My Way of Living:
Style

Even if you only have even the teeniest bit of creativity in you, spring is your season. All this renewal, green spaces filling with blooms, bare branches swiftly changing, it’s inspiring. Spring triggers creativity in us artistic types, it nags, it prompts, it encourages, “do something, change something, create something. Maybe that’s why many of us are gardeners. We can see a direct correlation between our vision and reality. Plant a seed, grow a plant, watch it bloom. Then draw, or photograph the flower and you have a lasting image of what was only a flitting thought previously. Photography for me is the ultimate fulfillment of a creative urge, a artistic bent that has molded me for as long as I can remember. I truly feel like my balance is centered when I am creating something. Inspiration is a thrill, I love how my mind goes through a rabbit warren, twisting and turning creating, inventing, and discarding ideas. Spring feels like the scale has moved back towards the middle, and my balance is achieved once again. Jane.

My friend, Flowerishous, and I decided to do a nursery tour the other day. We planned to visit two of our former workplaces that have moved onto new owners. We were excited to see the changes, and planned on finishing at another favorite nursery.
Good thing that we did, because the first two have left such a bad impression, that I don’t think that I am ever going back to them again. I take my camera everywhere with me, and I am always politely asking for permission to take photos of the flowers before I do anything. At the first “just reopened under new owner’s” store, I asked for, and was given permission by a staff member to take photos of the flowers. Flowerishious and I had introduced ourselves as former employees, and asked about the nursery cat, whom we loved. The new owners were a bit standoffish, and unwilling to communicate, but we thought they were just busy. As I was approaching the flowers preparing to photograph them, I was rudely yelled at, and told that the offer was rescinded. No explanation was given, and rather annoyed, we left, we had planned on purchasing items, but didn’t. We won’t be back, and I have doubts that many former customers will either.

The second nursery also just reopened under a new name, was a similar story. I politely asked permission to take some macro shots of flowers. Both times I had made it very clear that I was only interested in the flowers, not shots of the store, fixtures, or giftware. “ Oh no, company policy, no photographs of anything! Especially if there is a chance that the photos might be used in a commercial way. We wouldn’t want you to make any profits off of any photographs that you took.” I had wanted to feature both stores on my blog, and was about to tell them that when the “no photographs” situation unfolded. I am so tempted to ask what the difference is if I photograph a flower at their store, or purchase it and take it home to photograph. Do they want to charge me a royalty because it came from their store? Yes I realize that it is their store, and they can make the rules. But I doubt that the poor reception at the first store will increase business for them. So it’s company policy not to allow taking flower photos flowers in a nursery? Just how are you going to stop all those customers with camera phones?

Jen.

One really cool thing about spring is the annual return of the Canada Geese. To our condo rooftop. These guardians of the gate, so to speak are noisy, nosy, and so, so beautiful. I look forward to seeing them return each spring.

They perch up on top of the roof, right above the front door, and vet each entrant as they approach. With such honking and hissing, you would think that we would be scared to run this gauntlet each time. But there are many people who live here that don’t even notice. Gar told me to grab the camera one day, saying “here’s a good photo op for you.” The geese would retreat to the middle of the roof if I got too close to them, but as soon as we backed away they would be right back on the edge again.

We tried to tell some of our neighbors who were exiting the condo to look up and see them. “Look up” we would call out, “look up and see the geese.” The neighbors would just stare at us like we were crazy. Totally oblivious to the noisy honking, and hissing right over their heads. I so look forward to seeing them again, because early morning wakeup calls are so much better with Canada Geese, then seagulls. Jane

It’s official. Spring is here. Let’s celebrate!
Jen.

OK, here is a gardening question for you. How many pairs of garden gloves can you find in your home, right now? Do they match? Do you know where they all are? Do you have any idea where over 10 pairs of mine have gone in the last few years? Do you believe that I have no idea where they are? I mean honestly, I have bought over 10 pairs of rather expensive gardening gloves, and I am down to one pair and a single left handed glove.

Where do they go? Do they go to the same place that mismatched socks disappear to? The Bermuda Triangle of gardening gloves? Would the lost garden clippers, and tools be hanging out there also? If you have the answer, can you tell Amelia Earhart to bring them back, because some folk think that she might be hanging out in the Bermuda Triangle also. And maybe she collects lost pairs of gardening gloves.

