The Old Oakleaf

The Oakleaf Hydrangea at home budding out for spring!

About a week ago I was sitting in an interview in New York City at the Garden Club of America headquarters. I was there to interview for the RHS Interchange Fellowship, and opportunity which allows one student of Horticulture or Landscape Architecture to live in the Britain for 10 months working in gardens all over the country. I was all kinds of nervous and all kinds of excited. Put these two things together, and I really hadn't eaten much in the 4 days prior to the interview. The selection committee walked me back into a beautiful library filled with garden and plant books. In this moment I felt all the anxiety melt away. There is something comforting about being in the company of people who love plants.

One of the first questions I was asked was what my favorite plant is. Immediately the words Hydrangea quercifolia popped into my head... the Oakleaf Hydrangea. We have a huge one at the corner of our house that has been there ever since we moved in when I was 6. Since I can remember, that hydrangea was the first thing I saw when I returned home. I first answered the question by talking about the Oakleaf Hydrangea's beauty through all seasons of the year. How the leaves bud out in the spring in a bright, fresh green, almost before any leaves have started to appear on the trees. The huge white blooms arrive by May signaling school being out and warm weather moving in to stay. By the end of summer the blooms have faded, but the spent flower heads turn a translucent brown and the leaves fade from orange to red and purple to brown. In winter a few leaves hang on while the exfoliating bark of the hydrangea takes center stage. Before you know it the leaves are budding out again and spring is on the way. I love the rhythmic cycle. I love the dynamism. I love that to me, the Oakleaf Hydrangea means home.

Two days after I returned from NYC, I received an email from the Garden Club of America telling me I had been selected as the 2016-2017 RHS Interchange Fellow.  In September I will leave for the opportunity of a lifetime, meeting more lovely people over the pond who love plants and gardens. I think humbled is the only word which adequately describes how I feel. This fellowship has been a three year dream of mine, and I cannot believe that it is real.

 In the days between my interview and the email, I was praying these verses over and over.

"Trust in the Lord, and do good; dwell in the land and befriend faithfulness. Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord; trust in him, and he will act. He will bring forth your righteousness as the light, and your justice as the noonday. Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him;"
Psalm 3-7a

As I embark on this journey, I do so knowing that success in my career is not the desire of my heart. My desire is to be used for God's glory and not my own, no matter where the Lord places me in life. He is the desire of my heart. May every day be to him who is able to do so much more than all I could ever ask or imagine.

This weekend I have been home for the first time this semester. The leaves on the old Oakleaf Hydrangea at the corner of our house are popping out in the most beautiful shade of green. Each time I pass them I am reminded of the beauty of new beginnings. But I am also reminded of home. I am so grateful to have this opportunity to go, to leave home and to live in a new place and to learn new things and to build friendships with new people. But I am also grateful that I have firm roots at home, with people I love and are cheering for me. And even when I am away, I will know my old Oakleaf Hydrangea is waiting to welcome be home when I return.

So this begins a new era in Roots and Ramblings... the British Edition! Over the next few months I will be planning out what gardens I will be working in and practicing my tea drinking regime. Cheerio for now!

Bienvenue en France!

My journey through France began with train doors slamming in my face as my high speed train took off towards Aix-en-Provence. The only problem was that my stop was Avignon, the station which the train was getting further from with every passing second. All I could think to do was stand at the doors which were firmly locked and keep punching the button. 

The train is moving. Surely it will stop. 

punch, punch, punch 

It has to stop. I am still on here. My group is not on here. I need to NOT be on here.

punch punch punch punch punch… 

I am pretty sure this train isn’t stopping, but I still need to press this button… 

punch punch punch PUNCH

My racing mind was interrupted by a young (and might I add very attractive) french guy who just slowly shook his head and muttered “the door will never open again.” 

The sound of his voice echoed down the corridor of the train…

Never…

never never neverrrr… 

Open… 

open open opennnnn… 

Again…

again again againnnnnn…

And mind you, this was no ordinary train. This was one of those fancy high speed trains which travels at the speed of light and stops FOR NO MAN. So getting off, finding another train, getting back to my people… that was all going to be a bit like if you took off in the wrong airplane and you were trying to get off to head the opposite direction. And to further complicate matters, the only words I knew in the native tongue were Merci, Bonjour, and Croissant. 

