Beauty in the winter garden

When I was a kid growing up in a nice, middle-class housing development in upstate New York, there were three styles of house--and only three--in my neighborhood: the raised ranch (which is now widely referred to as the bi-level), the split level, and the colonial. Of course, the variety of colors and other accoutrements on each individual residence (shutters v. no shutters, the presence or absence of screen doors, brick face v. aluminum siding, etc) ensured variety, but there was a certain "sameness" that was both comforting and disconcerting.

That uniform mindset, so prevalent in buildings from the 1950s through the 1980s, even extended to the plantings around the houses. It was an era of builder bargaining in landscaping: mini blue spruce trees and arborvitaes bought in bulk by the developers because they were reasonably priced and hardy enough to last through harsh New York winters.

Every house had these evergreens in front of them. And like the houses themselves, only the sizes and maintenance varied. Most people's shrubs were cut into neat little shapes: circles, squares and triangles of living plants lined along walkways like geometric soldiers ushering me onto the school bus, and making me grimace in the process. How I hated math, and any reminder of it in my life.

The more creative neighbors, like the artists who lived across the street from me, let their requisite arborvitae grow uninhibited, and in a matter of a few years it had spread its branches far and wide, all but obscuring their nearby fence. I liked their free-spirited approach to gardening (or their reasonable facsimile) and the plants appealed to me because they didn't look like all the others in the area.

Don't get me wrong; I had a wonderful childhood, full of friendly neighbors and tons of kids my age to play with. Our development was state-of-the-art back then: a place everyone and anyone would be thrilled to call home. Yet as I ventured into the wider world, I began to see new things. And these new things were full of variety. I had tired of the same old arborvitae, yew, barberry and spruce. And when I bought my own house I avoided what I thought of as inferior plants.

In fact, for the better part of 15 years I experimented with exotic grasses and perennials, and those plantings paid off big time--in the warm weather seasons. But after the last leaves of autumn fell, my lush landscape looked downright barren. All the evergreens I eschewed mocked me from neighboring lawns. Each winter they'd sparkle with newly fallen snow, their minty leaves peeking out from beneath their powdered lashes like coy coniferous flirts.

I couldn't help myself: I was entranced. I've now planted a plethora of evergreen bushes, and each winter I relish the shot of greenery they contribute to the gray and white landscape. The same plants I'd discounted I now value--not only for their year-round beauty, but their humble ability to teach me that everything has a purpose and a rightful place in this world. I--we-- just need to recognize it.

I took this shot a few weeks ago because although it's a municipal setting, I like the idea of massing the various evergreens into a whole new shape. I think similar plantings would complement residential areas, too.

Holiday garlands on a shoestring

In the Northeast, you have to be ready for anything. This year, it was the unexpected snowstorm the day before Thanksgiving. And although it looked magical, the toll it took on our snow-shoveling muscles was downright wicked.

Fortunately, the long weekend affords us all a chance to not only catch up with friends and relatives over a feasting table, but perhaps relish a little "me time" after the big meal is but a memory. I've always found it an excellent time to fill out Christmas cards, and make holiday wreathes and garlands.

Luckily I have access to lots of white pine trees, which fortuitously drop dozens and dozens of pine cones each fall. Add to that a spool of florist wire, and I've got a fun fall project to string together in front of a cozy fire while the winds whip outside, and the snow flies.

I created this particular garland, pictured, a few weeks ago because I wanted to decorate the eaves of my front porch for Thanksgiving. By weaving a sparkling gold ribbon throughout, I've created a decoration that will take me from this holiday right up through the next, and into the new year. Maximum festivity with minimum effort!

To create this garland, I simply wrap the wire (which comes in green or brown) around the base of the cone two times, knot it, then continue onto the next pine cone. It doesn't have to look perfect. I've found that the more random the size, shape and pattern, the more naturally appealing it looks.

November gatherings

The first serious cold snap has hit the Northeastern United States, and with the bone-chilling temperatures comes the realization that my garden is truly done for another season. Yet little reminders of what had once thrived hang on diligently: the seed heads of shriveled plants, lounging about the garden beds like lazy teenagers who sleep in. Only these slackers fail to irritate me. On the contrary, I gleefully clip and gather like a hardworking pilgrim each November, plucking and sorting, drying, and sharing.

