Musings on Babies

Our famiy has good news! Another child is coming to us. My niece has announced she is going to be a mommy for the first time. The parents and grandparents-to-be are very excited, and there's lots of preparation going on already. Our extended family is already huge and intensely close. Even though we are a diverse bunch, we would drop everything and be there for each other in a moment of need.

I was thinking recently how dependent an unborn baby is on its mother. Safe inside the womb, the baby receives whatever comes through the umbilical cord, good or bad. For many months the child is fed and nourished, and grows. Parent and child are as one, but the child is a completely unique individual.

As I was spending time with some of my new conifer babies, I realized how similar these infant plants are to human babies. A plant propagator starts with the mother plant, called the understock. It is healthy with a good root system. A small branch from another plant is grafted into the stem of the healthy plant, and if the surgery is successful, the small branch will begin to take its sustenance from the parent. While still attached to the understock, it will develop into a plant with characteristics completely different from the parent it is depending on for its very life.

Abies koreana 'Kohout's Icebreaker'

Pinus parviflora 'Tanima no yuki'

These are two of my babies, still attached to the parent. When they get a little older, the understock will be cut off at the graft and the new plant will develop into an adult.

Life is a miracle, whatever its species!

Not-So-Mighty Chiefs

I haven't been here in awhile. Life has its strange turns, and you never know when you're going to get surprised by one. My dear husband, soul-mate and best friend, went in for a simple surgical procedure on his carotid artery three weeks ago and came out with a dying kidney. Those pesky blood clots! One little blockage in a renal artery and a major body organ is strangled. I think when that happens in a heart, it's called a heart attack. Would this be a kidney attack? Whatever... we have moved into a new season of life where every day is uncertain and every moment is cherished.

I was sitting on my porch yesterday contemplating this sudden change in our lives when my gaze fell on my Pinus contorta 'Chief Joseph'. He is having a health crisis of his own. I guess I would have to say he's also fighting for his life due to circumstances beyond his control. First he lost every needle in a particularly wet winter. After I transplanted him, he seemed to go into shock, a downward spiral from which he may not recover, or will be forever disfigured.

Two chiefs fighting for their life, one in my garden and one in my life. I don't like this sense of helplessness. This is discord. This is a huge fermata in the music, time suspended...

This is my reminder that we are all one heartbeat away from stepping into eternity. I'm expecting both my chiefs to live, but for either of them this could be the finale of their life song.

The Word says "It is by Him we live, and move, and have our being." (Acts 17:28) It says "He holds all things together by the Word of His power." (Hebrews 1:3) It says "He has numbered our days before there was even one of them." (Proverbs 17:19-21)

It's up to God Almighty, all-wise, all-loving, Whose plans for each of us are perfect. His grace and strength are sufficient for every mountain we face. His blessed hope is the real music, after all!

Slaying Giants, Part 1

It was an expanse of garden needing to be filled. We were too busy building our house from the foundation up to be worrying about a landscaping plan. Big shrubs would make a nice screen between our neighbors and us, so off I went to bring home... something. "Something" ended up being a pieris japonica, a beauty bush, a burning bush, a snowball bush, a Rose of Sharon, and a red weigelia.

I like to believe I'm not the only gardener that makes these mistakes. Go to the plant store, find something blooming, bring it home and stick it in the ground. No plan, no vision, just space to be filled.

Thirty years have passed, and I have given myself a serious problem. Two, actually. I have fallen in love with conifers and need more space, and these shrubs have grown into huge monster bushes. Who would have dreamed that a beauty bush could block the view from a second story window? How could a small burning bush become a 15-foot torch? And that snowball bush is leaving its white blossoms on the roof of my neighbor's two-story house! These monsters have to be tamed somehow.

I'm starting with the beauty bush, which casts the largest shadow, refuses to bloom, and can no longer support its branches in our Seattle rain. Two years ago I took a chainsaw to it at the four-foot level, believing I could tame it. By this summer it had regained its height. Early on it dwarfed the Rose of Sharon, which struggled to survive by growing out of the ground horizontally in a desperate attempt to find the light. This is a giant that cannot be tamed.

