"I've NEVER seen a billboard lovely as a tree. " Odgen Nash Words of Wisdom Inspire Terrace Garden Renovations!

If you have been following my blog for a while, or even if you just started reading it yesterday, you may realize that something is missing in the photograph posted above of my urban terrace garden, and I’ll give you a clue. It is an object that is bigger than a bread box, and has always been located at the northern end since I began my garden, which is the vantage point of many photographs which have appeared in many of my blog entries. (The object is also a focal point in some of the aforementioned creations, including those titled Serene and Before Brunch in the Terrace Garden, which can be found in the store–front pages of my website).


Big clue: this object is known by two words, the first word begins with an “S” and ends with an “S” and the second word has four letters. (I’ve included a little “thinking music” by way of the You Tube audio posted directly below, for you to play, dear reader, whilst you ponder this change in my terrace garden arrangement might be.)

If you suspected that the answer to what’s missing is a “SODAS” sign, you are correct, but unfortunately at the moment, I have no prize to offer you for a correct answer, other than hoping you feel some satisfaction in your powers of observation. The decision to remove the “SODAS” sign has been germinating for quite some time now, but actually taking it down was a big moment for me — and perhaps, dear reader, as you read today’s blog entry, you will recall a time when you have done something similar in your own life, whether its rearranging a physical space by putting something up as well as taking something down, or rethinking approaches to how you look at things.

My “SODAS” sign seen in the photograph below,

where it has been propped against the door that leads to and from my terrace garden to my apartment, is something I purchased in the late 1970’s, when I was in college and attending Illinois State University (I.S.U.), and it is perhaps one of my only good memories of the time I spent in the Bloomington/Normal area where I.S.U. is located. I ultimately left the university without procuring a degree from there.


However, I did accumulate a hefty college loan, as well as receiving a transcript with 176 credits, which were a result of having changed my major every other semester; an action taken by me in the hopes that a changed major would somehow obliterate my having Neurofibromatosis (N.F.) — a medical condition that I was born with (discussed in two previous blog entries which can be read by clicking here as well as here). The symptoms of my condition were becoming much more pronounced during those years, forcing me to leave the university to seek medical treatment in California, to hopefully rule out, or to treat (with brain surgery or undergo a treatment through my ear, if need be), an acoustic neuroma, a symptom of N.F. It was a frightening time for me, because, during those years, very little was known about N.F., and I was on–my–own going around the country to seek treatment and to undergo painful tests. Additionally, during those years, N.F. was known to be only brought on by heredity, and since nobody on either side of my family has this neurological condition, the arguments within my family’s unit that were raised as a result of this medical “fact” added to my misery.


The medical community now knows that N.F. can be a result of having a mutated chromosome, identified as Chromosome #17. This is a fact that was brought to my attention in a chance meeting with a woman on Columbus Avenue, in the late nineties, around the time I attached my “SODAS” sign to the rail of my terrace garden after having it hanging in the kitchenette of my studio apartment.


Fortunately, whenever I've seen this sign in my garden, I do not think of I.S.U., and I say this to you, dear reader, because I find that often when I look at a material possession, it has the power to remind. Therefore, it is surprising to me that when I’ve looked at this sign, I have not seen the mistakes I made while at I.S.U. Nor have I indulged (as Joan Didion so nicely puts it in her essay called On Self–Respect), in “counting up [my] sins of commission and omission, the trusts betrayed (towards me and trusts I’ve betrayed), the promises subtly broken (those made to me, those I’ve made to others), the gifts irrevocably wasted through sloth or cowardice or carelessness.”


However, my looking at past photographs of the “SODAS” sign in my terrace garden does have the power to remind me of my previous years in gardening, and sharing some of these images with you, dear reader, makes me feel vulnerable, because they reveal my then lack of talents as a gardener (which have taken a while to develop), but because this post is about the removal of long–standing object, and not about my own stages as a gardener, I will share some pictures of the “SODAS” sign’s years in the garden. (Please look below.)

