Kiss the Earth

This warm weather has affected my brain, sending me into springtime seed-buying mode in proportions that far outweigh actual need. I've got a bunch of good seeds left from last year, having finally realized that the entire packet doesn't need to be emptied into the ground at once. But there I was over the weekend, cruising the aisles at Lowe's for something else, when I caught sight of the seed display in the middle of the aisle. It was a Holy Grail moment, one that made me long for spring.

Then the weather started getting warmer, so warm I was outside on the patio last night talking on the phone. Imagine - in early January! It even smelled like spring.

So now I have about $25 more worth of seeds - for peas, which I hope to try for the first time this year, several kinds of beans, which I planted too late last year to literally reap all of the benefits, a half-dozen varieties of sunflowers, which never grow old, some nasturtiums (might even eat them this year!), cypress vine, lettuces and catnip.

Just the sight of them in the store, the idea that spring is sufficiently at hand that it's time to buy seeds, made me happy. It seemed almost the entire Christmas holiday period was cold, rainy and dark, and we'll undoubtedly have more of the same ... maybe as soon as next week, when snow is in the forecast.

But now it's time to read up on planting peas. St. Patrick's Day, the time for planting them, will be here before you know it. I've got some fun new stakes I want to try with them. They're made of bamboo and were sold as an indoor decoration for a big vase, but I like the look of bamboo stakes in the garden if they're tall, sturdy and curliqued, which these are. I also like the idea that they're made of something natural. We'll see how it goes.

Meanwhile, I'll add this new crop of seed packets to the basket of seeds leftover from last year. Good lord. The basket's overflowing. I'll need a couple of acres to plant all this stuff. Talk about need. I'll have to get to work on that ...

Ha! got your attention with that title, didn't I? Imagine if the holiday amaryllis were marketed by its common name ... yes, naked lady. It's also supposedly known as the "Jersey lily," after the isle of Jersey, not our Joizey. One thing's clear, for all this confusion. A lot of plants we're sold under the name of amaryllis are really something else.

Anyway, here's mine. Still blooming, though Christmas is fading and one of the four giant, bell-shaped flowers has come and gone. I enjoy these tropical plants but they occasionally cause Florida-envy. Wouldn't it be fun to have them outside in the garden all year?

They can be annoying, though. They do nothing for what seems weeks, then suddenly shoot up inches a day until the huge buds fill out and burst open. Next thing you know the whole top-heavy spike has crashed to the sill or counter. I propped mine up with a stake but the pot's too shallow to support it for long.

Perhaps it's time to try the dwarf varieties. And as for keeping these plants to bloom another season, I've never been able to do that well. It seems like so much trouble - and so counter to the plant's nature, at least up north.

The good news is that this year, my red amaryllis grew and bloomed for several weeks before starting to wind down. Another one, from Morris Arboretum, was smaller and daintier, a quiet little beauty. It was white with a lime green throat and pink edging. Quite a looker.

This is hard to convey in a digital photo, but believe me, I must've peered inside those flowers a dozen times a day to see the green. Once I held it up to the light to see just how green it was. I never saw such an amaryllis.

So while they can get top-heavy, breaking stems and spilling dirt, they also bring something nice to our dark winter days. In the gardening world, I guess that qualifies them as "ephemerals," fleeting and fading after a brief, colorful life. Enough of a reason to exist, I'd say, and a gardening concept I have always loved.

As for how they got the "naked lady" moniker...perhaps best not to go there!

Oh, the catalogues of winter! Aren't they magnificent? I've had such fun lately looking through them. And then a funny thing happened. I began to feel stressed out. I nonchalantly put a check mark or star next to the plants I like and may want to buy and by the end of each session with a catalogue, I realized - with some horror - that I'd checked a million things. OK to like them, I guess, but there's no way I'd buy them all. Or should.

And then panic settled in. What will my garden look like? Spring is coming. I'm not ready! But I need to exercise restraint, do some planning (that is such a drag!) and think before I leap. My technique has been a combination of buying from catalogues or websites and in person, from nurseries. Whatever the method, much of it is based on impulse, rather than careful thought.