Digging this one out is daunting. Its roots seem to go horizontal and its stem at the base is the size of a tree. And I'm not as young and strong as I once was. But it will go. If I have to dig every day for a week, it will go.

It is done. In the Bible, Goliath went down with one stone, but not all giants are slain that quickly. Some giants demand patience and persistence. And the garden is teaching me again, reminding me that there are giants in our lives that can only be defeated with the same patience and persistence. Addictions fall into that category. Childhood injuries and painful memories. Weight loss. Bad habits. God gives strength when our strength fails. I'm so grateful to the Lover of our Souls that longs to free us from these oppressive giants!

Beauty bush is gone. In its place, a beautiful Pinus parviflora 'Ogon Janome', also known as the Dragon's Eye Pine, will grow tall and its variegated needles will find all the sun they need. Soon I'll tackle the next giant, but for now, Ogon and I will find our song. The music is waiting...

The Two Gardens

The sun is out. For Seattle, that says a lot! The birds are busy at the feeders, the water is flowing in the fountains, the native geraniums are glowing purple in the dappled light, and overhead, my Acer palmatum 'Ukigumo' floats like a white cloud (aptly named "floating cloud maple"). Beyond, the myriad greens that make up my little forest world provide a living background tapestry. This is my view from my home office, and I am behind the glass looking out. I so want to be on the other side, but duty calls. Today I must work.


Back yard view from my office



Acer palmatum 'Ukigumo' (floating cloud)

What is it about a garden that calls to our very souls to come? I believe it's in our heart to need a garden. God himself planted the very first garden as He poured out his love in the act of creation. He placed the first man there. He gave His first man food, the company of animals, and a mate. It was all there in Eden -- beauty, love, nourishment, contentment, peace... God Himself. It all started in Eden.

"And the Lord God planted a garden toward the east, in Eden, and there He placed the man whom He had formed. And out of the ground the Lord God caused to grow every tree that is pleasing to the sight and good for food..."Genesis 2:8-9a

Fast-forward thousands of years. That first garden is now just a lost memory. This is another garden. Love, peace, contentment are gone. A Man is on His knees praying for a world in torment, a world bound by hate and ugliness, a world groaning for redemption. The ugliness that invaded Eden will end here, in Gethsemane, with this God-Man.

The two pivotal events in world history took place in gardens, two supreme acts of love. I believe it's in our human DNA to re-create Eden in our own way. It's our natural habitat, and there's music there that only the soul can hear.

Work can wait. I'm going outside to listen!

Gratitude

Stillness. The air is heavy, warm. Nothing moves, as though in breathless anticipation, waiting...

The weather is definitely confused. Last night the weather report said today's weather will be coming from the east to the west, over the mountains. That is so backward! We had three days of continual rumbling thunder, never experienced here before. It's July and I've heard the foghorns three or four mornings in a row. I think the jetstream must be lost.

Some of my virtual friends in the Midwest and east coast are going out of their minds from the extended drought. Today's reports: rain clouds but no rain; 5 plants going to the morgue; taking vacation time to water the gardens. One Kansas dweller is using a bottle cap as a rain gauge. 

The earth is brooding.

As a native Washingtonian, I've always hated the rain, the gray, the drizzle, the cold. I hate bundling up in sweaters and boots. I fantasize about moving to Hawaii. I dream of lying face down in turquoise blue water with my snorkel tube. This year, I've never been more grateful for the cool days, the lush green, even the smell of the fog.

It is so easy to forget about gratitude. I think all humans must be pessimists at heart. All the things that are "wrong" or uncomfortable can mask the bounty of blessings given every day... waking up to "the peace that passes all understanding"... the health and strength to be able to enjoy the day... the love of family and friends... the beauty of our creation... the gift of music.

I'm putting on an attitude of gratefulness. I'm amazed how it changes everything! Instead of seeing the gray sky, I feel the blessing of the cool moist air. Instead of striving, I can take pleasure from the simple things. When we fill our time and thoughts with meditating on God's blessings, there's no time left for negativity or depression, what I like to call stinkin' thinkin'.

Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, let your mind dwell on these things. Philippians 4:8

Beauty and the Beast

It was the wrestling match of the month! I hope nobody was watching.

My intention was to buy some plant tags. One quick stop and then home. But it was a nice day, and the stroll through the plants would be so pleasant! I never know what I'll find there, but the lure is persistent. The garden sings such an ethereal song, and even at the nursery the song fragments find me if I take the time to listen.

I almost missed these little ones. A row of pines in little black pots, back in the corner. Pinus parviflora 'Cleary'... Pinus parviflora 'Ara kawa'. I could fill my heart with pines. Soft, inviting, beautiful, fragrant, tough. Into the cart they went.

Halfway down the walkway I turn back. If I wait, I can buy at a discount. I already have some potting to do. With resolve I return them to their places and walk away. But no, one is somewhat rare, and they might be gone in two days... Their arms reach for me like jubilant playful children.

Now they are safely home with me. The singing and laughter won me over. Cleary will be the first to be planted. I have the perfect pot for his glowing teal color.

Something isn't right. He comes easily out of his small plastic pot to reveal a troubled core. He is beautiful on the outside, severely dysfunctional below the surface. He's been in the pot for so long that the roots have grown around and created a deadly noose. The resinous pine sap has glued the rootball into a solid mass, sealing his doom.

Time to run once again to my mysterious benefactors at Conifer U. They assimilate and guard the collective confer knowledge of hundreds of years and thousands of brilliant minds. If Cleary can be saved, they will know how to do it.

Patiently they offer advice based on their years of experience and plant knowledge. He has one chance to live. I will need to soak the roots, break loose the glue, spread the roots apart and put him into the perfect dirt. I become the surgeon.



Soaking the rootball

 

Loosening the roots

 

A new chance at life



Now it is up to him and the life inside him. I've done all I can. He has been released from this choking prison. As I ponder the wonder of life and enjoy the rush of gratitude for my forum friends, my Creator drops a picture into my mind. This intractible rootball is so like the hardness inside some people. On the outside they seem beautiful, but inside their life is being slowly choked away. It can be hardness toward God, bitterness or unforgiveness toward others, selfishness, or in a few cases, just plain evil hearts. But all these people have one thing in common. The fullness of life that God planned for them will never be able to escape the choking death and bondage ahead unless the Master Gardener sends help. I'm so glad He can look into the hidden places of our heart and see our need!

Go, Cleary! You can make it! I'm cheering for you and wishing you fullness of life!

Lonely Spirit

In the hustle and bustle of running through life, something drew my eye. A tree by the side of the road, tall and stately, called to me to pause. A lone conifer, slim, artistic, and alone, and singing... singing some ancient song. I stopped. Something about it took my breath away. I found myself wishing I could get out the backhoe and bring it home to my garden. It so deserved to be in a place of honor and not alone and ignored.

For a few years now I've adored this beauty every time I drive by. These days it's looking a little tired, a little sad. I feel like I need to get to know it better, so I run to my mysterious collection of experts on the conifer forum with a picture. Sure enough, the answer comes quickly... Abies lasiocarpa, better known as sub-alpine fir. And it is slowly dying. It needs altitude and cool mountain air to thrive. It needs a mountain view and the companionsip of wild things. Here, it is out of its element, doing its best to shine in unnatural circumstances.

This tree's story pierces my heart, and now I know why. It is my mother's story. Born high in the beautiful Selkirk mountains to homesteading parents, she was yanked out of the home she loved and sent to boarding school miles away at the tender age of five. Her heart stayed behind, in the mountains, like this tree. She grew, married and had children, made the best of her life, but always longed for home. The "furry mountains", as she called them, were her natural habitat.

My dear mother is gone now, but we've taken her home... home to the cabin in the woods where she was born, to the house they built on the side of the mountain, to the millpond below the house, to the high mountain fire lookout, to the artesian spring gushing out of the side of the mountain.