But all was not lost. My fellow garden tour comrade, Joan, was also not able to exit the train in the allotted 2 minutes.

Dear sweet Joan. 

I was immediately struck by a brilliant idea — Joan and I must head to the snack bar, which I firmly believe is where all very pressing problems can be solved. There we found some people in uniforms, so with zero context of who I am or my predicament I begin to English/French word vomit on the poor snack bar custodian. I was talking fast and waving my hands and trying to type in numbers to a French man’s phone standing near me.

Before I really knew what was happening, the entire cabin of lovely French people were talking to each other and pointing at us, and sweet Joan and I just stood there like the little lost Americans we were (except Joan is Canadian but you get the picture). About 20 minutes later, the kind snack bar custodian handed me a sheet of paper with a platform number and the words “4 minutes” scribbled with a train number. He just looked at me and said “run.” 

When the train came to a stop, I scooped up Joan’s suitcase in one arm and my 43 pound backpack in the other and ran as fast as I could to the indicated platform in an “every man for himself” type fashion. In my memory (which could have undergone sub conscience embellishment), the lovely French people of our train cabin were hanging out the windows waving silk scarves and cheering me and Joan on as we raced up the stairs through throngs of faceless people. It is of course all in slow motion and I look extra graceful as I effortlessly lift two large pieces of luggage and run simultaneously.

The rest of the trip I endured jokes about putting me on a leash and exiting the bus in a timely manner. But I  have decided I was actually the one who came out on top through the experience because I found my inspiration for my next romantic comedy which will take place on a high speed train in France (insert cute French boy and lost American girl).

So my little French adventure had begun. Train doors had slammed in my face, but the greatest adventures often begin that way now don’t they?

first views of Provence out of the train window (pre-missed train exit fiasco of 2k14)

People and Places

Voilá!

23 gardens. 10 days. And 17 garden lovers from Seattle and Vancover... with a 22 year old Alabama girl thrown in the mix to spice things up. I was the youngest by 30 years, and man did we have a ball exploring one end of Provence, France to the other. Thinking back to the tour, it is still a mental whirlwind of green with the sound of trickling water and the smell of lavender. But never fear, we always had a supply of bread, cheese, and cold rosé to keep us going. In the words of one of our French hosts, "Baguette in the morning, noon, and night! It tis not a meal without a baguette!" 

Oh the inconceivable thought of a meal without a baguette!

So what did I take away from all these contemporary French gardens? The leader of the tour asked me that same question at our farewell dinner, and I racked my brain for a fancy smancy design insight that would really knock his socks off. But as I sat there thinking and sipping on some rosé, what flashed through my mind were the faces of the garden owners we had met along the way. I fell in love with the people who were in these gardens everyday and the stories they had to share. And I realized, that's what a garden is really all about, isn't it?

We met one designer/owner who has an award winning and widely known garden. He met us and began immediately reeling off facts and flinging his arms and walking very briskly through the garden. He seemed in a hurry, disconnected to us and to the garden. As a result, I felt very uncomfortable and confused in his garden. The garden lacked a story, a vision, and a passion for the place and the people who would enter it. Although a place may photograph well and win awards, a garden should be extremely more powerful as an experience than it is in a photograph.

On the other hand were designers and owners who could have made me fall in love with a flat plane of dirt because they were such wonderful story tellers. They welcomed us at their garden gates with giant smiles. They told us the history of their house, their town, and the creation of their beloved gardens. They talked to plants like the plants could hear them. They knew every bloom time and the reason for every view into and out of their garden. Their gardens had heart. Although we often discussed the successes and failure of some of the design decisions, each one of these gardens had succeeded in my mind. 

I took a sketch book around to all the gardens and often found myself jotting down little tid bits that really spoke to me as a garden lover. I will be posting several snap shots of these people and what they  taught me. Gardens are about people, and I think we met some of the loveliest of garden owners that France has to offer, and I am so grateful they take joy in sharing them!