PHOTO–A

The photograph posted above (which I will call Photo A for purposes of this blog narrative) is a picture taken during one of my first years of gardening, and when I look at it, I do not focus on the “SODAS” sign per se; rather I cringe with embarrassment at some of the choices I made in terms of the vines, plants, shrubs and flowers which I had in my garden at that time. This brings me back to a vulnerability I had during those days, knowing that my garden screamed “novice” with a taste for airport art. I confess that I did not know much about gardening then, but fortunately, in New York City, there are many Greenmarkets chocked full of choices of what one can plant. However, during my early garden years, it seemed to me that, for the most part, the growers who sold what they grew on their farms and in their greenhouses had little time or concern for novice gardeners. There is an element of haughtiness in New York City (and perhaps elsewhere too), when it comes to sellers imparting information to buyers particularly in certain bicycle shops, camera shops, and most definitely at some flower shops; as well as greenmarkets. This not only a haughtiness, but it is also an air of snobbery designed (perhaps unwittingly), to separate the cool-in-the-knows from the just-learning.


But, as I write this post today, I admit that in the past few years, unlike my early garden years, I have had terrific and inspirational encounters with many Greenmarket growers, and there seems to have been a shift in attitude of sellers, which is perhaps caused by a poor economy forcing sellers to “make nice” towards potential buyers, or maybe the kinder–information–sharing attitudes from growers that I am experiencing now, is because I know so much more now about gardening, and, therefore, I may have gained some respect. That is to say, my knowing the names of herbs, plants, trees, and shrubs, and the conditions which they need to thrive in a garden, seems to have won me a certain rite of passage. At least I feel more comfortable knowing the names of various herbs, plants, vines, shrubs, and trees, like the feeling one might have when traveling to another country and speaking (even if it is just a little) of the language. In fact, it has been my observation that when one travels to another country, if they try and speak the language — even if it is only a little bit of that language — they are more likely to receive the information that they need (and may not even get if they knew nothing or too little about the language).


This is both understandable and sad. Understandable, because if one needs information, then they should probably have some clues about what they want to know (be it the directions to a place in a land where they don’t speak the native language fluently, or if they are new to cycling and need to procure the proper apparel, or if they are wondering about an ingredient in cooking when they are new to cuisine based endeavors, or whatever task one is undertaking for which they need information — including what might thrive in their garden if they are just beginning to exercise their green thumb.


However, the lack of willingness to impart information is mostly sad. Sad, because when folks do not want to share what they know for whatever reason, or to take the time to give information to new–bes, that is selfish and somewhat mean-spirited: revealing an impatience that seems to be permeating our culture today — a culture so desperately in need of of folks reaching out to each other, even if it is just to ask if something will or will not thrive in direct sun light or a northern exposure. For, if we all are “on–our–own” when it comes to giving and receiving information, it is a sad commentary indeed. Nonetheless, in my early days of gardening, it was very hard to get answers to questions, and while I would not say I that I learned the hard way (for in gardening there is no hard way), I would say this is a case where I wish I knew then what I know now.


This is not always true for me, I have leaned more towards the somehow being better off when I didn’t know mode. The type of mode Joan Didion describes (in her essay, Goodbye to All That) when giving an account of the first years she lived in New York City: ‥ . . . I would stay just six months and could see the Brooklyn Bridge from my window. As it turned out it was the Triborough, and I stayed eight years. . . . In retrospect it seems that those days before I knew the names of all the bridges were happier . . . .” Like Didion, the pain I have experienced from knowing the true picture has made the fantasy wide–eyed moments much more appealing — however not when it comes to gardening. I like knowing all the names (both Latin and “Common”). I like knowing their growing conditions and having a basic sense of how they will “perform” in my garden, because no matter what, they never fail to surprise me, and my having a basic understanding of my herbs, plants, vines, shrubs and trees allows me to appreciate their nuances even more.


Still, in addition to the self-concious and awkwardly placed plant choices seen in the photograph — the third photograph from the top of this post — which I have labeled PHOTO–A, my “SODAS” sign is present. The sign was initially attached to the railing that surrounds my terrace garden by Gerson, a young man from Brazil (and used to enjoying being outside), who was making repairs to my studio apartment after the ceiling had collapsed inside of it (an incident I discussed in a previous post, which was one of my very first blog entries, titled America’s Answer to Guy de Maupassant: The Inspiration Behind the Title to my Blog, The Last Leaf Gardener).