My tree will never go home. It will die someday, perhaps soon, breathing a last gasp of car fumes rather than cool mountain air. Now I can hear its song... 
Schelomo by Bloch. Listen!

Stranger in the Night

I'm sitting in the dark staring out the window, hoping he'll return a second time. I can't recall such a surprising visit in all my years of enticing wildlife into my garden. I've been thinking about him, trying to wrap my mind around how this could have happened, and whether my assumptions are correct or wildly askew.

I think it was the visit to Cedar Rapids that started my seductions. Our daughter and husband lived there for a time, and we had motorcycled from Seattle to Death Valley to Flagstaff to Iowa on a huge Route 66 loop to pay them a visit. Outside her window, an array of breathtaking feathered friends made continual visits to her feeders. Cardinals, grosbeaks, and others dressed in reds, golds, blues, yellows. It was quite magical, and I was hooked. Now I have graduated to my own feeders and get rewarded with flickers, downys, chickadees, nuthatches, finches, Stellar's jays, and even the occasional pileated woodpecker. A few fountains later, and we've added warblers to our list of visitors.

A pileated woodpecker enjoys his Almond Munch suet

I can't remember how the patio adventures first began. Some bedraggled feral cat must have shown up hoping for a meal. Who can deny a hungry cat? Out went the dish of cat food, and it's been there ever since, probably 10 years or more. It's now the favorite 'watering hole" for families of raccoons, opossums, stray cats. It was inevitable that some of the cats should choose to stay and now call our garden home. One pregnant female liked it so well that she brought her six babies home to live. That's a story I'll save for another time.

Mustachio, one of the ferals

My heart goes out to the constant parade of abandoned cats that find this little bit of manna in their wilderness. It really riles me how people can just throw away their animals to the elements. But we have been the lucky recipients of three of the world's best cats who found their way to our dish and into our hearts... Squeaks, Buster, Callie.

Buster under an Acer

Last night's visiter was new to the patio. Small, dark in color, furry. At first we thought he was a baby opossum. But on closer inspection, this animal had no tail, and a very blunt snout. Perhaps a mole? No, no digging nose and claws, and this visitor could run backward. This animal was like nothing we had seen at the dish before. He seemed to have no fear of humans. My husband labeled him "a huge twinkie with feet"! Squeaks was very curious as well, and too soon, before an identification could be made, the visitor made his exit.

It wasn't until the next day that I realized where I had seen this animal before. After consulting with Google, I knew. This was a guinea pig, probably lost, terrified. I grieve that I didn't try for a rescue. Someone, somewhere, is out there looking for the little guy.
Sometimes we humans get lost. It's part of our nature to stray. And we can end up alone, bewildered, confused, lonely.

Jesus told this story... my story...

If you had a hundred sheep and one of them strayed away and was lost in the wilderness, wouldn't you leave the ninety-nine others and go search for the lost one until you found him? And then you would joyfully carry him home on your shoulders. When you arrived you would call together your friiends and neighbors to rejoice with you because your lost sheep was found. In the same way, Heaven will rejoice over one lost sinner who returns to God than over ninety-nine others who haven't strayed away. Luke 15:3-7 LB

I remember how that felt! I'm glad my Owner rescued me, and He always knows where I am!

The Fairies are Coming!

The fairies are coming to town in July! The last time they were here was in 1997, so it is an event much to be anticipated. Iolanthe, one of the fairies, was punished for falling in love with a mortal, and she now lives in a swamp, surrounded by frogs. Real? No. It's theatre!

Gilbert & Sullivan wrote the musical "Iolanthe" as one of their 13 collaborations. The Seattle Gilbert & Sullivan Society performs one of these every summer, and this year is Iolanthe's turn. It is a wonderful show with beautiful music and a lot of laughs, and it will be the first time since 1974 that I haven't been in the orchestra pit at least for part of the 3-week run. The last time I played "Iolanthe", my Maestro husband conducted, and even the onstage fountain and the frogs responded to his commanding baton!

