on the morning glory arches. I am honored and deeply gladdened that they feel so utterly safe in the sanctity of the garden to such a degree that they have made it their own. They have a sense of place and I am inordinately blessed to have been the recipient of their trust.

Another early morning visitor, the most precious one of all, is my daughter who is currently here in transition. It is her morning habit to meditate in the garden and on more than one occasion she has opened her eyes to find all three scrub jays sitting on three chairs that stand nearby where she sits, calmly watching her. The sheer thought of it warms my heart that such a place has been created where this lovely interaction might take place.

Such is the measure of the success of my gardening plan. Oh, yes, there are tomatoes. And the ever present (adored) arugula. There are the herbs. And flowers. There are roses beyond roses, old ones.

For all of this I am deeply grateful. But most of all I cherish the sanctuary that the garden has become for all those I hold dear, all creatures great and small. In the early morning it is the place I turn to awaken my body, my heart and soul. In the depth of the day I can turn away from the computer, from my activities as book publicist and writer and sit in the shade of the mulberry tree or warm in the gentle sun, taking in the sounds of the local critters: squirrels, my scrubbies, the crows and an owl who has recently joined the chorus. Filled up I can resume the day, ready for a virtual urban environment, nurtured and softened by the treasures of my garden, just outside the back door.

What sanctuaries do you hold dear, turn to, that fill you up, dear readers? Are you so blessed, as you so deserve?

Love and gardening blessings,
Kathryn xoxo

Posted on July 12th, 2009 by Kathryn
Filed under: Sacred places | 16 Comments »

Last winter, strangely, there appeared many dark bluish purple berries on a very large shrub rather lost in a foresty section of the garden, that I must confess, I had not fully researched to identify. The berries were very enticing that particular morning as they were encased in the ever so slightest of moisture, appearing to be glazed. They were enchanting and I ran for my camera to capture them. So glad I did.

I wondered about these berries, then, for a few days. Quite honestly I wanted to eat them, but I didn’t know what they were, so knew that was definitely not an option. And I simply did not take the time to snap off a branch and take them to a local nursery in hopes of someone telling me what they might be. In part this was due to suspecting they were planted many decades ago by a woman, I learned not long after moving into this home nearly four years ago, who had served as president of the local gardening club. (To her I owe much of my mature garden.) So I suppose I suspected this particular plant might be something not so easily recognized in the modern world, particularly as I could not recall ever seeing it before. Part of my reluctance was also fueled by not having seen a single bird eating those lovely berries in those early days of their emergence, so assumed they must be decorative, lessening my interest. You can imagine my surprise when I went out into the garden one morning shortly after and found not a single berry on the shrub. So someone liked them. I’m guessing robins who infrequently, but regularly swoop through like clockwork when there is something yummy on their radar. And then they disappear for months. So fascinating. And that’s how that went down.

Now here it is early summer and the shrub is fully in gorgeous flower and finally is fully within my own curiosity sites. How could it not?

Yesterday I took the initiative to snap off that branch at last, wrap it in a wet paper towel and rush it off to John, everyone’s favorite nurseryman, and asked his opinion. He scratched his head and muttered something in Latin and fortunately I caught the first part: myrtle. Google helped with the rest, and Myrtle communis is what I have to be thankful for. Lucky me. Intrigued and now fully engaged I set to work to learn all I could about true myrtle.

First, I can, indeed, eat them, though apparently jam would be a higher option. Interestingly I can dry the berries and use them as a substitute for pepper, which I might explore, as I do not use black pepper in my kitchen ever, though I do use cayenne. (The body likes it better.) The leaves, I learned, have sometimes been used as a substitute for bay. Good to know, though a bay laurel is just outside the front door. But duly noted.

True myrtle is repeatedly referred to as a very old plant. It’s been with civilization for a very long time and is many times referred to in the Bible. It is most commonly associated with the Mediterranean region. In Greek mythology true myrtle is ascribed to have been sacred to Aphrodite, and, indeed, as Venus emerges from the sea, she is said to have hidden herself among the myrtle trees. In Rome Virgil states, “the poplar is most dear to Alcides, the vine to Bacchus, the myrtle to lovely Venus.” This was extended to the practice of women carrying myrtle in their bridal bouquets or of weaving wreathes of myrtle, worn in their wedding rituals. Frequent readers will not be surprised at all that this bit of information completely captured my imagination and I resolved immediately to make a wreath this morning, which I did, and enlisted the support of my very beautiful daughter to share the lovely result with all of you.

Indeed, it was Antonia who noticed immediately how beautifully fragrant the myrtle was when I gathered some yesterday morning and coupled with some pink hydrangea for a breakfast bouquet. It has a deeply spicey perfume emanating that is very rich and attractive. I do hope you will find some in your environs to enjoy. I also would encourage you to grow it, particularly for those of you who are water conscious as it proves to be not a fussy plant, and needing very little water, undoubtedly contributing to its longevity and easy survival. The one in my garden has been given free reign for a long time so it has become very large, indeed. Here you see just how much it has expanded over time. Conner wanted to be included in the frame. Enjoy.

Love and many gardening blessings,
Kathryn xoxo

Posted on June 27th, 2009 by Kathryn
Filed under: Plants | 33 Comments »