The “SODAS” sign has been in my terrace garden almost twelve years, and, during that time, my garden has changed dramatically over the years, with the inclusion and elimination of various herbs, plants, vines, shrubs, and trees, as seen in the following pictures of my garden’s evolution (over the years 2006–2009, with the SODA sign remaining amidst the changes.

PHOTO–B

PHOTO–B, known as Summer Afternoon in the Terrace Garden (AKA Urban Rooftop Garden: Mid-Summer Afternoon) and was one of my limited edition greeting cards.


However, even though the “SODAS” sign and the marble topped table have remained in my terrace garden, the herbs, vines, plants, shrubs, and trees that I grow have changed dramatically.


The same holds true for PHOTO–C (Before Lunch in the Terrace Garden) and PHOTO–D (Serene) posted below, except these latter two can be viewed both in my on–line brochure as well as in the store–front pages of my web–site, where purchase information is available.

PHOTO–C (Above)

PHOTO–D (Above)

The photographs below were also taken during early garden endeavors, but they have not been rendered into cards at this time, however, they have been included for purposes of this blog post, to document the stagnancy or consistency of the “SODAS” sign amidst the ever changing terrace garden.

PHOTO–E (Above)

PHOTO–F(Above)

The “SODAS” sign always proved to be a topic of conversation when entertaining guests in my terrace garden soirées, particularly whilst sipping glasses of chilled Vin de Pays de l’Hérault or Bourgogne Aligoté, during the “merry, merry month of May” or drinking from steaming mugs of Knob–Hill Chuao Hot Chocolate on a Halloween night


Additionally, the “SODAS” sign proved to be a bench marker of the amount of snowfall as seen in the photographs below taken during various years of my terrace garden winterizing.

PHOTO–G (Above: Winterizing 07-08)

PHOTO–H (Above: Winterizing 07-08)

PHOTO–I (Above: Winterizing 08-09)

PHOTO–J (Above: Winterizing 08-09)

PHOTO–K (Above: Winterizing 08-09)

PHOTO–L (Above: Winterizing 08-09)

PHOTO–M (Above: Winterizing 09-010)

PHOTO–N (Above: Winterizing 09-010)

PHOTO–O (Above: Winterizing 09-010)

PHOTO–P (Above: Winterizing 010-011)

PHOTO–Q (Above: Winterizing 010-011)

PHOTO–R (Above: Winterizing 010-011)

PHOTO–S (Above: Winterizing 010-011)

PHOTO–T (Above: Winterizing 010-011)

And, with PHOTO–T, this brings me to the first few months of this season’s garden on my terrace, and the last few shots of terrace garden with the “SODAS” sign,

PHOTO–U (Above)

PHOTO–V (Above)

before I took it down the other day, and if you have made it this far looking at the variety of photographs in this blog post, dear reader, you have a right to question, why take the “SODAS” sign down after all these years of having it make such a presence in my terrace garden? 


The answer to that (and in determining this answer, if you’d like, you can scroll up and replay the “think music” from You Tube, which is near the beginning of this blog entry), is the arrival of a Larix leptolepsis, a tree that Juan V was able to get for me after knowing that a little Larix leptolepsis which I loved had been attacked by beetles and died, an occurrence that I wrote about in a previous post.


This sweet little tree can be seen in the right hand corner of the photograph, just in front of the final “S” in the word, SODAS. Unfortunately, the final “S” in SODAS is distracting from the ability to see the outline of the Larix’s branches and beautiful needles and the first “S” of SODAS to the left in this photograph is distracting from the branches of my Acer palmatum (“Shisitatsu” Sawa), a tree that you may recall reading about in previous posts including the one here.


Therefore, when the “SODAS” sign started to “compete” with the ability to see the outline of the branches of my trees, I felt it was time to take it down from its location in the garden, and at this time there is no other place in the garden that it can go. How do I feel about removing such a longstanding “fixture” in my garden? The answer is in the title of this blog post (and Joyce Kilmer and Odgen Nash have the answers).


