Benjamin and Alexander – my reluctant plant sale companions

It’s a sunny, 72-degree Sunday in Southern California and I needed to persuade my children to join me for a plant-shopping adventure. How to do it? My destination was the Huntington Botanical Garden’s fall plant sale in Pasadena, only 48 miles away to the east. Living here requires superhuman strategies such as figuring out which of about 200 different freeway routes one can take – and whether the route one chooses is indeed the best (what I really mean is whether the route one chooses allows me to drive more than 30 mph).

Somehow, the promise of shopping at an Apple store, the Gap, and lunch on Pasadena’s hip Colorado Blvd. was adequate enticement. Luckily, we have the essentials for surviving LA’s freeways: snacks, sunglasses, a portable DVD player, iPod, Game Boy (plus NPR and Garrison Keillor for mom).

Then….my children indulged me with 30 minutes at the end of this expedition to swing through the plant sale. I wasn’t too worried about showing up late on a Sunday. In my previous existence, in Seattle, arriving at a plant sale on a Sunday afternoon would only be for the uninitiated. By then, the very BEST plants have all been snatched up by early-bird fanatics on Saturday. I learned years ago about the wisdom of volunteering at plants sales such as Master Gardeners or Northwest Horticultural Society in order to be there in time for first-dibs.

But now, honestly, my “garden” has so far to go that I can’t indulge in panicking about whether or not I’m going to miss out on rare specimens. To put a positive spin on the situation, this garden has incredible potential. We’ve already lived here a year during which I was only able to get my patio containers planted and spend about $500 paying a great worker named Nelson to wheelbarrow away layers and layers of softball-sized red lava rock “mulch” that covered our infertile soil.

While I’m trying to pick out the remaining pieces of lava rock imbedded in the planting beds, and fantasizing about a lavish – dare I say Abundant – garden that will grow here some day (and arguing with the boys who would rather have me yield space to a much-desired trampoline), I’ll be satisfied with a few pots of this and that. Today, I bought a fabulous variegated blue sage (Salvia guaranitica ‘Omaha’), a Euphorbia lambii (Zones 9-11), a silvery spiked cactus-like creature from the Andes named Abromeitiella lorentziana, another cool crassula (‘Coralita’) that I planted in an old green enamel tea kettle previously punctured on the bottom, and two aromatic mint plants — a peppermint (Mentha x piperita ‘Swiss Ricola’) and a spearmint (Mentha spicata var. ‘Mint the Best’).

Here’s what I had in mind for the mints:

A backyard still-life with spearmint and two vintage watering cans (garden bench designed by Jean Zaputil)

The retro-era galvanized watering cans were given to me by my nongardening friend Stacey Winnick. Stacey is a vintage textiles dealer in New York. She’s the type of loyal, longtime friend willing to take me to the New York Botanic Garden to see the Chihuly exhibit a year ago, even though she’s not really into horticulture.  Stacey’s excellent eye for design saw these cool watering cans at a tag sale or an antique show and she snagged them and later gave them to me. Both cans have traveled home to the West Coast in carry-on bags (on two different trips). When I saw the July 07 issue of Martha Stewart Living magazine, featuring a fantastic just-cut arrangement of flowers spilling out of a rustic watering can, I called Stacey and told her how truly savvy she was – she knew there was something special about those castoff containers!

These cans have been on display in the backyard, but it took a chance encounter to inspire their upgrade into eye-catching containers.  A few weeks ago, I interviewed Bonnie Manion, a San Diego area gardener and antique/collectibles dealer, about her organic vegetable garden. The story will appear in the summer 08 issue of  “Nature’s Garden,” a Better Homes & Gardens publication. Whether scouring her many domestic sources or traveling to the French flea markets, Bonnie is always on the lookout for interesting salvage, antiques and collectibles for the garden. Her company is called “Mon Petit Chou” and you can find her garden bed frames, gates, baskets, vintage containers and more at Chicweed, Cedros Design District, 240 S. Cedros Ave., Solana Beach, California (858) 205-8083.

