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!