Back from Texas, Woman Welcomed by Amazing Gardens

A sprawling gorgeous tangle awaited us after our two week journey into the wilds of Texas. Before we even opened our front door, we had harvested numerous succulent peppers and shining tomatoes. Rows of blooming zinnias nodded like a riotous church-lady welcoming committee.

And when I checked wazoofarm.gmail.com, what delights I found! Your lovely gardens! So I've started below with Rombro and Long, Urban Wizards. Look for more Visiting Gardeners, and enjoy your garden, the height of summer, the rewards of your labors!

Guest Gardener: Leah Rombro & Kenton Long in Baltimore, MD

All pictures by Leah Rombro

Urban wizards Rombro and Long converted a totally trashed yard, littered with urban garbage, into an artistic, productive garden.

Long initiated beutification efforts with the walls of his house, a structure slotted for demolition. Months of work rendered a clean palette for the artwork of Long, Rombro and their roommates.

Join two artists and give them a wreck, and see what happens:

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Now the blue walls of this bathtub hold the rich soil of an herb garden:


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Once a nightmare of glass shards and trash, now a sprawling pumpkin patch:

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Edible art:





Leah Rombro balances work and college while Long works as a graphic designer. Both create art in the Baltimore area. I hear they make a mean herb burger. . . .

Sweet Summer Things

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Our maple tree with swing

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SUMMER'S FIRST TOMATO!

Backbreaker: A Quick Photo Journal

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Contributions

Wazoo Farm craves the contributions of other imaginative gardeners, avid readers and film critics, and discerning music-lovers!

To become a Guest Gardener or Book (Children's/Adult), Music, or Film Reviewer, send your proposed contributions or question to: wazoofarm@gmail.com.

Thanks, good people!

Guest Gardener: P Harvey in Clayton, North Carolina

P and A Harvey took a bare, depressing plot of land in Clayton, North Carolina (near Raleigh), and over eight years worked on creating their own beautiful world. When I visit I'm struck by the cottage-like style of their garden and the love and care that P pours into her flowers. It is a very personal garden.

Here, soft plumes of Agastache welcome bees. . .
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Gorgeous pink yarrow blooms profusely. . .
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P's garden is an inviting place--time is slower and you feel as though you could simply ease into a chair, nurse a cool glass of wine, and enjoy the beauty of the garden. The garden reflects the grace of the gardener herself, who moves silently--albeit with a good deal of humor--caressing a blossom much as a butterfly or bee might.

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All pictures by A Harvey. Visiting the Harveys is a real pleasure, as they are not only welcoming and generous people but have a house out of a little girl's dream--delightful surprises around every corner. . .see more pics of P's garden at A's blog.

Nosegays

My first antique, heirloom (David Austen) rose, cut on Father's Day. Doesn't it have a glorious petal pattern? Looking into one of these roses is like looking up into a Victorian woman's petticoats.

Rendered here, you can appreciate the layers of petals, the delicate ruffle of the blossom.
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Lately I've been whipping up nosegays from the garden to trot across the street to neighbors as thank-you gifts.

Here's a simple one, cut and composed during a rain, of roses, lavender, and sage.
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Roses, "tickseed" coreopsis, feverfew, lavender, and sage.
The lovely thing about these nosegays is that you can flip them upside down and dry them.
So it seems my dreams of roses have come true--and I am very, very happy indeed. Every time I hold a stem I feel rich beyond imagination.

All Work, and Lots of Play Too

Martin's been putting in an expanded path in the front of the house, with bricks and pavers, and everything is in a tizzy. So we've been doing more of this lately:

Than this:

Relaxing is in the plans somewhere, since I did locate some large prawns for dinner. Martin also hung a large two-person swing from our maple and it is waiting for two weary posteriors, and maybe four.

Mothering, for J mainly

A friend of mine recently sent a plea into cyberspace.
New Stay At Home Mom. I'm very pregnant. I already have a two year old. It's Hot. Suggestions?

