Booglify: Felder verb; to become mushy after freeze and thaw. “My canna’s leaves booglified into slimy cell goo.”
Far as I know, there ain’t a formal word for what happens when, come Autumn’s first freeze, summer plants melt into a putrid glob. But it’s nasty.
Want technical? Me neither – studied plant physiology in college, and can make your eyes cross with esoterica. Short version, with apologies to Professor Price, is that in general plants are organisms made of living, multiplying cells with fairly rigid walls filled with gooey protoplasm made of tiny functional bits suspended in water. Water between the cells holds soluble nutrients, proteins, enzymes, salts, and other stuff which normally moves in and out of cells to keep things running smoothly.
In cold-climate plants, some of the substances act like antifreeze and some plants can shift them around to reduce cells’ drying out or bursting; some plants don’t.
Savory pies are the soul food of northern England. The go-to salve that sells out early the morning after a lost football match, or when BBC coverage of politics gets too much to bear. When a local lass needs a little comfort or cheer.
And – apologies to every opinionated foodie out there – the very best are hand-crafted at The Real Thai Pie Company, offered for sale at tiny Haworth’s Bakery. It’s just a short hike uphill from town center in Darwen, nestled in the West Pennine Moors of Lancashire. Right across from the Vic, if you get lost or need directions (ask anyone).
On his travels in Thailand some twenty years ago Doug, the laid-back but passionate baker, came up with a unique, award-winning creation – chunks of meat, potatoes, carrots, and piquant pinch of fiery spices in just enough creamy gravy to keep it just right for eating out of hand. In a word, addictive.
This is just a photo. Can’t capture the friendly Lancashire gemutlichite found at this fragrant little shop, much less the steamy wares of the Real Thai Pie Company. Get there early.
“Quell’orror bello che attristando piace” – that beautiful horror which delights while it saddens (Italian poet Ippolito Pindemonte)
Stumpery. First time I heard the word was one of those finger-snap moments, a cerebral light bulb thing.
I mean, who’da thought it was a thing? I mean, we’ve been doing it all along, right?
But here I am, nearly thirty years later, actually standing in the oldest stumpery in the world, and thinking about how to enlarge my own backyard collection of tree trunks, stumps, and gnarly limbs (and how my kids will have a hell of a time dismantling or burning it all down when I’m gone). Continue reading “Stumperies – Beautiful Horrors”
OUCH! Say “G’bye” to one of the South’s most cherished landscape trees.
“You’re not gonna like any of this.”
In spite of their maybe being a tad overplanted, I love crape myrtles – the lilac of the South. I even made the trek to South Carolina to hug the oldest crape myrtle in North America, planted in 1786 by André Michaux at Middleton Place near Charlesto (see last photo). I don’t even have a problem with their being pollarded, which in Japan is a form of topiary called “fist pruning” (what some folks call “crape murder”), especially when gardeners like me weave the trimmings into wattle fences. For more insight on this check this blog post out.
TROUBLE IN EDEN
But just like whether to spell it “crape” or “crepe” or want to argue about pruning, they’re all moot points now, water under the bridge, as our beloved crape myrtles are being pushed out of the garden entirely by a new pest that is for all practical purposes uncontrollable. Get used to it.
This blog is about what the problem is, and what we can – or can’t – do about it.
One of my main elements of design is mixing round, spike, and frill shapes. When nothing else works, I often add “non plant” materials to fulfill one of the shapes – including rocks, containers, even the occasional bowling ball.
I have a handful of shrubs pruned into tight meatball or gumdrop shapes, if for nothing else than to show neighbors that I actually know how to do it in my otherwise naturalistic cottage garden. When a large yaupon holly tree on a property line got whacked by a neighbor, I got even by turning it into a three-ball poodle plant.
Anyway, while knocking around the garden and neighborhood in early November I collected quite a few roundish Autumn fruits and laid them on a bed of maple leaves collected from the garden of Mississippi author Eudora Welty and accessorized with flowers of “country girls” (‘Clara Curtis’) and a couple other hardy garden mums (Chrysanthemum x rubellum).
See if you can match the names of these “passalong” heirloom and native fruits with their image:
Pomegranate, sweetgum , Oriental persimmon, native persimmon, chayote or mirliton (Sechium edule), Pyracantha, Nandina, pecan, air potato (Dioscorea bulbifera), contorted hardy orange (Poncirus trifoliata ‘Flying Dragon’), American beautyberry, ‘Callaway’ crabapple, osage orange (Maclura pomifera), bird’s eye pepper (chile pequin), toadstool, red buckeye, and mango melon or “vine peach” (Cucumis melo variety chito)…
Don’t go getting all emotional on me, as I confess that this hardcore horticulturist doesn’t have a real problem with fake plants – especially if they are GOOD fakes and are used well, typically where living plants are not practical.
I mean, faux is faux; to the self-proclaimed horti-holy among us, there will never be a consensus on whether a shedding, one-shot “real” Christmas tree shipped from hundreds of miles away is more important emotionally than the practicality of an artfully-mastered artificial one that lasts for years. It’s usually a matter of degrees anyway. Pardon me, but anyone who has ever worn polyester, eaten a soy burger, put on a wig or mascara, replaced a lawn with a patio or deck, or set out a hummingbird feeder with sugar water, can Just. Shut. Up. Continue reading “Fake Grass – Better Than NO Grass?”
I never take for granted the privilege afforded me by the Royal Horticulture Society to attend its world-famous flower shows, especially on Press Day when a few selected journalists are allowed to mingle with and interview designers, horticulturists, craftspeople, and vendors. Over the years I have visited behind the scenes numerous shows including Chelsea, Hampton Court, Tatton Court, Harlow Carr, Sissinghurst, Wisley, and others; in their unique ways, all are just…WOW.
This summer kicked off with a new one for me, held for the second year at Chatsworth, a magnificent house and gardens nestled high in the Peak District of Derbyshire, central England. Though last year’s Press Day was closed early due to horrendous downpours – what the British correctly call “chucking it down” – this year the weather was perfect. Continue reading “Peek at RHS Chatsworth Flower Show ’18”
Ever see an old guy jump with joy and click his heels in the air?
Exactly what I did when I first walked into the HUUUUUGE tent – over ten times bigger than my entire home property – that housed the astounding floral exhibits for the 2018 Royal Horticulture Society’s flower show held on the grounds of the majestic Chatsworth estate in the Peak District of north central England.
First thing I and all the other visitors saw was a pair of bottle trees adorning a major display, right under the big marquee. Not by a long shot the first of the many popular glass garden sculptures found at every RHS flower show, but the first authentic, home-made bottle trees. Ever. Continue reading “Bottle Trees on the Big Stage”
Like a lava flow from the Kilauea volcano on Hawaii’s Big Island slowly enveloping houses and cars in its path, this crape myrtle is inexorably encasing the metal porch rails and panels of a business in Jackson, Mississippi.
It’s what happens when food being made in a tree’s leaves gets interrupted as it translocates (moves) downward towards roots. Happens to stones and even tombstones in old cemeteries, too.
If it runs into a part of itself or a similar species, it can actually graft and form a strong bond. Otherwise it simply swells and envelopes.