In this musical comedy, Iolanthe the Fairy is living under the bridge to be close to her son, who is half fairy and half mortal. It's only fitting that in this election year he should go to Parliament as a Liberal Conservative! Isn't that just typical of today's political mess?

I take solace from the confusion of politics in the garden. In honor of Iolanthe I have created the Iolanthe garden. It's a nice shady little place, just the right size for fairies. If you look very carefully, you can see two of them in the left picture and one in the right picture. They are hard to find, as fairies often are!

The plants are hostas, heucheras, brunneras, and maidenhair ferns, and in the right picture at the end of the garden, there is an Acer palmatum 'Waterfall', which seems to me to be the perfect fairy weeping willow! 

Can't find the fairies? Here's how they look up close...

Oh, yes, and here are the froggies!

Taylor's Distress

I'm not sure what caused me to find it. Perhaps Taylor was just making his usual music and I wanted to be close. This is the season when he becomes compelling, alluring, snazzy and dressed fit to kill. You can't walk by Taylor and not be pulled in his direction.



Taylor's full name is Pinus contortus 'Taylor's Sunburst', and the name fits, especially in spring. He is a stately and solid dwarf Lodgepole pine all year long. His song is very much like Bach's Third Brandenburg Concerto. But in spring he earns his royal title "Sunburst" as the tip of every branch bursts forth in sun-kissed yellow, light reaching to light. He even adorns himself with rubies. Stunning!



On this day, however, all was not well. Perhaps I heard the discord in the song, or saw something not quite right in his interior. Ugly pinkish-gray masses, like some terrifying alien beings, had attached themselves to his trunk. Cautiously, I touched them and found them soft but not sticky, like some weird infection encased in a skin.

There is a conifer discussion forum on the web populated by some quite mysterious beings with names like coniferjoy, sprucebud, tsugajunkie, monkeytreeboy. I'm not sure they're human. More like two-legged databases. They call themselves Coneheads (conifers=cones) and they all LOVE conifers. I know they will have some information for me, so I post my S.O.S. message with the picture. Sure enough, within hours I have my diagnosis. Sequoia Moth! This devil lays the egg, and the larva bores in until the tree oozes pitch, which essentially seals him inside where he can eat to his heart's content. There is no medicine for this, no chemical treatment. The only option is to remove the glob and find the offender. I see at least three of these patches, and I'm glad they are within my reach. Nasty! I actually found one of the grubs, and the assassination felt good!

Taylor will survive. But he is forever weakened and disfigured. A strong wind or heavy snowload could cause him to break. My heart is heavy as I think of his helplessness. No matter how strong and stately he was, he had no resources to fight this insidious enemy.

As humans we fight these battles as well. Cancers and other diseases can strike us when we least expect them. One of my loved ones just had surgery for a nasty sarcoma on his thigh and I imagine it looked a lot like this. And in the unseen world of our spirit, the enemy comes at us with vicious and nasty weapons, with the intent of chewing away at our faith until we topple and can be devoured. Sometimes the only help for us is the Heavenly putty knife in the hands of the Great Physician. I love knowing He hovers over us, watching us, protecting us, de-bugging us! He is faithful!

Reflections on creating a monster

It all started a few years ago with the addition of a new deck on the back of our house. Our previous deck was postage-stamp size and shape, and sagging badly. It was time. We had the new wraparound deck built and it is a work of art. However, as frequently happens, one solution creates another problem.  The new deck shut off the light to one of my gardens.

First solution: hostas. Well, it turns out hostas don't much like cedar roots, and this area is right between two giant ones. Actually, pretty much nothing will grow there now except ivy.

Then while strolling through a local garden center, I saw the solution. If nothing grows there, why not a hardscape? In plain English, that means something that's not alive! And there was the perfect hardscape in front of me: a large fountain constructed of basalt columns. It would fill up the space nicely, create a water sound that would attract birds, and it didn't care about the dark environment.

