Book Notes: An Island Garden by Celia Thaxter

Cover An Island Garden

Welcome! Today marks the launching of the Book Notes section of Plant Whatever Brings You Joy! My first offering was inspired by the introduction of 1800’s New England writer/gardener Celia Thaxter into my life by my friend David who lived in Portsmouth, NH for a number of years, and is very fond of that area and its history. David inquired if I was familiar with Celia Thaxter’s work, as he knew of my love for gardening, which Celia shared. This animated conversation led to my purchasing An Island Garden, originally published in 1894 by Houghton Mifflin Company, and most fortunately, republished and faithfully reproduced by the same company in recent years. The book is graced throughout with the exquisitely charming paintings of her friend, impressionistic artist Childe Hassam. The painting above appears (are you ready?) on the slipcase! And, inside, is a reproduction of the original cover, which you will see below, of the gold-stamped design of Sarah Wyman Whitman.

cover of Celia Thaxer's bk.

I found the entire package utterly enchanting.

In order to appreciate the text of An Island Garden it is important to know a bit of Celia Thaxter’s unusual life. Celia was born in New Hampshire in 1835. When she was four her father, Thomas Laighton, moved the entire family to one of the smallest of the Isles of Shoals, called White Island, in order to tend the lighthouse. There Celia spent her formative years surrounded by the sea. At age 15 she married her tutor, Levi Thaxter. The marriage led to her being transplanted to the mainland, much to her chagrin, and by 1858, to the births of three small sons.

As destiny would have it, Levi Thaxter and Celia’s father join forces and a hotel is built upon another island, renamed Appledore, after which the hotel is named, and so Celia’s life reclaims its rightful place in the Isles of Shoals, where she creates a small garden which, unbelieveably, these many decades later, is being kept to this day by devoted fans, who recognized its beauty and dedicated them-selves to its maintenance. Can you imagine, dear readers? Additionally Celia’s husband arranges for one of her early poems to be published in The Atlantic Monthly. Her writing career is born and she begins to attract writers and artists to Appledore in summers and thus an entire literary culture is born about her. (Why I was never taught about her as an English major in college escapes me.)

Tasha Tudor writes the foreword for the new edition and here she quotes Celia,
and I would wager that many many gardeners who happen upon this quote will strongly identify. You know who you are.

“Ever since I could remember anything, flowers have been like dear friends to me, comforters, inspirers, powers to uplift and cheer. A lonely child, living on the lighthouse island ten miles away from the mainland, every blade of grass that sprang out of the ground, every humblest weed, was precious in my sight, and I began a little garden when not more than five years old.”

Charm abounds in An Island Garden, as Celia deals with the universal struggles of slugs (she abores them, rises fitfully in the middle of the night to rid her garden of them, and in desperation has toads imported by the dozens to banish them, which nearly works); her battles with weeds (no instant fixes in the garden store, but relying heavily on homemade formulas of salt and wood-ash, needing to wash them meticulously off various plants later to save them); and her overarching love of flowers. The most noticeable fact in Celia’s life is that she is near-monastic, and completely undisturbed to focus exclusively on her garden-and does. The environ in which she finds herself enables her to meditate on each particular beauty in such exquisite detail that her renderings of the stories of each is rarely offered in our modern lives. Indeed, the sheer reading requires great attention to detail, so I’d say, the reading itself is a meditation and one well worth the attention for all who love their gardens. An Island Garden can only continue to capture the hearts and imaginations of readers who share a love of the land and of the sheer joy of planting a seed in the ground and watching in humility as the miracle of life repeats its sacred promise to unfold.

“Yes, the sowing of a seed seems a very simple matter, but I always feel as it were a sacred thing among the mysteries of God. Standing by that space of blank and motionless ground, I think of all it holds of beauty and delight, and I am filled with joy at the thought that I may be the magician to whom power is given to summon so sweet a pageant from the silent and passive soil.”

Celia Thaxter

You can well imagine why I say An Island Garden resonates within me and I thus declare it to be, “Highly recommended.”

Beauty in the Midst of Bleak Winter

OK, I decided to take brilliant photographer David Perry‘s Challenge and go into my yard with my camera and look for signs of life and color. I have to admit that David lives up in the far Pacific Northwest and he was offering his suggestion (in addition to in a recent post) to gardener Dee who lives in Oklahoma, so, honestly, they might be both a bit snow-challenged at the moment. This didn’t stop Dee from taking some stunning photographs of her snowy backyard, but I do understand. Nevertheless, I had been maybe just a teeny bit gloomy about the garden this last week after being inundated with the heaviest storms in two years–all much-needed and welcomed water, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I am SICK OF MUD and add I am relishing that sun streaming in through my office window onto my keyboard right now. Yum. Such a sun bunny. It’s ridiculous.

Through the sog [I make up words, what can I say?] a glim ray of inspiration kindled my creativity so I gathered my camera and slushed out bravely through the M#*, actually forgetting about it for the first time in weeks, and lost myself in the following mind exercise: what would David shoot? (As if.) I honestly did not bear high hopes for my excursion, but went with the process. Film is back.
[Yes, I’m still using a 35 mm. camera–a good one.] And here were the surprising results!