Here is Joyce Kilmer’s answer (whose poem I have included in two previous posts which you will find here and here):

I think that I shall never see,
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest,
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray:
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair:
Upon whose bosom snow has lain:
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems were made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

And here is Odgen Nash’s answer (the poet referenced in today’s blog title):

I think that I shall never see
A billboard lovely as a tree.
Indeed unless the billboards fall,
I'll never see a tree at all.

My Acer palmatum (“Shisitasu” Sawa) has been moved to another part of the terrace since the “SODAS” sign was removed, but, my Acer shirasa wanum (Autumn Moon) and my Larix leptolepsis (pictured above) seem to enjoy the “renovated” environment, sans the “SODAS” sign.

Help Wanted (Per Request of Penniestum setaceum and Acer palmatum)

Dear Reader, 
I'm the Pennisetum setaceum (or as Purple Fountain Grass to my close friends) that can be seen in the left corner (in front of an Acer  palmatum tree who also goes by 'Shisitatsu sawa') of the photograph posted above, and I am writing on behalf of the author of this blog, Patricia Youngquist, who happens to be the gardener who takes care of us. 


We need your help. As you may know, Ms. Youngquist is also a photo-artist and often creates exquisite greeting cards, invitations and event program covers using images she takes of  the herbs, plants, shrubs and trees that she grows in her  urban garden. She even includes them in the store-front pages within her web-site (where purchase information is available) and often includes selections in her downloadable paper brochure. At this time she has been preparing new selections with beautiful images to add to these places, and we are so excited because she has been promising — since this past September — to include us in this particular collection. Now she is fretting because she cannot come up with a 3D image of us to add to her web-site, and we are afraid we won't be included in that venue! Can you believe someone has told her that she needs to present her cards in 3D as opposed to flat?


According to Ms. Youngquist, she has "been trying to create this 3D effect (to showcase her line of greeting cards, invitations and event program covers) with Google Sketch-Up" as she does not have Illustrator. We know she has been working with someone on creating this effect, but they have not been unable to get the results  that they want with Photo-Shop CS3 (the photo posted above is what a consultant and she have been able to achieve).


We have always wanted to be in pictures, so the Acer and I have been looking forward to being a part of the new collection of cards, invitations and event program covers; and today, we are posting on Youngquist's behalf to see if you dear reader have a suggestion on how she might create a 3D image —  and we will even ask her to send you some cards if she achieves good results.


With thanks (and hope that spring arrives soon),
Penniestum setaceum and Acer palmatum

Turning the Tables in Garden Decor

The ability to define my goals in salient points does not come easily to me. It never has. I tend to view most matters in layers and get caught up in possibilities. As a young junior high-school student, I agonized over the standardized PSAT when it came to multiple choice questions. The traditional choices for those test questions was usually something like this: Sometimes option "a" but never option "b" when "e" and "f" are present. On one occasion, when I questioned the teacher about various scenarios (which were delaying me from being able to go on to the next page), I was put out in the hallway, with masking tape bound over my mouth, and told "when you are ready to stop asking questions and make a quick choice you, can come back to the classroom."

This problem of taking too much time to weigh the answers in multiple-choice test questions occurred in test-taking again, when I was in high-school and took the SAT. There was a test question about how many clothes-pins it would take to hang laundry on a clothes-line. I found myself thinking, 'hmmmm, that depends . . . is the clothing heavy jeans and towels, or is it something light such as under garments?' I lost all my test taking time on those types of test questions, and since SAT scores are based on time as well as knowledge.

Fortunately, I passed the SATs with a score high enough to get into college, and I used my layered thinking to my advantage, graduating from the university with honors. My graduating from college, and my deliberating over option A and option B in relation to test questions, was a number of years ago, but the inclination to consider various scenarios of a given issue still prevails. 

For example, nearly ten years ago I found a wooden table (an image of it can be seen in the image at the top of this posting) at a local Flea Market. It seemed like quite a find at the time because it "matched" two chairs that I already owned. The table turned out to be a bit too high for the enjoyment of herb infused cocktails when sitting in those chairs, so I had to replace it which I did with a find from a used furniture shop, and it has been a mainstay in my urban garden for years to come which can be seen in photos that include the table in a previous post.