I dragged my reticent but loving hubby to the center to figure out the engineering for me and extract the permission. How lucky I am that God gave me this man! His servant heart went to work on the problem-solving. We couldn't even bring the parts home without borrowing a vehicle! I'm giving birth to a monster. We began the construction until interrupted by a family crisis.

Fast-forward to spring 2012, two years later. Life has intervened and the fountain has patiently waited. Life has its seasons.

"There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven -- A time to give birth, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to uproot what is planted"-- and a time to build fountains...  Ecclesiastes 3:1-2 (with a little embellishment!)

To finish, we must deconstruct what we started. Tear down, power-wash, re-engineer, rebuild.

Now a new plumbing plan emerges. An insight at the moment of need, like manna in the wilderness. Some refinements in the construction will make maintenance much easier. Finally, the dream realized!

What a picture of our Heavenly Father, who carefully deconstructs and reconstructs until we are working according to His specifications, His plan, His purpose. How great is His love for us!

The Parable of the Soil

I knew something wasn't right.

It was beautiful new topsoil. It should have been perfect. So why did things start to die? First it was my Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Nana Gracilis' (Hinoki). Then it was my Pinus strobus 'Sea Urchin', a lovely soft long-needled pine. The final straw was when my beautiful and rare Pinus contorta 'Chief Joseph' shed every yellow needle and started his spring as a skeleton with candles.

There was one more clue. Something strange was growing there. Something slightly spiky. Daylily? No. Iris? No. Curious, I let it grow just to see what it was. As it developed, I became more and more aghast.

Cattails.

Let's see, where have we seen cattails before? Oh, yes. Swamps and standing water. In a panic I ran for the shovel and began the removal. I've never seen the underground part of a cattail before. It is a maze of long ugly branching roots, thick as ropes. The surgery was extensive, but the offending growths were successfully eliminated.

The problem was deeper than that, as problems usually are. Digging down through my topsoil, I came upon what seemed to be a layer of cement. But not cement, exactly. Something blue, something that refused access to the shovel. This will need a larger tool. The pickaxe began to chip away at what turned out to be six inches of solid blue clay. Below that, the hardpan.

This layer of clay holds the water. Nothing drains through. Now I know I am drowning my treasures. When the winter rains (and spring rains, and autumn rains) come, the water just sits on this layer of clay. Nice soil on the top, nasty stuff underneath. Just like people. Don't we all have stuff, sometimes nasty stuff, hidden away behind our well-kept exteriors?

"Behold, the sower went out to sow; and as he sowed, some seeds fell beside the road, and the birds came and ate them up. And others fell upon the rocky places, where they did not have much soil; and immediately they sprang up, because they had no depth of soil. But when the sun had risen, they were scorched; and because they had no root, they withered away..."

Matthew 13:4-6 NAS

This is a classic "BAD SOIL DAY"! It must be broken up! But how? Something drastic needs to happen. I make the call...

Now the noise has died away, the ground is fertile and deep, plants will thrive. Stillness. And I hear the garden speak again... this was a parable in the dirt. All of us have layers of clay, layers of hardpan. Perhaps resentment or unforgiveness. Perhaps a spirit of rebellion. Maybe anger or lack of gratitude. Sins of the flesh, sins of the heart, greed, selfishness, self-reliance, idolatry, unbelief, and the worst of all, pride. This list is endless, but all have one thing in common. They are hard soil that the Water of Life cannot penetrate.

Our loving Father longs to make us healthy, and sometimes He needs to apply drastic measures to re-constitute our soil. His outcome will always be blessing, health, spiritual fertility.

Help me, Lord, not to grow any cattails!

Long Lost Friend #2

Have you ever met a person so completely different and unique that you knew you'd just met a singular, one-of-a-kind individual? I've met people like that. They cannot be analyzed, stereotyped, or predicted, and they remain fascinating as long as you know them.

A few years back I found a rhododendron that is the plant version of the above. Sunstone came into my view on one of my sister-sojourns to Whitney Gardens. A sunshine yellow low bloomer with a twist! Deep in the yellow bell is a rich burgundy throat, hidden from view unless the viewer gets close and intentional. And to lure the viewer close, Sunstone puts out some surprise petals outside the bell, each with a splash of the same intense red. Some master painter has surely been at work here!