I line up my paper bags (because plastic bags hold in moisture, which ruins seeds), place one variety in each (unless I want to intermingle plants in the garden beds next season, then I toss a few types together) and carefully label each cultivar. If I'm really on top of my game, I'll eventually transfer fully dried seeds into airtight containers, in late fall or early winter, but there's no guarantee this will actually get done. The holidays tend to throw me off more often than not, and the seeds in their little brown bags are easy to overlook. And, let's face it, I'm really not all that organized.

One thing I DO try to do, as I'm sorting and saving, is set some of my garden's bounty aside for the birds. Some of the best seeds come from the following plants:

Calendula: The edible petals are some of the easiest to harvest. I pluck them as soon as the blooms begin to fade, and dump them in that all-purpose paper bag to dry

Gaura: The reddish seeds fall easily from dried-out brown pods

Monarda: The easiest way to collect from this, the bee balm plant, is to crumble dried seed heads onto a paper plate, and scoop them up

Echinacea: Simply pull these cone flower seeds right off the upright heads

Perovskia: Clip the dried heads of the Russian sage, and shake carefully to dislodge seeds

Rudbeckia: Run fingers over dried seed heads to release tiny black seeds (have your bag ready to collect)

Sunflowers: Clip an entire head with a bit of stem and plant it in a bird-friendly place for a self-serve feeder

Millet: Consider providing this for the local bird population. Although it has little nutritional value, the hard shell grinds the seeds in the tiny bird gizzards, acting like a mill. It's ideal for their digestion. Like us, birds need fiber. Pennisetum glaucum "Purple Majesty" is a beneficial beauty

Lavendula: Let lavender stalks dry right on the plants--that's what goldfinches love best

Once I've gathered extra seeds for the birds, I'll place them right in my bird feeder. Also good: tying makeshift bird-feeding bundles onto nearby branches. I'll clip cone flower and black-eyed Susan, leaving three or four inches of dried stalk, which I'll bundle, secure together with twine, and hang upside down on tree branches. And if you're looking for a way to get the kids in on the action, find a nice big, round pine cone, coat it in a thin layer of peanut butter, and sprinkle the seeds on top: a nice Thanksgiving feast for our feathered friends.

A feast for the eyes

As Thanksgiving approaches, our thoughts tend to turn from garden design to garden fare. Recipes for Cousin Granville's sweet potato pie, Mema's mashed potato souffle, and Aunt JoAnne's pear-apple preserves fill our heads and hearts with edible anticipation, and fond memories. Decor ideas center around an overflowing holiday table. Yet what could be more enticing than preparing comfortable spaces and views outside as well as indoors? Even if it becomes too cold to make use of the outdoor areas, it's great to have a "room with a view," and spread the holiday cheer all around.

Now is the time to discover the best deals on perennials, garden tools, outdoor furniture and pots, even statuary. And it's at this time each year that I go on the hunt for things to enhance my garden areas. I usually set aside a weekend for perusing the local nurseries. One near my house even has a winery attached, so my friends and I always procure a non-drinking pal to drive us to that one.

In your quest for landscape perfection, don't overlook the Internet. Many online gardening/landscaping stores are trying to cash in on profits before the year's end. And Ebay always seems to have that ONE THING we often can't find anywhere else ( I bought a hand-held push lawnmower blade sharpener from them). As for large items, too costly to mail, Craigslist is vital. I make a habit of trolling my local listings once or twice a week, just to see if anything I like will pop up. Last week I hit the mother lode: 15 antique planters in all shapes and sizes for the price of--literally--two or three of them at my local nursery. A couple was moving and, rather than allowing the planters to stay with the new occupants of their 100-year-old-home, they placed the listing, snagged a few extra bucks for themselves, and gave me the deal of this century.

I am now the proud owner of seven cement window boxes of various shapes and sizes, three lovely cement basket-weave pots, five gorgeous, incredibly heavy urns, and a sore back from lugging them all home.
Yet, glancing at the beauty they add to my turn-of-the-century home, I feel it was worth the considerable effort to get them here. We're hosting the holiday gatherings this year, and although I haven't given a thought to the menu, don't have my shopping lists made or any pies ready for freezing, I'm more than ready.

Sky-scaping

I took this picture last week, a few days before Halloween. The vivid orange and gold, streaked across the sky in careless grace, appeared to have been randomly dispensed with a God-sized paintbrush. The watercolor glow was in such sharp contrast to the stark skeleton of the tree in the foreground, that I pulled off the highway, and nearly tripped over my own feet in an effort to reach the top of a knoll, and focus my smart-phone camera.

