Origanum sipleum

This is the third time that I'm trying Origanum sipleum (not sure of the spelling), a Turkish oregano. Each time I am enticed by the moody, dusky purple bracts of the fall plants at Agua Fria nursery. The first time, I planted a couple plants in my (relatively) protected courtyard, and the plants had severe winter damage by the following spring. They recovered acceptably by summer, and produced a nice crop of bracts, which were green, not purple. The following winter resulted in severe winter damage and the plants were removed. I bought another plant, of the darkest, duskiest purple I could find, planted it in a similar spot, and a similar thing happened. Green bracts, winter damage. This last time, a plant was planted in a pot on the north side of the house - harsher conditions yet. I expected complete death of the plant, but was surprised to find no winter damage. Many bracts have appeared, which although more colorful than the plants of previous years, are still not the dusky purple that I purchased. Maybe with cooler weather the bracts will color more. Or maybe the plants need even more drought stress. Or maybe the weather difference between here and Santa Fe makes the difference.

castle gardens: 2

Cawdor Castle (above) and Armadale Castle (below). I won't describe these like a travelogue or guidebook. You'll just have to go and see for yourself. Photos don't do them justice anyway.

Looking at these photos, I am reminded that the beauty of these gardens is that they celebrate Scotland's climate. I am sure that after a long and dreary winter, people are eager for plant growth and color. Fortunately the climate allows for this. The lesson, I think, for me in Albuquerque, is not to try to duplicate these gardens (as much as I would like to), but to find that celebration of locale in my own space. It's not likely that it will look like these gardens, and in fact, should not. My task then, is to observe carefully, to garden with awareness, and to discover that kernel of truth in the process that is the making of a garden.

castle gardens: 1

At the bookstore shortly before I left for Scotland, I was browsing through a book magnanimously titled: 1001 Gardens You Must See Before You Die. I was surprised to see the number of gardens in Scotland. Upon visiting, I concluded that as a gardener, Scotland is an fantastic place to visit. The weather in Scotland makes for amazing plant growth: steady moisture, long summer days (it was dark only from 11pm to 4:30am when I was there), cool summer temperatures (so that flowers last longer as well as being able to grow things like Himalayan blue poppy), and mild, if chilly and dark, winters (mild enough that plants like Phormium and Alstroemeria do fine).

I am certainly not an expert on Scottish gardens, and I'm sure I didn't visit more than a couple of places in the book. But even in my limited time there, I visited more places and saw more gardens than can be placed in a single post. I'm limiting myself to castle gardens (or big houses or such), and in order on in that these were the order in which I visited them. I'm also trying not to focus on individual flowers, although some were very impressive.

Two for today. Edinburgh castle (first three images above) and Abbotsford house (below), the house of Sir Walter Scott. I can't consider it a "house" myself. I really consider it a castle. It's a shame that the grass looks so brown in the photos. I did not see that at all when I was there, but I was preoccupied by the magnanimous borders, and the amazingly plump and tempting raspberries.

exuberant vs. overgrown

Before.


After.

In my garden, there is a fine line between exuberant and overgrown. As I was away on vacation, my garden went way over the line into unkempt. If my neighbors didn’t know that I was away, they might have thought that my house was abandoned or worse. Spent blooms and seed stalks were everywhere, plants had overgrown paths, and the artemesia and ‘Helen Von Stein’ lamb’s ears had bolted. What was an interesting and orderly combination of forms and textures had degraded in just over a week, into a riot. Who knew that spurge grew that quickly? Somehow the automatic watering system had failed and there had been no rain during my absence, whereas the monsoons were occuring when I left.

Unfortunately, I returned from Europe with the flu and all I could manage was to barely lift my head off the sofa and remember those glorious borders in Scotland and see how dramatically they differed from what I had (of course they have full-time gardeners to dead-head and tidy, but I ignored that fact). Today was the first day that I was able to stand upright for any time, and one of the first things I had to do was to do something about the garden.

Now there’s two things that can be done when the garden has gotten out of hands (well, three, if you count ignoring it). One option is to get out the Felco #8’s and do some cutting back and deadheading. That’s my first option and all I had energy for today. Another option is to break out the shovel. I usually wait for fall or spring to do this, since at this time of year, transplanting is not an option (the heat will kill anything not established, unless I am very careful about watering - not too much, not too little, cutting back, and shading). We are talking removal. I prune back to keep things under control until then.