Well, I scribbled off some nonsense. Schedule, flexibility, yadayadayada.

And then, tonight, as Elspeth went up to the bath, covered in tomato, sand, and tears, I faced the kitchen alone. The floor was covered in pita bread and couscous. Dishes stuck out their dirty tongues from every corner. Weariness spread through me, radiating out from the pit of my stomach. I entertained the temptation to flee and spend some time outdoors, but as even as I put a mental foot out the door, I began thinking so hard about something else that I forgot to care about what I was doing.

This often happens, and it is the key, I think, to enjoying "stay-at-home-mothering." That is, the way to enjoy yourself immensely and your children more. Turn to drink.

Just kidding. Actually, the secret is CULTIVATING YOUR INNER LIFE. This of course, is only one of the secrets, and can not be what it should be without a community in place. And a sense of enjoyment.

This sounds really corny, like a promo-talk or a powerpoint-driven empower yourself gobbelty gook. But here goes, anyway. . .

When my inner life is full--when I'm engaged in a project, such as designing a new garden, writing a book or a short story or an essay, or simply enjoying a good book--then I am a much more energetic mother. I do not snap at Martin or melt or explode at the kids. I find myself singing and dancing and reading with the girls and enjoying them as friends as well as daughters. Developing a vibrant inner life takes discipline, support, and determination. It requires me to remember that I am young and full of energy, and some things are sacred but many are not. It helps me remember and trust in the presence of God and the goodness of the world.

It also helps rankling comments ("you're not employed, then") or categories ("housemother") to slide right off my back like oil. I am, like all other humans and my own children, undefinable. While others may slot me into a box it certainly doesn't alter who I really am. A rich inner life gives me strength not to have to defend what I'm doing--not to explain that I worked, stayed home by choice, and work on other things still. It gives me energy for good conversation and a thirst to continue learning. It helps me find others whom will challenge and excite me--who do not talk of their children every moment but of the book they just finished or the project they started.

If I am faithful to cultivate my own inner life (even if this is just 30 minutes of writing instead of cleaning during nap time, and writing dialogue for a story in my head while I cook dinner)--then my girls will follow suit. Merry already spends hours on her own, creating stories out loud and pretending. I think actually we're on the odd side, but that's okay. We even turn our conversation into operas sometimes, Merry singing one part about her mac and cheese and I the other about the plates or whatever the occasion calls for. When she was four, I picked her up from preschool and then we walked across the street to the tea room where she told me stories and I told her some of my own. The lovely tradition was banished of course when Elspeth came along, but the ritual of tea (at home or near the garden now) encourages us both in our own pursuits and in the enjoyment of one another.

Also, a beer at the end of the day--(or good chocolate if you're pregnant!) helps.

So let the dust build and write your libretto instead. Your children will thank you.

Birds, Comforting Birds

One of the happiest things about gardening is the birds that flock over to keep me company. Sparrows flutter over, of course, joined by doves, robins, cardinals, and blue jays. The birds take turns perching on our fence and swooping over to peck at the bird feeder, where they scatter sunflower seeds into my herb bed, giving impromptu seedlings to the rambling circle of mint (planted in pots to combat its invasive nature), licorice basil, sage, Roman chamomile, lupine and delphinium.

An older friend of mine who came for dinner and tea told me that a robin used to keep her company in England as she gardened ("Robins are smaller in England,") she emphasized. The robin followed her down rows, puttering in the upturned soil for worms.

What better gardening companion: a red-breasted, gentle bird who cares nothing for bills, bedtimes, world disaster and turmoil, but only for a worm now and then, the patter of rain in a warm garden, a well-built nest and an extra handful of seed.

O, my Luv is like a red, red rose that's newly sprung in June. . .

The rose garden was a broad swath of lawn and and a sad mosquito-breeding pond when we moved in. Last fall I dug up the turf, inch by inch with a trowel and shovel. I found loads of Agastache and Russian Sage on clearance at Lowe's and settled them as a hedge. Roses on clearance, pathetic specimens, came back (all but one) this spring.