After the first year, Sunstone did not reappear. I looked for him but he was nowhere to be found. I concluded that my voracious western red cedars had likely choked the life out of him. And to make matters worse, Whitney didn't list him in the catalog this year.

In another one of my gardens was an unknown rhodie trying to recover from the ravages of cedar-choking. I clearly remember finding this unknown plant, almost lifeless and near death, and moving him to a new garden area to give him a chance at life. This year he gave forth his incredible blooms, and to my joy, I was reunited with my friend. What a reunion we had! Like the prodigal son, my Sunstone has come home to bless me.

Long Lost Friend #1

It must have been five years ago that I lost my heart to Charmant. Maybe longer. There it was at Whitney's, one of the most beautiful rhodies I'd ever seen. It was dressed for the grandest of occasions in the most lustrous red and white blooms. Each truss exploded with white bells embellished with a pink edge and a red throat. But not just white. A most extraordinary pearl white that seemed to glow from some inner radiance. Hans Hachmann, one of the world's best hybridizers, considers this to be one of his very finest.

I planted my Hachmann's Charmant in my back yard. The last several years he has not shown his face. Last year I realized why. He had been almost choked out by larger, stronger rhododendrons. No light was getting in, and his branches had grown long and spindly from trying to reach the sun. I had to try to save him. I grabbed my shovel and dug him out. Even at his age his root system was manageable. I lifted him into my three-wheeled ambulance and transferred him to ICU. Then I pruned half his branches down to growth buds near the ground, fertilized, watered, and prayed.

This summer he has rewarded me with iridescent beauty even while his amputated branches struggle to push out new growth. He has promised me he is going to survive, and in time he will be a beauty again.

Yesterday I did the second surgery. It seemed he was singing - a new song, a song I recognized...

"Beautiful, that's how Mercy saw me.
For I was broken and so lost,
Mercy looked past all my faults.
The justice of God saw what I had done,
But Mercy saw me through the Son.
Not what I was, but what I could be,
That's how Mercy saw me."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UQ470J316iI

Just as God wants each of us to become all that He planned, Hachmann's Charmant will live to fulfill his potential. I can't wait to see that day!

The iris field

Picture courtesy of LeonineIris.com

A meandering path through a field of flowers stretched before me. The blooms were waist high in shades of purple. They seemed to be bearded iris, stretching before me like a violet tide. The colors were intense, almost glowing. The air was velvet, that perfect temperature that the skin loves. A subtle fragrance flowed over me like a beautiful memory. It was a perfect harmony of sun, garden, breeze.
My violin was in my hand, and as I stepped onto the path, I began to play. The music was a concerto from the solo repertoire, studied long ago and almost forgotten. But this time it was different. The violin seemed to be playing itself, the music perfect and exquisite. I've always found the violin difficult and cumbersome. Playing well has always been hard work. This time, the music came effortless and pure, like looking into a many-faceted diamond. My fingers moved through the rapid passages, the double-stops perfect, the bow weightless. The music, colors, sounds, fragrances, blended together into a heavenly essence.


I don't usually remember my dreams, but I'll never forget this one. It was not an earthly experience. Jesus said "I go to prepare a place for you...". I'm becoming more and more convinced that the place He is preparing for me will be a garden, and there will be a violin there for me as well. I just got a glimpse of eternity.

Singin' the Blues

My two sisters and I have a few favorite garden rituals. One of them is the annual trek to Whitney Gardens, one of our favorite nurseries. They specialize in rhododendrons and azaleas. The day begins with a stop at Starbucks for pumpkin scones and our favorite coffee drinks, which we enjoy while sitting in line for the ferry. An hour's drive and we are immersed in the acres of rhododendrons, some towering twenty or more feet above our heads. The ritual includes a walkthrough of the "color houses" where many of their smaller plants are sorted by color, as well as the fields where the larger plants are planted in long rows, waiting for adoption.