Once things were trimmed back, I felt much better. Things were back into some sort of balance. The artemesia was given back some form and I had caught it before the allergen producing flowers had opened. The deadheading was accomplished (except for the ones I am saving for seed). The nepeta was pruned back. The stachys was made orderly.

Now it can be said that sometimes I am a bit too orderly. Sometimes I catch myself looking at a plant in full bloom (especially my orchids), and thinking, almost simultaneously as appreciating the flowers, that I can’t wait to trim off the flowers and deal with the dividing and repotting, or whatever else needs to be done, but can’t be done because the plant is in bloom. How sick is that? That’s the good thing about the plants I grow primarily for foliage, I suppose.

There are some people who have mastered the art of the casual garden. Their plants go to seed, they get sprawly and flop untidily, plants randomly die, leaves turn brown, fallen flowers remain unswept, and still their garden looks charmingly relaxed. They have mastered the art of Wabi-Sabi, the Japanese philosophy of finding the perfect in the imperfect. I am clearly not one of these people. Maybe one day.

castles, gardens, and monsters. oh my.

I've just returned after about 40 hours travel, returning from Scotland. It should have been about 22 hours, but let's just say that I'm not very happy about United Airlines right now. It's been an incredible 10 days, and about 800 photos. There are, of course, too many impressions and experiences to put into words, but let me be trite and just say that it was incredibly gorgeous. I'm not going to post much right now, since I'm 8 hours jet-lagged. I'll have to post more photos in the future.

Yes, that is my photo of Eilean Donan Castle (above), claimed to be the most photographed castle in the world. Yes, it was as striking as the photo shows, except of course, more so in person. And quite chilly. I wore two layers of fleece and a wool hat.

I haven't read much about the gardens in Scotland. It doesn't seem like the gardening world looks at Scotland, but focuses on England. But let me tell you that there are many, many fine gardens in Scotland. The flower borders at Cawdor Castle (below) were just like the borders seen in the photos of English borders. The natural landscape in Scotland is just as striking, with lushly green mountains and valleys.


Of course Scotland is known for the Loch Ness monster (which I think is rather silly, since there is so much more to recommend Scotland).


Here's my photo out the window of the boat, with a shot of nessie (a decal on the window of the boat). Even without the mystical nessie, the loch is amazing, and during our cruise, one end was shrouded in layers of fog, bringing to mind the book The Mists of Avalon. I wanted to stand on the prow of the boat and bring the mists down as in the book, so that we could dock in Avalon. But of course everyone would think I was truly crazy, even for an American, standing on the prow of the boat flapping my arms around.

And one word about kilts...yum.

bolder, boulder

Boulder, Colorado is at about the same altitude as where I live, but in a vastly different climate. We went to Boulder this weekend for Zimfest, an annual Zimbabwean music festival, where my partner's marimba band had a performance. I had a chance to visit a schoolmate and his family as well. I haven't seen Alex in 12 years.

Boulder has had a wet year, and the creeks were even overflowing the walkways. If you look carefully, you can see someone on the flooded path. But take a look at the trees. Real trees... tall trees... Despite the similarity in altitude, this ain't Albuquerque.

In case you don't know what a marimba is, here it is in action.

He also plays the mbira, here it is wired for sound.

Apparently someone built a cairn next to the stream at some point. Now it's in the middle of the stream.


This is probably an invasive weed in Boulder, but since it is blue, a photo had to be taken.

neofinetia falcata 2

And speaking of orchids, as opposed to the Epipactis in my previous post, most of the indoor orchids are in a growth phase except this one.

I blogged about another Neofinetia falcata a couple of weeks ago. This week, this Neo decided it would not be upstaged and is putting on an incredible show. I call this plant my "new Neo" since I acquired it a year or two after my other one. It's about 14 years old now. Most of the Neo's that I've seen (including mine) put out a stem or two, though they are lovely, graceful, and scented. Each individual flower is appreciated for its grace and beauty. This year, this Neo decided that it would go for quantity as well. There are 13 stems and I've counted 103 flowers, although I suspect I missed a stem or two. I'm overwhelmed. I think that the abundance is at the sacrifice of delicacy, but I'm not complaining. The flowers of this plant are also less fragrant than my other plant, smelling more like baby powder than the vanilla-orange of my other plant. I'm grateful for the qualities of each plant, each flower. Despite my cold.