In looking through the photos that will accompany the story, I noticed bright green leaves of spearmint spilling out of an old watering can. Assuming they were cut herbs, I asked Bonnie how long the mint lasts in water. Oh, she said, that’s a leaky watering can, so I use it as a container and just plant the mint inside. Yeah. Great idea. After  finishing our phone call, I ran outdoors and filled both of Stacey’s watering cans with water. I knew they were weathered and a bit wobbly (the bottoms of each are now convex, as if they were partially filled with water when temperatures hit freezing, which turned to ice, popping out the base). Once filled, the cans both seeped water from the lower edge. Instant drainage!

Home from the plant sale, with my two new mint plants in hand, I planted up Stacey’s watering cans, inspired by Bonnie’s craftiness. I’ll have even more enjoyment from this cheerful composition knowing that I can pinch off bunches of mint for lemonade or ice tea.

This has been a week of small, delicious indulgences as I’ve explored the architectural legacy and horticultural richness of my “new” world.

For most of the past 13 months I feel as if I’ve either been up to my ears in unpacking boxes OR traveling for photo-shoots OR chained to my keyboard to write Stylish Sheds. But a “break” in the schedule has allowed me to explore a bit . . .

Autumn in Southern California is indeed the most glorious of seasons, with cool, sweater-worthy evenings and dewy morns that welcome the ocean air; between them, these two moments sandwich pleasant mid-day temperatures of 70-degrees. While my East Coast friends are suffering 80-degree-plus temps (global warming?) I am finally enjoying Ventura County’s climate.

DAY TRIP ONE:
On Monday, I drove north, up the Pacific Coast on Hwy. 101 toward Montecito, the elite community outside Santa Barbara that has a rich architectural history long preceding the arrival of famous types like Oprah who have driven up real estate prices into the stratosphere.

Marcia Gamble-Hadley

Marcia Gamble-Hadley, a Seattle architect and friend introduced to me by photographer Bill Wright, was here on her second research trip for her book about the historical Moody Cottages. Marcia is a great-niece of the four Moody sisters (I can only think of them as a bolder, more independent, early 20th century version of Little Women). Starting in the 1930s, Marcia’s great-aunts Harriet, Brenda, Mildred and Wilma designed around 35 storybook cottages in Montecito and Santa Barbara. Quirky, wondrous, inventive and resourceful, the women’s designs live on today – in tiny little houses – dare I say BIG SHEDS? – that are prized by 21st century owners.

A half-cottage on a tiny lot brings delight to its occupants

Having designed some pretty innovative Seattle cottages herself, Marcia has a big mission – to document the work of her great aunts (never before collected into a book) and draw lessons from their designs for today’s residential designers.

Look closely: the door at the right is a “false” door (the kitchen sink is mounted just inside the window!)

“The Moody cottages are so delightful,” Marcia explained while taking me on a whirlwind tour of six structures (some of which involved window-peeking, while others were open to us). “You don’t feel deprived because you’re not living in 2,200-square-feet.” The one-bedroom cottages suggest clean, simple lines, comfortable proportions, nurturing and enclosure . . . less is so much more.

Long before Sarah Susanka conjured up The Not So Big House, Marcia’s great-aunts were creating their own magic with small cottages. According to Marcia, there are six “hallmarks” of a Moody-Sisters’ cottage – design elements that any architect or builder would be smart to emulate:

Tall windows invite light inside a perfect yellow cottage

• 1. Daylighting: tall, wide windows; sills that are flush with countertops; double-doors;
• 2. Strong connection to the landscape

The Moody sisters were never about to line up windows and doors!