A good friend who's an experienced gardener visited one day late last summer. She hadn't seen the garden for two years. "Hmmm," she said, without smiling. "Lotta stuff going on here." I was momentarily taken aback. Was she saying my garden had too much stuff in it? Too much junk?

She said nothing, just began cruising around, inspecting. I felt like I do at the doctor's, under that flimsy nightshirt as the exam begins ...

Then she asked what's this, what's what, and saying this is interesting, so is that ... but I began to look around with a more critical eye. Some parts of the garden have gotten mighty crowded, it's true. So I'm thinking that when everything comes up this spring, I need to take a look around with clear eyes and decide what should be thinned and what needs beefing up.

I've already started researching what to do with a border beside the path that gets unremitting sun all day long. Nothing does well in this spot, and since it's where everyone walks, there's no way to camouflage or fake it. Welcome to my garden, in other words. Pay no attention to the Dust Bowl to your left ...

Think I'll put some of the catalogues on a shelf. Breathe deeply. And count to 10. Only four months till spring.

Ed Snodgrass, the very cool green-roof guy in Street, Md., I wrote about almost a year ago, grows sedums and ice plant (Delosperma) for his environmentally correct roofs. T'm not too familiar with ice plant, but I've come to really enjoy sedums. Now I'm thinking they might be a smart choice for that sunny border I mentioned in the previous post. (See "Panic attack"). You can visit Ed's website at www.greenroofplants.com.

Sedums are succulents. They have shallow roots, store water in their leaves and can survive the harshest, hottest conditions there are. The way I see it, if they can survive on a rooftop, as I know they can, I'm pretty confident they can take the heat of a Philadelphia summer. Yes, even that!

I've mostly used portulaca or moss rose in this space, two different varieties, without great success. One variety did better than another, but last year was the worst. I watered and watered and the stupid things barely perked up. Bought reinforcements late in the summer and they barely made it to fall. I decided that was it for portulaca, even though I know other gardeners who grow the stuff between rocks, on walls, in bright sunshine. NIMBY. Not in my back yard.

Problem areas in the garden can be frustrating, but there is a solution to almost all of them. People have found a way to garden on rocks and in deep shade. What's a little sun? What's a lot of sun, is more like it.

But every garden is so different, which is worth bearing in mind when we're pumping other gardeners for information. We're really on our own here.

Given how expensive this problem-solving can be, I'm determined this year to solve it once and for all with a perennial groundcover that will tolerate drought as well as its catalogue or web blurb says it will. And I figure, Ed Snodgrass, a fifth generation farmer who now makes a good living selling drought-tolerant plants for green roofs, knows what he's talking about.

Even in MBY.

Over the weekend I felt a spark of ambition and decided to make pasta from scratch. Made the dough, rolled it out in the hand-cranked pasta-maker (after literally dusting it off) and set the noodles on racks to dry. It's been awhile, too long, since I made fresh pasta. I'm rusty. The noodles came out twice as thick as they should've been. Tasty but way too thick.

The sauce, on the other hand, was delicious - for one based on canned tomatoes. These were canned tomatoes from Italy, though, packed whole, in their own juice with no salt or anything else. I squeezed them in my hands as I put them in the pot, as my Italian friend Christine taught me long ago, and then had a brainstorm. Wonder if any herbs have survived this latest blast of cold weather?

You probably know the answer. The herb garden had parsley, tiny sage leaves and a surprisingly robust oregano, as well as mint everywhere. I gathered up a handful, shivering despite the bright sun, and brought them in. Just the hint of sage and broad-leaf parsley, the twinge of oregano and the wave of mint - brought summer to mind. Yum.

You could really taste the herbs, and I didn't feel too bad about the tubby noodles. I have plenty of time to practice and by the time I'm where I need to be, the herb garden will be overflowing once more.

Looked out the window this morning at 6:45 to see a gorgeous sky. Wide pink stripe, steely blue-gray background, a trail of puffy white clouds. Threw on some clothes, raced downstairs and out the back door to catch these last freezing moments before sunrise.

