GroHappy

We need a little Christmas

As we continue with another drought-ridden Spring, the desire to plant is tempered against the need to water what we have planted. But there are always commitments that we make in advance and that is what I did back in mid-March when I decided to buy Christmas tree seedlings from Musser Forests and start my own little farm. I had done this a few years ago with disastrous results as I bought fir trees that were beautiful in theory and delicious (to deer) in practice. This year I hope I have smartened up a bit by purchasing slightly larger Norway and Siberian spruce trees that the deer will turn a blind eye to and be less appetizing.

Over the past decade we have harvested three trees that planted themselves in different parts of our property. They were far from nursery perfect but they were grown on our back forty with little care or maintenance. In that sense they were special and when Juana decorated them they created a special feeling within the house.  I am hoping to repeat those unintended successes in about 3-5 years with the eight or so trees I have planted. I imagine Juana and I going out on a cold December day to pick the tree to cut down and to topple our Taunembaum together. Some Decembers may be a little different as she might decide to direct me via our kitchen window which tree to dispatch. Cold often trumps nostalgia.

Before those dreams can be realized I needed to pick a spot to plant the trees. After over 20 years of gardening, our property has become a bit plant-dense and every new addition has an increasingly difficult placement. Ironically, these trees were easy to spot as we set them up configured as an L-shaped  wind screen near our graveled parking area. They will never get large enough to break the wind from the house but will act as a nice visual barrier and a place for birds to wait their turns at our feeders.

In digging the holes for the trees, I was reminded of the density and weight of our clay-ridden soil. A thin layer of top soil is all that covers rocks and clay on much of our property. To give the trees a fighting chance I amend the soil with manure and compost. But as there are lots of 75-foot-plus conifers just across the street, I’m sure that they will do just fine as long as I water them.

The roots of these trees are nearly as long as the tree is tall, which sets my mind thinking about the depth and breath of the roots of its neighbors. Hurricane Sandy gave us some insights last fall as trees toppled as their root mass pulled up big balls of soil. I don’t think that these will ever get as large. If they do it will be a chore to get them up the stairs.

Bringing up baby

You can never tell what will grab the imagination of a client. An activity that you consider silly others will embrace as essential. Such has been the case with the grassheads exercise I did a few weeks back at Ann’s Place. While everyone happily took their bald babies home, I had no idea that a few would bring them back like proud parents to show them off to an admiring crowd.

One client had her babies on her cellphone to show off to us as well as her grandchildren. “Nobody thought they would grow so quickly.” Another brought her babies in nestled in their new homes with Eraserhead-like hair. The rye has done a good job taking off like new plants do when given a chance to grow.

“There is hair growing all places it shouldn’t,” said one client. “That means you made an old man, just like me,” I said pointing to my ears which had a few unwanted growths emerging.

Everyone giggled and it put us all into a good mood to start today’s exercise, which was pounding flowers. It seemed an interesting counterpoint to last week’s exercise in growth in that we would be pounding the life out of a delicate flower.

Gardening head cases

“It’s hard to make the glasses fit. You have quite a big head.”

Silence. Oops. Then laughter.

Let me start from the beginning.

Spring has been coming in with a whimper in New England with temperatures 15 degrees less than normal accompanied by a wicked north wind. While a few snowdrops, crocuses and hellebore flowers have sprouted everything else is staying put not wanting to get wind burn (like me.) So our first April class, which was to start with a nature walk, would be short as there was not too much to see outside that could not have been seen for the last month.

Some daffodils were attempting to raise their heads, a few buds were swelling on the dogwoods and witch hazel, and a few of the grasses were beginning to green up. We didn’t linger too much as the wind was chilling and the sights of little difference. There were a few signs of future warmth though. One of the mints that is in a sunny spot was advancing ahead of the rest as it had tiny shoots emerging from its crown. I snipped off a few sprigs and passed them around. My clients took in the scent with a long flourish as if they were awakened from a sensory slumber. I also pulled my first garlic mustard of the season imploring my clients to see if they could pick out this invasive smell.

Once inside we got to the business of making grassheads, which are a home-made version of a Chia pet. I never know how silly crafts will go over so I sometimes take chances to get everyone in the mood. As I started to explain the craft, I removed my glasses and replaced them with a faux Groucho set and started to pass out pairs to everyone.