• 3. Whimsey and irregularity (nothing symmetrical about these fantastical cottages!)
• 4. Efficiency (built-in cupboards appear under eaves; bookcases under staircases; storage is maximized everywhere)
• 5. Tradition ( a nod to the English cottage )

 

A “fan” style bump-out creates a pleasing human-scaled niche, just large enough for a table at the window

• 6. Human scale (cozy is an overiding emotion)

I can’t wait to see how Marcia captures the story of her own architectural legacy in a book about her great-aunts (who, she points out, “had these amazing careers as single women long before they had the right to vote.”). You can learn more about her research at www.moodycottages.com.

DAY TRIP TWO:

My day at Rose Story Farm with Maryann and Charles Pember was a rose-induced dream

On Wednesday, I met up with longtime Seattle friends Maryann and Charles Pember, who had just taken in the Southern California historical and garden destinations (The Huntington Botanical Garden, the gardens at the Getty Villa, the Gamble House, and Lotusland, among other visits) while on vacation. Maryann and I have known each other long before we were fellow Northwest Horticultural Society board members in Seattle.

It was a treat to be invited to join them for a day of good-ol’ garden gossip about people and plants in Zone 8 while visually drinking in Zone 10’s botanical temptations.

After meeting in Ojai (I finally ventured off Hwy. 101 onto Hwy 33, then Hwy 150 to the foothills where I got my first peek at Ojai – need to go back soon to visit this artist community famous for its day-spas!), we drove along Casitas Pass toward the oceanside town of Carpinteria. Our destination: Rose Story Farm.

Rose Story Farm hearkens back to to an earlier, low-tech world

Located on a former avocado and lemon farm in Carpinteria Valley, this breathtaking rose farm is a lesson to me in how old-fashioned farming practices (the kind that were natural to our great-grandparents) are viable in today’s modern agri-business world. An organic farm where hundreds of varieties of old garden and English roses are grown. No fussy hybrid teas here. There are some hybrids grown here, but these are ones bred with ancient parentage for cherished traits like their long-lasting perfume. 

Even on a mid-October day, the rose farm displays a perfect palette of creamy whites, sublime pinks, and alluring oranges.

Row upon beautiful row of floribundas and climbers, chosen for bloom color, petal arrangement, and most of all – FRAGRANCE (scents like anise, clove, spice, honey, babypowder, a juicy peach, citrus…filled our nostrils), planted up a gently sloping hillside, like a technicolor vineyard. Organic mulch from a nearby mushroom farm cushions and nourishes the soil at their feet.

Kiki clips a ‘Shot Silk’ climbing rose, dozens of which are planted along the central path at Rose Story Farm, as a glorious hedge

Tens of thousands of luscious roses are lovingly cared for by a small crew of farmers who know exactly when to harvest them. Can you imagine an east coast bride who simply MUST have a romantic, voluptuous rose bouquet of say ‘Fair Bianca’? It’s possible for her floral designer to order armloads of this vintage rose from Rose Story Farm. Say her wedding is on a Saturday. On Thursday, the roses are picked, hydrated and conditioned, de-thorned and carefully packed in bundles of 10 stems. According to our rose-obsessed tour guide Kiki (shown above in the hot pink straw hat), the cut end of the stems are packed in wet moss to keep the roses hydrated; the flower ends are gently nestled in tissue paper; each bunch is packed in an ice-filled box and shipped overnight (Fed-Ex, next morning delivery) to wedding and event florists around the country. Around the country, on Friday mornings, the boxes of these Carpinteria-grown roses show up at floral studios: an enduring gift of romance, nostalgia, sensory delight.

Packed bouquet of 10 just-harvested roses

Kiki says the farm gives very specific instructions to their customers, telling them to quickly unpack, hydrate and refresh the cut flowers before using them in a bouquet or arrangement. It’s a 48-hour marathon as each rose travels from its plant to the bride’s hands. A ritual that brings happiness and joy to anyone who sees (and smells) these roses.