In the couple of minutes it took to do this, the pink stripe vanished and the blue-gray became blue. But the neighborhood was still, the scene placid. I shot this picture and stood there enjoying it all.

Some Canada geese streamed by overhead and were instantly gone, their honking now replaced by the sudden sound of cars roaring through the stop sign at the corner. Personally, I prefer geese.

Thanks to the Pennsylvania Horticultural Society and PhillyCarShare, Organic Gardening magazine's latest issue names Philadelphia as one of the "greenest" metro areas in the country. In this category, we were outranked only by Portland, Ore., Boston, Seattle, Denver and San Francisco, but tell you what. Even coming in at the bottom of a list like that is an honor.

OG cites Philadelphia Green, the horticultural society's urban gardening program, Mill Creek Farm, the amazing community garden in West Philly, and the Philadelphia Flower Show, in addition to the car-sharing outfit whose vehicles seem to be everywhere these days.

At the risk of sounding like a nattering nabob, I have to say I wish the awareness of responsible environmental behavior was as high among the rank and file in this city as it is in Portland, Boston, Seattle, Denver and San Fran. If you've been to those places, you sense the difference at every turn, starting with the drive from the airport into town.

Despite all the community gardens, the car-sharing, the flower show and Philly Green, you'll never convince me that the residents of this city are among the "greenest" around. Take one small part of the picture - trash.

Step outside the boundaries of any of the special services districts, whether Center City or University City, and there's more litter and filth than you'll ever see in Boston or San Francisco. Our recycling rate is a mere 7 percent - shamefully low, and though our spiffy new mayor has vowed to get right on this, he's got a tough job ahead. Our level of participation is one of the worst in the country and, like so many laws and regulations in Philadelphia, there is no accountability on this front, little or no enforcement. (Even red lights here seem to be recommendations only.)

It's nice that Organic Gardening saw the best in us. Good publicity is always welcome. But if you know this city, it's hard to ignore the rest of the story.

Last night I did something I don't do nearly enough - take advantage of the many wonderful gardening lectures available in this horticultural town. Jenny Rose Carey, director of the landscape arboretum at Temple University Ambler, was the featured speaker at the Pennsylvania Horticultural Society, 20th and Arch. Her topic: Gardens of the Jazz Age. Her reason: The theme of this year's flower show, which of course is sponsored by PHS, is "Jazz It Up," the gardens and music of New Orleans. Opening day is March 2.

Jenny is a garden historian, a chronicler of all things fascinating about gardens and a walking "advert," as she says, for the idea that gardening, like art, music, architecture, fashion and politics, is as much about our time and place in history as anything else in our culture. Gardening doesn't exist in a vacuum, and those who dismiss it merely as a hobby miss much of the point. Yes, we love to plant flowers and grow vegetables, but it's so much more than that.

I think about this a lot, especially when people react indifferently when I tell them what I do for a living. (These are nongardeners, for sure.) More than ever, gardening is important not just for our amusement and mental health, but for our ability to be self-sufficient, to live an environmentally responsible life and to be, as is so often said, "stewards of the land."

Where was I? Oh, yes. Jenny. She's a Brit, grew up in Kent, gardens on a beautiful 4 1/2-acres in Ambler. She lives in a restored 1887 Victorian that she shares with husband Gus and three daughters. Fittingly, they live in what was once home to Wilmer Atkinson, the Quaker journalist who founded the Farm Journal in 1877.

Jenny's the daughter of a botanist, sister of a garden designer, if I recall correctly, and she designed her first garden at age 16. So it's in her genes - and she's had a lot of practice. Her garden in Ambler, perhaps more than any other modern private garden I've visited in a long time, is beautiful and smart and just plain buckets of fun. (Sorta like Jenny, who showed up last night in a low-slung, rose-covered "chapeau" to set the mood.) Among other features, she has a dry garden, herb and vegetable gardens, a cutting garden, a fairy garden and - what I've written about - a stumpery. Jenny and Prince Charles are among the few left in the world with stumperies!