So here's this spring in the rose garden:

See the wee Agastache coming back to greet the sun?
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And here's a view in June:



Agastache (a type of Hyssop)* makes a full, lovely low hedge that attracts droves of bees and requires little water. Groundcover for the rose garden includes creeping thyme, oregano, phlox, and allysum.
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Martin dragged this pump home last fall from someone's garbage heap. Planted in a circle around the pump: irises (hesitant), Russian Sage (old standby--will someday be tall spires of purple!), and on either side of the path is a lovely sprawl of verbena*.

I've also tucked in numerous perennials, two maturing lilacs and two young lilacs, chives, and a growing hedge of rosemary.

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The cheerful white "daisy" in the background is feverfew, which self seeds like mad and will eventually make a hedge along with Jupiter's beard in front of the peonies (bloomed early spring) and climbing rose.

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Here you see Martin's amazing path, laid from stone he hauled in our Suburu from various sites, mainly a valley where stones fall regularly around railroad tracks. He drove me down to dig up some ox eye daisies. We also tried lifting a few of the huge slabs together but they must have been hundreds of pounds, and we could barely budge them, much less carry them twenty feet to the back of the car. Watch out, those of our acquaintance here! Martin's looking for a fresh set of hands and another strong back!

Martin and I have come to an understanding, and it is a happy one, born from our particular strengths and joys: Martin is clearly a hardscaper, while I am far more interested in horticulture. Some outstanding books on hardscaping and garden design include John Brooke's The Well-Designed Garden (and indeed any book by John Brookes) and Keith Davitt's Hardscaping.


*There's a fairly dizzying variety of verbena and agastache. Verbena comes in all different heights and grows as an annual and perennial. Keep posted to see my sister's variety of agastache, surviving in desert conditions in Arizona.

Laundry Dries Better at Wazoo

For a while, upon our arrival at Wazoo Farm, I had no dryer. I hung as much as I could fit on the laundry line and then draped socks and T shirts on every available surface. As the days grew rainier and colder, I strung up a line in our sunroom and congratulated myself on introducing humidity to my sad, dry, indoor plants.

We have a dryer now, a huge double-capacity beauty of a machine. I barely think about the luxury as I toss in loads and loads of wet clothes, set the dial and kick up my feet. Often I leave the clothes sitting in the dryer with an easy conscience, rather than mourning a sudden cloudburst.

But now that I have the option of a dryer, I immensely enjoy hanging my clothes and sheets and towels out of doors, though my laundry line is strung inconveniently for anyone who wants to tromp down our hill stairs (my dream: Amish/French laundry line on a pulley system!). Merry has her own stretch of line on which to clip up clothes, and this fits right into her Laura world.

Yes, we are still Ma and Pa. Elsepth is Elspeth-Carrie or Elspeth-Laura though Elephant was Laura this morning. The funniest part yet about our Laura Pioneer experience occurred yesterday, when Pet and Patty (who looked a bit like a blue Subaru) took us into Mancato (Morgantown, WV) so we could visit the doctor and Sam's Club. Since my right breast is like a sack full of marbles, we take trips to Motown every so often so it can get far more attention than it deserves. After much whinnying from Pet and Patty along the way, Merry insisted on accompanying me to the surgeon's office where we waited, and waited, and waited some more so the surgeon could, in approximately 3-5 minutes, plump me like a pillow, shrug unconcernedly, and send me on my way.

After this Pet and Patty dashed like crazy horses down to the parking lot of Sam's Club so Merry and I could wander around the aisles filling our cart with impossibly huge items. Martin was running late for his class so the entire Laura Pioneer crew sat down at a plastic table and ate a huge, greasy pizza and shared an immorally large cup of Coke. ("It was like Sam Walton himself handed me that pizza," Martin confided, eyes glistening.)

Then Pet and Patty blundered through the rain and fog to take us back to Waynesburg.