Seeking color I jumped immediately toward the single large rosehip which I’d not cut off the roses on the arbor behind my vege garden. Here is it.

Rosehip

Is it not cute? Next year I will hesitate to cut them back. Why have I abandoned my Sixties roots? They are a rich source of Vitamin C and a lovely cup of tea.
And so decorative meanwhile!

Wait, there’s more! Keeping the rosehip company in the arbor is the birdhouse. Granted it’s more for looks than for occupation, but it has its place, especially in winter, apparently, where its bright colors offer relief.
birdhouse

Continuing my quest, I looked about for things I would not normally think to
shoot. Where is the color? Where is the color? The life. The beauty. Conner had his own ideas, so I went along with his perceptions for a moment. And what he loved most was a yellow ball he and Ruby got for Christmas which he’d dropped into a big washtub I’d left rightside up for Ruby, to collect rainwater, as one of her favorite things in the world is to jump into water front paws first, kaboom. So I let my camera look through Conner’s eyes, and this is what he saw:

Conner in tub

What else? What else? Well, the most conspicuous splash of color in the yard at the moment is this birdbath I found in a Marshall’s in Scottsdale when I was still in the desert. When you are trying to garden in the desert you welcome such pieces, trust me! Here in California it blends into the foilage, but in winter, it does, indeed, pop!
Sunflower birdbath

Glancing around I certainly could not ignore the line-up of my European pots full of orphan roses I’d saved from (cough, cough) Walmart, all withered and overgrown and unbelieveably cheap! In summer they burst with those lovely single petaled pinks and whites and yellow saucer big roses. I love them. And now, refocus, it’s about the POTS.
rosepots

Rounding out my Little Tour with New Eyes, I explored the last vestiges of the quince.
quince

Maybe next year someone will teach me what to do with them. I fear they are a lost art/delicacy…

And, finally, a visit to the white lilac bush that graces the corner of my front yard, bearing the harbingers of spring–full of buds promising their sweetest fragrance and loveliest of blossoms that each passerby can enjoy.

White lilac bush in bud

Thanks to David for his invitation. May we all be inspired to look for beauty in the midst of our own winter seasons.

Love and blessings,
Kathryn

Goodbye Christmas–In With the New

Pointsettia w/ lamps

I had just cleared out nearly all the Christmas symbols, except the tree, making space to usher in All Things New when my neighbors offered me their large pointsettia as they are apparently leaving for the desert soon. Palm Springs sounds good to me. The desert is so lovely at this time of year. I guess Christmas is still upon me. So be it. I will embrace and light a candle and give thanks for all the season bestowed upon me and mine as I welcome in 2008. I did want to bake one more batch of Mexican Wedding Cake cookies (Joy of Cooking–soooo easy) and I never did get to the date pinwheel cookies anyway, even after buying a reprint of that old standard, Betty Crocker’s Cooky Book (1963). I wonder when we started spelling cookie with an “ie”?

Most importantly I wanted to pass along one of my favorite family traditions,
so get out a paper and pen (or just print this out) for this is one recipe you will be grateful to have and you may find yourself incorporating for years as we have. It’s for Chai. I have no idea what chai tastes like in their countries of origin, but this is our version. I don’t even know who taught me to make this or if I made it up. But it’s what I do every holiday morning, and given that it has caffeine, but is special, you might want to make a quick run to the market and make this up for New Year’s Day. You won’t be sorry.

So this is what I do.

I put about eight cups of water in a largish pan. I put into the water a goodly
amount of freshly sliced ginger. If I had to say how much I’d say six or seven tablespoons, but if you just take about three inches of ginger root and slice and throw in the water, you’ll be fine. Then add at least a dozen cardamom seeds.
Maybe go for fifteen, if you like spices. And then put four good sized cinnamon sticks in the water. Turn on the heat and bring to boil. Turn heat down and allow to simmer. I take a spoon and break up the cardamom seeds by pushing against side of the pain after awhile. Continue simmering over low heat for at least a half an hour. Turn off the heat. Add eight to ten black tea bags. I use English Breakfast. I’m sure someone from Asia will be appalled, but it works for me. Cover. Steep. Now add enough HONEY for taste. (Don’t use sugar.) Then fill up the pan with milk, essentially near-doubling your liquid. Now reheat. I am known for this mixture. People ask, “Are you making chai?” so it has its fans. Maybe you will become one of them! Let me know. Enjoy thoroughly. I think hot tea will be in order on New Year’s Day, don’t you?

I don’t know about you but I’m ready. I have cleaned and saged the house and made my declarations about what I’m intending next. I am filled with excitement and anticipation and I feel strongly that 2008 will be a tremendously important year for us all.

May 2008 be a year for you of great joy, opportunity, adventure, exploration, courage, learning, gratitude and abundance. May you end the year counting your blessings and looking forward to more. Remember that what has heart and meaning always equals joy. Ask therefore what has heart and meaning for you. Then align yourself with that. Let go of all that is outdated and all that would distract you from your dreams.

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth
day of life and love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

-e e cummings

Happy New Year! Thank you for visiting.
Kathryn

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