Anyway, last night she spoke about gardening styles between the world wars - especially the 1920's, the "Jazz Age," in other words. It was a time of high-spirited prosperity, at least for the wealthy, emerging social and political freedom for women, increasing mechanization and interest in travel to and exploration of Italian gardens.

American gardens of the times, then, featured "outdoor rooms," fountains, pergolas and arbors, boxwood hedges and topiaries, sundials and birdbaths, axial views and vistas and perennial borders, a reaction to the carpet-like annual beds of Victorian gardens.

Jenny tossed into her slide presentation "adverts" of the era showing women in ankle-length dresses and bonnets of every sort strolling and digging in their gardens. Right!

The evening drew 90 people, quite a crowd for a Wednesday night in January. Enough to start a speakeasy!

OK, so I was a little hard on our native burg the other day. (See "Nabob time.") I do get down in the dumps sometimes about the low "green" consciousness so many of our fellow citizens exhibit. All I have to do to lift my spirits is to be reminded of the glorious history we have all around us here.

This is getting to be a habit, but today at lunchtime I went back to the Pennsylvania Horticultural Society offices at 20th and Arch for a spirited brown-bag talk on the history of the Philadelphia Flower Show. PHS library manager Janet Evans and conservator Jude Robison had a slew of vintage show photos, ads and brochures that had a little something for everyone.

The show began here in 1829. Think about that for a moment. John Quincy Adams was president! The show lasted one day and was held in the Masonic Hall in the 700 block of Chestnut Street. It's there no more, but that gathering is famous for hosting the debut of the poinsettia from Mexico. Imagine the stir. Wouldn't you love to time travel back to see that?

Janet showed us programs for the many crysanthemum and orchid shows, those being extremely popular flowers back in the day (and still). Did you know in 1922 a crysanthemum show was held at the Academy of Music? A temporary wooden floor was placed on top of the seats and an orchestra entertained guests, who were treated to tea and gorgeous displays from all the grand estates in the region.

Can't you just smell those old-time roses? the sweet peas? If you've ever grown sweet peas, as I did from seed last year, you understand why they were such favorites. Burpee had entire catalogues devoted to them in 1929 and Mrs. Herbert Hoover Herself had a blue one named in her honor. What a fragrance sweet peas have and such endearing little blossoms.

By 1931, maybe Mrs. H. wasn't so popular. It was the Depression. Even so, or maybe because of that, 125,000 people paid 75 cents apiece to come to the flower show and throw their troubles in the compost pile. Guess, as they say, they needed it baaaad.

Saw a photo from 1941 of a proper lady in her "uniform" of dress, heels and stockings up on a ladder at the show with her also-uniformed chauffeur standing by to catch the pieces. Nothing like hired help, I always say, to get the job done.

In 1942, during World War II, exhibitors could get no imported flowers. Tulips and other flowers were all home-grown. Just imagine trying to do that today. The Flower Show would be full of bare exhibits.

That same year the show theme was "Morale promotes victory; flowers promote morale." That rolls right off the tongue, doesn't it? It also goes to the point in yesterday's post ("The jazz age") about gardening and horticulture being part of our culture. Who could ignore the war, even in a flower show? In fact, the show was ultimately cancelled for four years because of the war.

(When I heard that, sorry, here comes the gloom again, I couldn't help but think how much WWII affected my parents' and grandparents' generations and how little it seems the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan have impacted ours. And I'm not talking about cancelling the Flower Show.)

We saw photos of Princess Grace and Princess Caroline, Jane Pepper as a young sprout, Barbara Bush and her famous fake pearls (does she sleep in them?) and my favorite, a shot in 1993, the year the show closed early because of a blizzard. There, front and center, was a visitor in full regalia who'd skiied in the door. You have to laugh.

For all these cool archival photos, I have none of Janet or Jude. I forgot my camera. Sorry, ladies! I thank you anyway for making me feel better, at least for today, about my city.