“You need to wear these glasses to get into the proper mood and inspiration,” I said. “Look across the table at friends for models if you don’t have a good idea of what type of head you want to make.” As everyone struggled with their glasses, giggles and smiles emerged around the table. I had three sample to show people that were made by Juana, my granddaughter Charlotte and me. Charlotte’s was actually the most interesting of the three as it expressed a post-impressionist, Cubist design with eyes and facial features askew.    I then gave a demonstration of how you make a grasshead.

It’s quite simple. A stocking, some grass seed, soil, a few rubber bands, fake eyes, pom-poms, pipe cleaners, felt, glue gun and you have everything you need to create a grasshead. I told everyone that they could make as many as they desired; everyone created a pair. The trick to starting is to get a pot and stretch the stocking around it so it can be filled with grass seed and soil. It’s one of those dumb skills like knowing how to remove the top of a washing machine or dryer that once you know it, they pop right off but if you don’t you could wind up destroying the machine.

“How do these look,” asked one client. “They are perfect. You gave one angry eyes.” Another client used felt to create eyebrows. A few sprinkled grass seeds around the ears so an old-man look would be effected.

It often surprises me how versatile and creative clients become when you give them a variety of things to work with. Each head emerged with a different personality and style. There wasn’t too much talking as everyone was concentrating on their heads.  By the end of the class, everyone was proud of their creations. The silly exercise had worked. It was now time for a group picture.

Spring blisters

Last weekend was the first where it was evident that spring has arrived. Warm winds had melted the remaining snow of Easter and my raised beds were no longer caked with a permafrost layer binding the soil in a frozen, unworkable mass. The gardens could now have their blanket of remains removed.

The first rake of the season is bittersweet as it reveals what didn’t make it through the winter while exposing that which did. Tops of light green iris shoots that have yet to be exposed to the sun show themselves. The hollowed out stems of $2.99 mums that didn’t survive get pulled into the straw and leaves that have been bedded down for the last five months. As the rake passes over the ground, dust flies bringing with it a pre-hay-season sneeze.

The flower beds require a careful rake with large and small tools to work around and through the emerging perennials. You poke and pull lightly with an uneven rhythm. The lawn requires the opposite approach to liberate the thatch and remind the sleeping grass that it is time to wake. You lean heavy on the rake and pull with hard and short stokes so the tines can scrape the soil and pull the detritus away. Piles of ephemeral fluff form a line waiting to be put into the compost pile. You can’t leave too much out for too long as either the dog or wind will disrupt the neatness of your line.

Just as you begin to see the difference in the raked lawn and its untouched counterpart, you start to notice the change in your hands. There is a small sensitivity near the space between your thumb and index finger and someplace on your palm. You don’t think about it until you notice at a break that it is raw and red. It doesn’t matter if you wear gloves or not. Sooner or later the fact that you have not grabbed a rake for nearly half a year will take its payment on your hands. If you are lucky, only one or two small blisters will greet you at the end of the day.

These abrasions and associated sore muscles are a small price to pay for the promise of fresh growth. The yard is poised to explode with a bit a water and warmth. You can’t wait so you keep working, looking to finish so the season can continue. The emerging green is just one of April’s sensory clues. The compost pile has started to warm giving off a festering smell of transformation. The touch of newly raked soil has a moist newness that is ready to feed any seed or plant. Early sorrel is more lemony than bitter and then there are the sounds. Unlike many of my neighbors, I don’t attach myself to an electronic appendage to drown out the surroundings. Instead I key into woodpecker’s rattle, the scrape of the rake against the ground and quiet rustle of last seasons remains being dropped into a pail for removal. 

Colors of spring

You wouldn’t know that it has changed seasons in New England as we keep getting “snow events,” a few times a week. The last one occurred a few days before Spring leading the vast majority of my clients to cancel out on me due to the inclement weather. The weather of the past few months have been a tease as a slow melt down to grass and soil is quickly followed by a coating of snow and the cycle repeats itself. Snowdrops and hellebores have poked out but little else. The backdrop is white with little differentiation save the skeletons of trees sending their shadows across the landscape.

At this time of year I try to brighten the mood of clients and focus on living and bright things. I put together a session of pressed flower arrangement so that at least half of that desire could be met. As it was, four clients decided to make the trek as the severity of the weather abated a bit and made driving fairly safe. I had acquired quite a few different dried flowers and laid them on the table for clients to start to think about what and how they would create their designs

“Last year we were outside building sundials and walking the grounds. This year we needed to pick something a bit more indoors,” I started off the class with. “But the good news is that in a few months we can all start saving flowers and drying them for use in more inclement times.” And with that I showed everyone my flower press with samples from last summer.