The joy of each rose is heightened when gathered together in Kiki’s basket. My new favorite: Jean Giono, is the vibrant tangerine rose at the center right

After our delightful walking tour of the rose fields, I came home with a lot of newfound confidence about growing roses in my Southern California backyard. I met a new rose I couldn’t resist, and I brought him home with me – Jean Giono. I will happily replace one of the ubiquitous ‘Iceberg’ roses that I inherited with this property with this alluring dark-gold, multipetaled rose that smells like heaven.

Rose Story Farm’s famous lemon cake, made in a rose-shaped bundt pan and topped with a bloom that looks pretty enough to eat!

Schedule your visit to Rose Story Farm on a Wednesday or Saturday and spend $38 for the small group tour, which is followed by a delicious garden luncheon. A gift shop filled with rose-themed and garden-inspired ware from Europe and beyond (including a few antiques) is worth a visit. Here’s where I found, to satisfy my current made-in-the-USA obsession, a cast-aluminum, rose-bloom-shaped bundt pan so I can try making my own Rose Story Farm lemon cake.

The rose allee through planting fields

‘George Allen’, a surprisingly beautiful variegated yellow-and-red rose – very masculine

‘Tropical Sunset’ – you can tell I have a thing for variegation!

‘Yves Piaget’ – as large as a cabbage

Our pretty centerpiece, pave-style roses in every color – and scented beyond description.

Then and now. A study in contrasts teaches me that there are many ways to experience beauty if one is looking closely and accepting of change (especially in myself).

Then: October 2005.

What: a mesh bag filled with King Alfred daffodil bulbs, promising to produce the biggest, gaudiest yellow trumpets I could imagine come spring. A bag of potting soil. A carton of bulb fertilizer.

The container: a nearly-discarded “Radio Flyer” red wagon, slightly rusted with lack of use by a boy now into his teens. Mom couldn’t bring herself to abandon those sweet and bittersweet memories of taking walks around her Mount Baker and Seward Park (Seattle) neighborhoods, first with Benjamin, and then little brother Alex, resting on a throne of pillows with hands clinging to the (now rotted away) wood rails. Childhood, pure and simple.

What to do? Get out a hammer and a 6-inch-long pointed spike – not sure why I have one – maybe for mounting a trellis or some other ambitious but unfinished garden project. With hammer, I pierce the bottom of said Radio Flyer, turning the inside into giant sieve for drainage.

The wagon’s depth is about the same as the bulbs…not always recommended, but this was going to be a temporary installation, planted in October; the anticipation of its spring performance teasing me every time I look outside my kitchen window during the rainy months of November, December, January, February…..then March arrives and the primary red wagon takes on a crown of gold daffs. Erect, reaching for the sun, perfect in form and attitude. Hurrah!

Now: October 2007.

What: Same perforated, slightly rusty red wagon. Now empty, having begged transport with a family’s entire life moved two states away to California. A flat of 4-inch succulents. My new best friends. No more spring bulbs for this girl. Instead, names like Crassula ‘Tom Thumb’, Aeonium ‘Kiwi’ and Pachyveria glauca stare up at me, bone-dry in their plastic pots, but seemingly unbothered by it. In this very different fall setting, I start to plant a succulent tapestry in my Radio Flyer.

The container is the same, of course. The soil mix is different, since I’ve learned from locals to grow succulents in a combination of equal parts of organic potting soil and cactus mix. After filling the wagon with this two-way formula, I arrange my little treasures, playing around with their color and form as I recall my mother’s skill at mixing fabric swatches while quilt-making. 

Dusty blue-gray, gold-and-red-variegation, a purplish tinge makes an unnamed Echeveria sp. particularly pretty this sunny morning; spikes and whorls, medallions and rosettes.

Once these babies are planted, I know they will endure (even appreciate) my forgetfulness. I layered small bits of tumbled rock over the soil to “top-off” the design. My husband asked me why I was carefully sweeping and brushing the pebbles over the top. Is it for drainage? he asks. I don’t really know why. Perhaps I should have just told him: because it pleases me.

I am finding everyday beauty in these unfamiliar plants I once considered a rarity in my former garden.