I am still in France until the end of October. I will be doing a whirlwind tour, chasing gardens and meeting more lovely people. I am hoping that maybe the good Lord will grant me the power to speak French in my sleep one night. But until then, it's just me, my backpack, and google translate. 

Au revoir for now!

Searching for Flowers

The other day I was in a Primo truck, chatting away with a gardener after lunch time. Suddenly we were flagged down by a visitor. We promptly reversed. What happened next is something that probably haunts most gardens in mid August, but it never ceases to make my face turn slightly red and my heart to start beating a tiny bit faster. Here it comes...

"Umm, excuse me... Where are all the flowers?"

I understand the concern, kinda. Not really. But maybe. When it's August the summer blooming things have largely finished and the fall blooming things haven't quite started. Therefore, the garden is mostly green. So we kindly explained the difference between a woodland garden and a display garden, and we continued on (with a slightly disgruntled spirit).

You might ask yourself, "Self, isn't a garden so much more than just pretty flowers?"

I thought no one would ever ask! Let's be friends.

I think the garden in August is spectacular. The trees, the understory of ferns and hostas, the way the light moves through the leaves, the views out from hills into meadows of Queen Anne's Lace, and the giggles of kids coming from the Enchanted Woods... It never ceases to take my breath away. Yet some people miss all that the August garden has to offer because they arrive with the expectation of bright pink azaleas, hills of daffodils, and speckles of purple primrose dancing in their heads. Their expectations cloud their ability to appreciate the beauty right before their eyes.

Sunday in church we sang the hymn "Great is Thy Faithfulness." As the words rang through the chapel, I realized how guilty I am of committing this same act of ungratefulness in my life due to the many false expectations I have created in my head. I go looking for flowers and find myself disappointed in the midst of a beautifully lush woodland garden of the Lord's handiwork.

Summer and winter and spring time and harvest

Sun, moon and stars in their courses above

Join with all nature in manifold witness

To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love

Great is Thy faithfulness

Great is Thy faithfulness

Morning by morning new mercies I see

All I have needed Thy hand hath provided

Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me

oops.

I am the falsely assuming garden visitor looking for only pretty flowers. Say it isn't so!

It's so.

Life will be filled with times of flowers. They are thrilling little colorful surprises in the garden of life. But flowers are also fleeting, here one day and gone the next. Therefore, our joy cannot be founded upon something as ephemeral as the flowering times of life. Morning by morning the Lord's mercies are made new. If only I would stop long enough to notice.

So maybe  I understand the question a little bit more now. And maybe the next time it happens my face won't turn so red and my heart won't beat quite so fast. Because I ask that same question in my own ways probably every day, and the Lord is always kind enough to reverse His Primo truck and explain to me about a woodland garden and the beauty of green. And now it's my job to trust that life is just as sweet even without all the flowers.

The Delightful Unknown

"Let no one be discouraged by the thought of how much there is to learn. Looking back upon nearly thirty years of gardening (the earlier part of it groping ignorance with scant of help), I can remember no part of it that was not full of pleasure and encouragement. For the first steps are steps into a delightful Unknown, the first successes are victories all the happier for being scarcely expected and with the growing knowledge comes the widening outlook, and the comforting sense of an ever-increasing gain of critical appreciation. Each new step becomes a little surer, and each new grasp a little firmer, till, little by little, comes the power of intelligent combination, the nearest thing we can know to the mighty force of creation."

Gertrude Jekyll / On Gardening: Gardening Credo

My time in Delaware has been full of moments in which I feel overwhelmed by how much I want to learn. I have a stack of 23 books in my room (no joke, I counted), and I often feel like I have restless body syndrome. There are so many gardens to see, so many museums to visit, so many restaurants to try, so many cities to visit, so many people to meet, and so many new skills I want to learn at work. I often find myself sitting on my bed with 4 books in my lap because I cannot pick which one I should start, while at the same time day dreaming of all the places I want to go. Its the curse of opportunity, and I wish there was medication for it. 