On this trip I took a moment to wander over to the conifer area. I've developed a new fascination with dwarf conifers after discovering a garden blog called The Amazing World of Conifers . I wasn't expecting to see anything new since I'd been there just a month earlier. Even so, I was completely enjoying the newly emerging buds, candles, and the occasional puff of pollen as the breeze came through. Suddenly, something very blue caught my eye. It was almost buried in a row of "old man trees", as I call them. I had to see.

There it was, the blue beauty I thought I would never find. For several months I've been searching online for a Picea pungens 'The Blues', a dwarf weeping variety of blue spruce. All searches had proved fruitless. I knew one propagator that had them as small grafts, but I would never live long enough to see it grow up. Here it was, full size, just waiting. Of course it became mine at that moment, and it's been singing to me, drawing me out of my busyness to come listen. I can't recognize the music yet. It must be a new song I have yet to learn.


 





Picea pungens 'Ruby Teardrops'

Another part of the Whitney Gardens ritual is a stop at a small nursery "on the way" called Savage Plants. This nursery is very small and very artistic, more like a landscaper's paradise. Today we can't shop because the car is completely full. And yet, another jewel is waiting for discovery, like hidden treasure. What is this lovely thing? The tag says "Ruby Teardrops" and it means it! A small blue conifer with red buds on the tips of the branches. And these are not your small red cones, like Acrocona. These are boisterous, almost blatant, red tips that cannot be missed, that threaten to cover and overwhelm. Needless to say, it rode home on my lap.

I love surprises, and these joys just remind me of God's lavish and boisterous love for us. His Word says He is a loving Father that loves to give gifts to His children. I'm so glad I'm His!

God's Palette

It was one of those mornings. Here in the Pacific Northwest, we have an abundance of gray, cold mornings. My favorite word for them is "dank". So when one of these special warm sunny mornings comes along, we stop whatever we are doing and run for the patch of sun. This morning was like that.

My hubby (and best friend) and I were sitting with our morning coffee, gazing out at the palette of colors that blazes throughout the spring. Pinks, purples, blues spread out in every direction. Our conversation turned to our very dear friend Steve, a prolific composer, who writes music because he cannot help it. He's just completed his third massive musical, The Life of Jesus, complete with drama and music, and it could be that no one on this earth will ever hear it. Still he writes, for an Audience of one, because he can't help it. We concluded that perhaps it's playing in Heaven and it just spilled over into a willing vessel.

Composing music, painting a picture, planting a garden... all are artistry. And the artist is compelled to add to, touch up, revise, perhaps start anew. Isn't that just such a picture of God? He creates each of us as a work of art, completely unique. But the artistry doesn't stop. If we let Him, He wiill continue to "touch up, revise, add to" as long as we stay close. He is the Vinedresser. He will nurture us, fertilize our soil, water us, pull the weeds that threaten to choke us, and even prune when necessary. In His loving heart, He sees the beauty and perfection that we can be with His loving care. My need to create a beautiful garden is just a reflection of His great love in my life. I'm looking forward to the completion of His work!

Lavish Beauty

From my window I have a great view of my Rhododendron 'Midnight Mystique", given to me by my dear sister and rhodie addict Norma. It has grown from just a young pipsqueak in the few years I've had it to a true in-your-face beauty. Its rare and beautiful color is impossible to capture with a camera. The color is much more like looking through a glass of rare Merlot. Its branches refuse to stay compact, and instead stretch up to the light in lavish joyful praise.

The Bible says, "If we don't praise His name, even the rocks and stones will cry out." (Luke 19:40) And indeed they do, day and night. Midnight Mystique will always shout more joyously. I can almost hear the song... "Joyful, joyful, we adore thee..."  Perhaps it is thanking the Creator for its breathtaking beauty. And He always hears.

The Birth

Today it is born. The garden calls to me, speaks to me, teaches me. I've let the whispers evaporate in the wind long enough. Like a child capturing fireflies in a jar, I'll try to capture these whisperings. This is for me, for God, for the garden, for anyone who wants to listen in. Welcome!