My clumsy efforts were rewarded: The interplay of shadow and light produced a chiaroscuro effect worthy of a Caravaggio painting, and I found myself gazing at it in awe. It's only natural to want to capture such beauty in our own gardens. When we encounter the evolving nature of sun rays and clouds above, there's a way to see it--if you'll pardon the pun--in a whole new light.

Artists are well acquainted with the concept of negative space: that gaping area between focal points in a painting (or landscape, for that matter). What the wide-open sky offers, far from what may seem to be negative space, is actually a positive contribution to the evolving beauty of outdoor (and indoor) areas. How to use the sky to make your own garden design more appealing? Remember, the ever-changing nature of the sky provides endless possibilities to enhance individual landscapes. Study the effects of light and shade on your landscape, and plant accordingly. Obviously, those areas that receive more sunlight require plants that soak up rays, while shade lovers thrive in the dappled light of woody paths and screening structures. But take it a step further: note the the sun's arc, from its rising in the East to its eventual departure in the West, and make the most of its celestial appeal.

In my yard, the sun's early morning appearance was filtered through an abundance of maple leaves from mid-spring through late summer. Clipping the bottom half-dozen branches enabled me to enjoy the way it fetchingly peeked through the neighboring pines, and spurred the struggling porch-side perennials into a motivating mood for budding.

And now the sky itself becomes vital to color and tone in my mid-autumn landscape. With flowers far past their prime, and the bright shot of leaves fallen onto my dulled grass, the sky takes center stage. My beloved perennial beds and treasured trees are cast into stylized shadow puppets, dark distractions to the drama unfolding around and above them.

And, if this picture is any indication of what's in store for us this season, I'd say there will be quite a few sights to see--and savor.

A (scientifically enhanced) tree grows in Brooklyn

Not since I was a kid, reading about the adventures of Alice in Wonderland have I been so intrigued by the fanciful ideas set forth by what I can only term "eco-innovators" in nearby Brooklyn, New York! These savvy scientists have actually devised ways to integrate houses into trees (rather than cutting them down to build abodes!) and create "edible" furniture! Imagine, Alice: a chair made out of mushrooms!

I know, the idea sounds like some kind of acid-induced delusion of Leary-esque proportions, what happens when New Age collides with science fiction, but the Harvard-educated creator of this innovation is far from a baseless dreamer. Harvard graduate, MIT PhD, and now NYU professor Mitchell Joachim is working on these environmental innovations at his "green manufacturing center" at the old Navy shipyard in Brooklyn.

"I think we are in a bit of a crisis when it comes to the climate," Joachim recently told Fox 5 news. "The way we make buildings today has to change.

Here, an excerpt from the Fox 5 interview, explaining one of his ideas: a living tree house:

"We don't chop the tree down. We move into the tree and we surround ourselves with woody plants and vines that help control the local geometry of a home."
Blending biology and architecture, scientists are genetically modifying wood to grow it in the shape of a house that allows people to live on the inside and animals to live on the outside.
"There is no distinction between your home and the landscape," Joachim says. "You can have entire villages grown in this process."

Another example of biology and architecture merging is a chair that's made of mushrooms. You could even eat it.
"When you are done with our chair you throw it into a garden and feed thousands of other organisms and life forms, and contribute to the Earth's ecosystem... that web of life as opposed to a chair from IKEA you chuck in a landfill and it's done," Joachim says.

And he has the support of city and state leaders, who've invested millions in tax dollars in the manufacturing center, all to make innovative ideas grow...where else? In Brooklyn.

Living the "Oscar de la Renta" life

Like people across the globe, I was saddened to hear that Oscar de a Renta died this past week. More years ago than I'd like to recall, I was a fresh-faced beauty editor just out of college, writing for women's publications such as Woman's World and Redbook magazines, and the iconic fashion designer was like a god to me. His creations were the stuff of fairy tales, and I hoped to one day just try on one of his gowns.

Now that I'm older, I still appreciate the allure of his designs, but having the chance to see a number of his interviews, I am actually more impressed by his outlook. He was, in my opinion, the epitome of style, not just fashion. He so often pointed out that style was not so much about what a person was wearing, as how a person was living.

To that end, it's important to note that he was an avid gardener. In fact he once said,

Gardening is how I relax, It's another form of creating and playing with colors.

He understood the interplay between the natural world and each individual's role in it, commenting,

I like light, color, luminosity. I like things full of color and vibrant.

I've often thought he was advantageously named: Oscar. The same name as the most honored prize we give iconic actresses, known for their soul-stirring performances, and their effortless ability to wear his creations.

If Oscar de la Renta is nurturing a garden in heaven, you know he's tending paradise.