“How did you do that? Are we going to build a flower press,” asked one client. “Yes, but we will wait until the summer so we can press flowers from our garden here.”

“Why did some of your flowers lose their color,” asked another. “Some flowers keep their colors better than others and there are more complex techniques than what I do that help and make a difference.”

I could see that my clients were more interested in starting to make their designs so I got into the nitty-gritty of how to proceed. I suggested that everyone lay out a design first on a separate piece of paper before gluing things together. I also gave everyone tweezers so they could more easily select a flower.

With a few more details, everyone started to make a picture of pressed flowers. While there was a bit of cross talk, all the clients seemed absorbed in the design and selection of paper, flowers and frame. Their gaze vacillated between the packets of flowers and their emerging creations. As they started to fasten their flowers to the paper and each other, the room became silent as they were concentrating as would a precision craftsman working with a delicate creation.

When the frame was placed on each picture, they all expressed amazement on how well their picture turned out as well as that of others in the class. It was a good looking and happy group. Time to take a picture.

Growing up

You can never tell how well (or badly) a horticultural therapy will be received. My last session on growing an early kitchen spring garden maxed out with a baker’s dozen of clients who crammed around the table. It appeared that some just came not expecting what to get out of the day, but the idea of a spring garden in early March was enough to fill the room.

“While many of you may think it too early to start a garden, I have to tell you I have been late in starting my greens for early spring planting. If you have a window that gets a good amount of light during the day, you can start a garden today that should start giving you enough for a simple salad by mid-April. In fact, some of the radish seeds I have picked out for you today mature in less than 1 month.”  We then got into a discussion and back and forth of how seeds grow and the different types of things you can easily grow at this time of year.

“How deep should I plant the seeds,” asked one woman. “Great question. The easiest way to consider it is by the size of the seed. Tiny seeds like lettuce should be covered with 1/8 to 1/4 inch of soil, while larger ones like squash can go as deep as 1 inch. The reason for this is that a seed has only so much energy before it needs to tap the nutrients in the soil and light. If you plant a small seed too deep, then it may die out because it used all the energy in the seed before it could tap the power of the sun.”

“Can we plant peppers and tomatoes now,” asked another. “Not for what we are doing. Those plants require higher temperatures and more light than you get at this time of year. It will be at least another month before you want to start tomatoes.”

“When can we place our boxes outside,” said another client. “It depends. If we have nice sunny days when the temperature will get into the low 50s, it’s a good idea to put the box outside for as long as it is warm and then bring the box back in when it cools down. It won’t be until late March or early April when you could leave these boxes outside all the time.”

After we cleared the air of questions I then got down to some of the tricks of planting seeds, “How do you think, you can plant some of these seeds,” I asked as I passed around packets and lettuce and claytonia seeds, both of which are very tiny. As my clients strained to see the seeds, I saw that doubts started to creep in their minds as to how easy the task would prove to be. I then showed them a hand seed sower that I got at Johnny’s that would make the chore a snap. A collective sigh.

We then got started. We needed to wet and mix the soil before planting because if you don’t the seeds will float around as the mixture attempts to absorb the water. I always find that groups vary between mud lovers who will mix the soil and water with bare hands to those who will only work with gloves and a trowel. People paired off naturally and made nice mixes in buckets. We then used electrical wire that we attached to the insides of the boxes as a hoop that would support plastic to create a warm greenhouse-like environment for the seedlings once they emerged.

Even though we had a pretty tight fit in the room, the trepidation somewhat expressed initially gave way to hopeful enthusiasm for the emergence of salad greens and a radish or two.

Advancing the season

The moment Juana and I stepped off the plane from Florida, we realized that we were not in the tropics anymore: The temperature was 50 degrees less than what we had become used to and the early green of southern dogwoods and oaks were replaced by the skeletons of their northern relatives. This mattered little, in a way, as it was now time to start seedlings for spring planting.

My kit was stored in the backyard shed: The snow had mostly melted leaving a white, icy remnant that crunched as I approached it. Enough had melted so the door would open easily and I saw my gear: grow light and stand, legs, plywood board that would hold my seedlings. And of course my bags of soil, which were frozen into plastic coated rocks.  I took the soil inside and started to thaw out portions that I could place in flats. As my soil melted, I walked though the snow to get the rest of my seedling gear.