“Life is lived forward, but understood backwards.”
Kierkegaard

It seemed so small when I first brought it home, almost spindly. It fit in my little Honda Civic hatchback, and I think it was only in a 5 gallon pot. I was in love, deeply, dearly, in love. I had researched it’s beautiful foliage ranging from copper, and auburn, to golden yellows. My Parrotia persica,[ Persian Ironwood tree], was to be the cornerstone of my little condo deck garden. In my mind it would be gracefully shading the ferns, and it’s arching branches would spread carefully, but not invasively. It would grow happily until I found the perfect house, and then it would easily move to my new garden.

The harsh reality is this tree has outgrown every pot available to it. It is now squished into a half oak barrel, and hating every moment. It’s time to find a new home for my beloved Parrotia tree, and that’s where things start to get difficult. We need to find three strong men, just to pick up this tree. And it will be a challenge to transfer it to the top of the brick half wall that surrounds the patio, and then carefully load it onto a dolly. All the time, not damaging the branches that have determinedly grown past the floor of the condo above us. That is over 15 feet. I am not sure that three strong men will be enough. Will the brick wall hold? Will they damage the tree? Will I be able to wave goodbye to my baby? A garden should always be a work in progress. We learn from our mistakes challenges, and are always looking forward to the next interesting development. My biggest mistake was thinking that a tree growing to 50 feet tall, and 30 feet wide, would fit into a small pot forever. And when the realization came that it was outgrowing it’s pot, not doing something about it. After all, I’m a gardener, I should have known better!

So now I must search out at least three strong men, sweet talk them into a forming a impromptu moving crew, all the while begging them not to damage the branches. Because my baby needs a new home, and I need to get out there house hunting. Jane.
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Spring is around the corner for many gardeners, and it is almost time to start seeds again. Some gardeners have the appropriate full spectrum lights, and garden benches available to them. And the key component, a spot to grow them in.
Those gardeners who live in smaller spaces, such as apartments, and condos, might appreciate some tongue in cheek, helpful tips on how to[not]start their seeds, in order to avoid the disasters that we encountered last year.
1. Don’t think that you will get a head start by seeding early, I mean really what was I thinking, two foot tall sunflower seedlings on a 4 inch wide window sill? In early March? They couldn’t go out until May, and that was only after the unusually heavy snowfall finally disappeared.
2. Yes the cat really does think that seed trays are meant to be his litter box. Basically anything that is on the floor, and has dirt in it is his domain.

3. Beautifully pooled curtains are only lovely in a magazine, especially after your husband tries to close the drapes, and drags them through the seed trays you have placed beside the patio windows. Nothing sadder than poor little beheaded cosmos. And no, they don’t grow back again.
4. Make sure you get the waterproof seed trays, the carpet is still soggy after we watered the last time.
5. Take away all the cat toys, until you are ready to move the seed trays outside, somehow playing a round of “bat the ball” in the seed trays didn’t improve germination.
6. Plant misters make good deterrents to kitties who want to scratch the couch.

7. Imagine that you have a green house, and acreage. Then go wild in the nearest nursery and pretend that you grew it all yourself. You will thank me, when you realize how much easier it is to buy, then to grow your own.

I was out taking flower shots on one of our last sunny days before the week of monsoon rain that is coming, and I found some crocus blooming. Now, I am kind of a “do not trespass” photographer, I have this sense of decorum drilled into me from childhood. Be nice, smile and great people you see on the street, and never, ever trespass on other peoples lawns. And never ever walk in the flower beds, no matter what. No matter if the absolute best clump of early spring blooming crocus is just a little too far in the bed to focus on. That’s certainly not a excuse to step into the beds uninvited. Never ever. Anything you can shoot from the side walk is fair game, as long as you don’t step onto the front lawns without permission. That’s just how I work. Too many years in the garden center watching as careless customers and swinging purses destroyed beautiful blooms. So to get these shots of the crocus, I had to be a little creative. There was a clump of heather blooming too close to the crocus for the camera to focus. So all 6 feet of me, [that’s a lot of photographer] had to crumple up at the edge of the bed, and gently swish back the heather. Poking the camera into the heather, which by the way doesn’t hurt it at all, and aiming from the nicely warmed dirt up, I shot blind. That is I shot without being able to see where my camera was focusing. And actually, I think that they turned out pretty good. Hmmmm, maybe I am on to something, a snails eye view of flowers.

It takes patience to walk with a spring loving gardener equipped with a camera. We only walk a few paces before I suddenly stop, and peer into what seems like a pile of dirt to a non-gardener. Not realizing I have found a treasure, they sometimes continue onwards, only to find they have left me behind. On a beautiful day, there are disjointed conversations, because it seems we only get a few feet, before something else catches my eye.

