Adventures in Gardening
Where we talk about all the wonderful things right in front of us everyday
In this series, we go back to nature and talk about flowers and other growing things, and the designs inspired by them.
Midnight In a Gadda Da-Vida, Baby
Todays Episode is Midnight Ina Gadda David, Baby, for some reason, mainly because I wanted to use the following photo.
Image courtesy of PFFK #7
This is an old fountain statuette that had fallen down in the back garden. I see a tribute to a great and momentous past, and a message to rebuild that past so it is even bigger.
Our story today begins in May 2020
I was outside looking at the grounds. Something green and white was popping up, and it smelled incredible. Like fragrance of the Gods — do Gods use perfume? There were tiny belle shaped blooms, intricately shaped, delicate but somehow sturdy.
Here are some that I placed in glass tube planters by Georg Jensen (I always want to call them the George Jetsons).
Image courtesy of PFFK #7
I sent my mom, Hannibal, a picture. She replied, “that is Lily of the Valley. Rip them out. They take over.” She then repeated the story about the “person who sold us our wedding rings gave us a bunch of them. I planted them and they took over.”
That didn’t sit right with me. How could something so beautiful be a bad thing?
The next call was with my friend Aki. He is from Finland, which means, among other things, he does not shop at T.J. Maxx. I sent him the same picture. His response was similar, but opposite. “Those are Lily of the Valley. They are the national flower of Finland.” We agreed they have a fantastic fragrance and that I should not rip them out. In fact, I think he said something like “if you rip them out, I am going to personally fly over there and rip you out", or words to that effect.
He noted they appeared to be an older variety (they are), what might be called “heirloom” flowers (they are that too).
It turns out they are very reflective. Here they are reflecting a blue light.
Source: PFFK #7
Still not sure what to do, I remembered the Handbook’s Rule of Everything — to wit: “Everything you need is right in front of you.” Of course, I take this rule quite literally. I began to notice all kinds of sproutings coming out that were, thankfully, not grass. Grass doesn’t feed pollinators, in fact, I am not sure what it does. So what else is coming up? I wasn’t sure, but was determined to find out.
I had a lot of free time in May of 2020 — you know what I’m talking about — so I began searching in the house for old books or documents that might provide a clue. The previous owners had left a basement full of old books and papers. One great find was a virtually complete set of National Geographics from 1918 through the early 1930s. They are cool. They also pioneered using color photography — for example, one of those is a nice segment on Hummingbirds and their many miracle ways.
We are waiting for our hummingbirds to return. Until then, here is a picture taken early in the morning just before they left last year.
Courtesy of PFFK #7
I also discovered a bag of blueprints. Most of them dated from 1914 when the house was built, though I also found a torn remnant of a blueprint dated 1916 by a landscape architect named Thomas W. Sears. The top third was torn off, and probably lost to history. The bottom two-thirds, while badly stained and crinkled up, was legible. I did what I could to moisturize it — using methods set out in National Parks Department bulletins — and set it on acid free paper. I was able to save it. Anyway, it showed the planting plans along side a legend with latin names. The first 13 names were gone, but the rest were all legible. Sure enough, Lily of the Valley is on the list, as are many other features. I plan to show a picture of that blueprint here at some point, but it is very fragile and I’m afraid to handle it too much.
In addition, in keeping with the old saying “idle hands brings much internet research”, I discovered that there is a large Thomas W. Sears archive at the Smithsonian, with thousand of pictures, plans and drawings. One of those is a drawing facing the back of the house. It was misidentified as being in a different location, so at first I skipped over it. I came back to it, though, because it looked familiar. So there I was, staring at it for several minutes thinking, wow, I know that place. Then I looked out the window . . . and saw my own back yard. It looked to me like the drawing was taken from a camera obscura (or as my friend calls them a camera oblongata).