For the next two months, our solarium becomes crowded with bulbs, seedlings, and plants waiting for the sign that they can be placed outside and liberated from the artificial heat and light that lets them grow and thrive. Those days seemed a bit remote as I chiseled chunks of soil and placed them into a bucket to further thaw out.

After a few hours the soil absorbed enough warmth to dissolve into a cold loamy mass that needed a bit of water to increase its moisture for the seedlings-to-be. I started out with two trays and 10 different variety of greens and vegetables: broccoli, space spinach, mizuna, tango lettuce, claytonia, mesclun, deer tongue lettuce, swiss chard, kale and pak choy.

I sprinkled seeds into their respective blocks hoping that my efforts would emerge soon. They have.

Now every day Charlotte and I check their progress, mist the seedlings and anticipate the day when we can quickly grab a sweet leaf into our waiting mouths. We can hardly wait.

LOL with your inner child

I have always liked a good laugh and regardless of the client base I believe that a successful session is always accompanied by a few chuckles.

It can become more challenging when you have a room full of clients in different stages of cancer as you inadvertently don’t want to say anything that will trigger a painful response. Humor must be used carefully, a lesson that I have learned the hard way.

So one of my techniques when I have a group is to reveal a bit of unusual history or read something that they may have not heard of before. I think if you can spike their curiosity in an innocent and simple way, you
will always win their hearts. I found myself in that situation recently for my last class on the language of flowers.            

I thought that a poem on flowers would be a suitable way to start the exercise but after going through a load of them, none really created the mood I was looking for. After reading Wordsworth’s poem, “The Daffodils,” however, I remembered an old Bullwinkle & Rocky cartoon from my misspent youth that could do the trick.

“Now that we have finished with the mechanics of how to put together a tussie-mussy, I think that a poem would be a nice way to start,” I said. I saw some discomfort and visual groans as I turned my computer to my clients. Show time!

But the groans soon turned to grins as all seemed bemused by the Moose-like rendition of an English classic that all had heard many years ago.

You are cold and heartless: The language of flowers

“You need to be mindful of how you put flowers together,” I recently counseled a class at Ann’s Place. “You might not realize what you are saying. For instance, a bouquet of hydrangeas tells someone that they are cold and heartless. Almond blossoms convey stupidity and a hellebore implies scandal.”  My clients looked shocked.

“One the other hand a red rose is passionate love, ivy is fidelity and a daisy represents innocence and simplicity. But never combine any “nice” flower with a foxglove as it represents insincerity so in a bouquet of love and well-meaning messages it negates all of the positives.”

Everyone giggled a bit and we went on to focus on the day’s exercise, which was the creation of tussie-mussies or nosegays for the class. These Victorian-era arrangements were the 1800s floral version of Twitter as people used them to send clandestine messages to one another. Prior to this mode of communication, they were primarily used to keep the stench of the day at bay as bathing and the concept of closed sewers were somewhat foreign to many cultures.

I was able to gather 30 different flowers, ferns and branches to give my clients a rich “vocabulary”  to create different tussie-mussies. While the flowers were lovely, they didn’t have much scent as most commercial flowers have been bred for travel and looks. That didn’t seem to matter to the clients as they selected, cut, tied together and arranged their tussie-mussies.

My clients didn’t seem to care too much about the language of flowers rather they were interested in their looks. Part of the challenge in the days of tussie-mussies is that there were many different dictionaries, each of which gave slightly different definitions of each flower. For instance, a yellow carnation means admiration in one book yet distain in another: two very different feelings.

Ironically, no one focused too much on the language of flowers but rather how the specimens I brought by could be arranged into something lovely. With winter still six weeks in front of us, that is probably not too much to ask.

 

Bluebird feeder

One of the more lovely birds that come to visit our feeders are bluebirds. Prior to the blizzard of last week, half a dozen descended on the back yard feeder looking to stock up before the bad weather hit. Too many were sidled up bottom-to-bottom on the weighted bird bar so that it tipped and they were unable to feed. After a bit of experimentation, they soon realized that they would need to take turns in order to eat and fatten up.

This year has been a bluebird bonanza for us. A few years ago only a single pair came to our feeders and now we have at least three. We see few of these colorful flyers during the summer as the feeders with sunflower seeds are retired, keeping only the thistle feeder out for the finches. While the flowers in our garden give us many visitors in the spring, summer and fall, it is the winter feeder that gives us the most hope and happiness reminding us of all the color that will soon return.