Two weeks ago I was on a plane home for a close friend's wedding, and I decided to only bring one book -- Gertrude Jeykll's On Gardening. She was an English painter whose eye sight became so poor she could no longer paint. So instead of mourning the loss, she took her talents and applied them to the garden, something she could infuse with her artistic vision even without the greatest eye sight. She is most remembered for her writing on the use of color in the perennial border, but I think her wise words can be applied to all facets of life. 

"Let no one be discouraged by the thought of how much there is to learn." I re-read those words about 14 times, it was one of those light bulbs moments that alters the way you have been seeing something. We will not ever be able to see everything. We will never be able to know everything. But that is not the point is it? I think the most intelligent people are those people who stay infinitely curious, knowing that they will never know all the answers while at the same time not letting that stop them from diving head first into life and all the wonder it holds for us. I want to enjoy nights when I get to drive to the grocery store as the sun is setting as much as I enjoy visiting a new city, because there are valuable memories and knowledge held in the most ordinary of experiences. This is my time of the "delightful unknown." A weird mash up of not knowing anything, yet having what feels like the world at my finger tips. It's freeing to know I can not know it all, because then I no longer fear what I might miss. Instead, I must enjoy those little victories which only come from those first steps into the delightful unknown.

Gertrude, I feel as if we are kindred spirits. 

Eating cherries during our plant ID class

Exploring Longwood Garden's impressive 4.5 acre conservatory

Stumbled upon an old barn during a walk at a state park

Children's garden harvest

Philly Art Museum

Philly sunset over the river

What greated me when I arrived back in Delaware after a long day on airplanes

Home sweet home 

Climbing sycamores overlooking fields of corn

I didn't want to come down

Coming soon: blog post on the best picnic of all time.

This is my backyard, and I kinda love it.

Reflecting Pool Reflections

Ah. The reflecting pool. 

It's black, it's rectangular, and everyone seems to wonder how deep it actually is. 

It is Winterthur's garden icon. The terraces and pool were designed by Marian Coffin, and she drew her inspiration from the water features and terraces of Italian Renaissance gardens. It's quite fancy, but in a peaceful and intimate fancy kind of way. Each morning before I blow off the debris from the terraces I just stop and look at the space in the morning light. I think its most beautiful before anyone has disturbed it, with the petals softly laying below a blooming tree and the greenness of the hill is cool and dewy... 

But then I crank up the backpack blower and ruin the really beautifully serene mental picture you have right now.

Speaking of mental pictures, I often imagine myself on a floatie holding a pina colada with an umbrella straw floating around in the reflecting pool after work, just chilling in the afternoon sun. I could talk to the visitors whilst floating in the reflecting pool, pose for some pictures in my shades, answer all their questions about controlling algae growth and how deep the pool is. I would be like a floating garden tour guide. 

Although my dreams of fruity drinks and floaties may never come to be, I did get to put on waders and hop into the reflecting pool to place the water plants. I was having an absolute ball. Pictures say 1000 words, so I'll let you deduct the rest of the story. 

Cheers to finding excitement in the new little things in life...  and dreaming of fruity drinks and floaties.

Got my waders on and I'm ready to play

Meet Andre. He is part horse and part Merman. I love him.

Placing standing that hold the water plant containers

Water plant installers at your service

As the summer progresses the plants will spread and fill out the clusters

A Whole Lot of Right

This past Saturday two other interns and I helped with the first day of children's garden.  Each kid, with the help of their parents, has their own plot with an assortment of veggies to grow this summer in eager expectation of several bountiful harvests.

I believe it is important to teach kids where their food comes from at an early age so that they grow up with an appreciation and respect for the food they have been given and the health of their bodies. We often hear the negative side of the problem with kids sitting inside with their brains going to mush with their hands in a bag of potato chips. But on the other side of this issue are kids with shovels in their hands and minds bursting with imaginations and creativity and parents who help provide them with access to places like the Winterthur Children's garden. These kids were so focused and excited to get seeds in the ground and water them in. It was so refreshing to watch in a world that seems to sometimes only focus on what is wrong. But on Saturday in the garden there seemed to be a whole lot of right happening.

It still blows my mind that huge and vibrant veggies will grow from these tiny seeds hidden in the dirt. Wrap your mind around that for a second... 

Our Creator is pretty extraordinary.