As for the fate of the wooden table, being a layered thinker, I turned it into a stand, specifically a "salad bar" where I attempted to grow salad greens such as tatsoi, dandelion, red lettuce, green lettuce, and green mustard (as seen below).

It had been my hope that my dinner guests could pick their own salad. I quickly learned that no mater how much loving care I gave my salad greens (and reds), they did not grow very well in terra-cotta containers. Therefore, over the following years the table supported a terra-cotta bowl filled with either Dragon's Blood Red Sedum plants, Amazon Sunset plants, Ajuga plants, and even Thymus Argenetus (Silver Thyme) plants. This can be seen in the corresponding photographs posted below.

Of course, this answer for the use of my table proved to be far from infinite. The table-top's wood became increasingly stressed by my watering the various plants, and by the table-top being subject to outdoor conditions of rain, hail, sleet and snow. The table-top's wood eventually warped, but I had every intention of replacing it — with lumber that I could order cut to size — so I could continue using the table as a plant stand.

Doing this became unnecessary when another layered thinker, Juan (who did the trivet installation for my Cheerful Cherry Farm Autumn Clematis to climb upon, which  I wrote about in a previous post), removed the wood, and placed my potted Fagus sylvaitca (Beech Tree) into the table's remaining rim. The result was extraordinary as seen in the images below.

Not only does my Beech Tree appear to love its new "home;" the passion vine, trailing on the rail behind it, is flourishing too. Moreover my 'Shigitatsu Sawa'- seen here with its golden-rose autumn leaves — enjoys (evidenced by its thriving) being alongside it. (An image of the 'Shigitatsu Sawas' leaves in front of the rim of the Beech Tree's pot was seen in a previous post.) BTW, Juan used the old wood from the table as a "footer" to balance one of  my heavy pots containing a shrub - truly turning the table's use in my garden.

"In war, there are no unwounded soldiers" Solemn Remembrances for Veteran's Day and the Promise of the First Leaf

Having a blog called, The Last Leaf Gardener, I have written about last leaves in previous posts in January and March. However, this post begins with a first leaf - the first leaf on my Acer palmatum (a tree that I have in my urban garden)  to change color in honor of Autumn. Even though I recently blogged about November being a time to focus on garden textures that get overlooked by color, I am returning to color with this post. My Acer's golden tones can be seen (in the photograph posted below) in this single leaf peeking out from the green and cream colored hues of the Acer's other leaves.

My freedom to enjoy my 'Shigitatsu Sawa' leaf changing colors from a green with cream tones, to a golden with rosey tones, from the first leaf to all of its leaves, and then to create images celebrating it, is in part won by veterans who fought for  freedom in wars gone by.

I spoke about the freedom to create in the first posting of this blog. Those who paid the price for freedom, with their lives, have been robbed of years to enjoy fall foliage such as my Acer's (all of  its leaves are have now turned to a golden hue with rose undertones as seen in the photograph below).

For those who served, the veterans that we honor today, who sadly know that "in war, there are no unwounded soldiers" (Jose Narosky), may the changing leaves be a reminder, and a consolation that all things are passing.

The Last Saturday of Summer 2010 and the fate of Pennisetum setaceum 'Rubrum'

Upright and arching, this graceful Purple Fountain Grass, Pennisetum setaceum 'Rubrum,' with its delicate plumes that stretch up and out is often used in clusters, mass plantings or along slopes. I like it to be showcased where it can be appreciated on its own. As seen (in the photograph posted above) in its placement next to my Acer palmatum, 'Shigitatsu Sawa,' the contrast of their textures and colors compliment each other. Some say when planted in clusters, the fountain grass provides privacy by creating a hedge. For an urban — New York City — terrace garden, I find it to do the same - even as a 'single' when planted in a beautiful container and placed on bamboo shelving which I've attached to my terrace wall to provide a shield from a voyeur neighbor whose bathroom window looks onto my terrace.

I am in the process of rendering these images into invitations, event program covers, and note-cards. Please continue to visit my web-site and on-line brochure for details. As today is the last calendar day of summer, and my 'Rubrum' is not "winter-hearty" for the New York City temperature zone, I have to be vigilant about watching for the onset of frost, but right before that happens the purple grasses can be cut and used in flower arrangements.