After this trip, I was ready to trade the blue Subaru for a team of horses and big box stores and busy surgeons for a country store and a visiting doctor.

Will I trade in my dryer and go with the line entirely? Probably not. But sometimes I wish I could.

GUEST GARDENER: KENNETH COCKROFT IN BROOKSHIRE, TX

Cecropia Moth Caterpillar
At this stage, the caterpillar is about 5 inches long. In late summer it will spin a cocoon to pupate through the winter and develop into a beautiful moth next spring. The cecropia is the largest North American moth, with a wingspan of 5-6 inches.
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Magnolia Blossom
The trees are pretty dazzling with these giant blossoms. Stand under the trees in the morning and listen to bees ever about their important business as they travel from flower to flower.


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Text and photos by Kenneth Cockroft
When not directing a baffling array of cameras at a news station in Houston, K Cockroft battles poisonous snakes and creates beauty out of raw nature on their property in Brookshire, Texas.

CONTRIBUTOR BOOK REVIEW: MAYFLOWER BY NATHANIEL PHILBRICK

Mayflower
by Nathaniel Philbrick
Penguin (Non-Classics); Reprint edition (April 24, 2007)

As someone who considers “America’s Hometown” his hometown, my knowledge of the Pilgrims is nauseating at times. I grew up a stone’s throw from Plimoth Plantation (literally kids used to throw stones at it) and about 100 yards from the Eel River (which turned out to be an integral body of water to the Pilgrims).

In fact, I fell in Eel River at least 3 times in my life— fishing. It took me years to understand that fishing isn’t supposed to be an extreme sport (although I hear it is up for consideration for X-Games 2008).

All that said, for someone who has driven by places like The Governor John Carver motel, the Pilgrim Sands hotel, his whole life— and has even given audio tours of Plymouth Rock, the Plantation and the Mayflower II— Philbrick’s “Mayflower” was incredibly illuminating and enjoyable— and comes highly recommended.

I approached the book expecting to be regaled with stories of the treacherous journey across the sea in a tiny boat— but “Mayflower” concentrates heavily on what happened once the Pilgrims came ashore. The book traces the beginnings of the “cult” of Pilgrims and truly gains momentum as it parallels the leaders of the Pokanoket Indians and the Pilgrims in 1620— and the second generations of both.

The message of the book is timely— it stresses that a dynamic of war and conflict was not inherent in the relationship between these 2 cultures, and at first— through compromise, respect, and need— they maintained a delicate balance to avoid war.
However, when the second generation of Pilgrims became more and more greedy, and more and more intolerant of the Natives, war became inevitable.

“Mayflower” brings the reader from pre-1620, up through King Philip’s War (post-1670) and the incredible horrors of this conflict.

For someone who today lives a stone’s throw from the Boston Common (OK, maybe if you had a cannon for an arm) the idea of Indian heads mounted on posts, or people tied to trees there about 350 years ago, is horrifying.

I have read a bit on Native American history "Bury my Heart at Wounded Knee" for example) and found “Mayflower” to be a better and more interesting view on the details of the conflict and the incredible evil that often motivated the English settlers. While “Buried” displays the western expansion and details many battles, “Mayflower” gives the reader a greater arc of story and has more room for the personal details of the characters. Its voice and content are interesting, and it is actually a very easy read.

Finally, “Mayflower” attempts to parallel the dynamic between the English and Natives with that of the American’s and those in the Middle East today. It draws connections between the fact that religious differences, economic need, and cultural disparities are not the cause of war and bloodshed— as the original English and Native dynamic in the Northeast allowed for all these things in a delicate harmony. Rather, Philbrick shows, misunderstanding and greed are the root of war. And can certainly be avoided.

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Reviewed by Kurt Cole Eidsvig
While Eidsvig's own ancestors may have been marauding, insane Vikings, Kurt bypasses a horned helmet in order to devote himself to painting, writing poetry, and adoring Frank O'Hara. For more on Eidsvig and O'Hara both, check out his blog.