For me it is a absolute treat it is to find willing subjects just perching on the dark soil. Lazy heads nodding in the slight spring breeze. Cheery yellow faces, glowing in the sun.
Finally something colorful to photograph, no more somber browns, and gray textures. Small splashes of color, that request a audience with my camera. No, they do not request, they demand. I am loathe to leave them, and only do when another catches my eye.

My husband, has extraordinary patience with me. Always willing to stop, and take the time to look at my treasures. I try to take the photos as quickly as I can, but I get caught up in the moment. Greedily drinking in these first brave flowers. Happy in the knowledge that spring has kept it’s promise, and returned to us once again.

Once upon a time I wrote a blog post about how hurt I was when a friend reprimanded me for calling my over 200 plants in containers a garden. “That’s not a garden,” she said. I didn’t agree then, and I still don’t agree. She might have had 5 acres of grass, with huge garden beds, compared to my stretch of patio, but I still consider mine a true garden. To me, and obviously many others that garden, any small container can hold a garden. What defines a garden? What makes one a gardener? Can we consider it a real garden when you walk not on the soil, but on concrete? If you don’t water with a hose, but with a plastic can, is it still gardening? If you don’t own pruners are you still a gardener? If it is only indoors, does that exclude it? Does one cherished plant on a windowsill, in a city apartment make you a gardener if you so wish to call yourself one? Yes, it does. Gardening is from the heart. It is defined by your rules, your choices, and your circumstances. And certainly not the whims of others. So garden as you wish, be it a small pot, or a large lot. For you are a gardener when you love plants in your heart. And we would have it no other way.

Do you ever have those days, then weeks, then a month, where there just doesn’t seem to be enough hours in the day, I usually don’t buy into that train of thought, but. I have been working so many full shifts at my retail job, I can see how it would take over your life. The job that is, it may be good for the bank account, but it’s bad for blogging. Please don’t think that I am complaining, because I am rejoicing, just feeling a little guilty for not being able to visit everyone with any regularity. Google reader is practically flashing red alert at me when ever I dare to go near it. The amount of posts that are languishing unread creeps up like ivy on a wall. One minute you turn your back. I think that sometime in the future things will even out again, and I will be back to visiting everyone. Maybe I will have to bring some pruners, to cut away the ivy at your blogging doors, but I will be there knocking on them soon. Until then, Happy Spring. Jane

It’s almost time for some of us to start our seeds, some later, others earlier. If you are like me, the joy of seeds is in the purchasing of the brilliantly colored packages, in seeing them sprout, not so much the actual planting, and waiting. And somehow every year I managed to mix things up a little too much, moving a batch of seedlings from one tray to another, or mixing up the pots by accident. There was the one time that Bootsie ran wild, and knocked off the seed pack from it’s bamboo skewer, and I couldn’t remember which was which. When you live in close quarters, every inch counts, and I don’t have the luxury of spreading my seed pots out in different trays. So I was happy to find a solution that worked very well for me. Having lots of colored scrap paper, I created a master tag color for each type of seed. Then every pot with that seed had the same color tag in it. The tags lasted well into the growing season, in fact I had to remove them before planting. After watering they don’t look so pristine, but who cares, the color is the key. This is one of those “it’s so easy, why didn’t I think of this years ago” situations. Give it a try, and let me know how it works for you. No matter how many times the pots get shuffled around, the tags stay intact, just refer to the master sign, and you will always know which pot is which. And it sure beats upside down seed packets on bamboo skewers.

It’s March, already. Thank goodness for that, and finally a garden centre is open! Hurray! It’s been a long wait. And I know that some of you still have a long wait ahead of you. But it will come, sooner then you know it. This is the image for March, from the calendar that I made for my Mom, and Dad. I love the blue tones in the collage.

“OK, why do we need these again?” He asked for the third time. I explain that finials are there as a decorative element on the curtain rods, and they also [jokingly] help stop the curtains from falling off the end. But who knows, I am certainly no expert, maybe they do. “What are they called again?” “Finials” “Fin-e what's?” “Finials. Why? “Um…, I don’t know. They just are, and so are the ones on the top of the lamp.” “ Let’s move on to the paint for the cupboards, now do you prefer Cookie Dough, or Cloud white?” I ask. “What do you mean, they both look the same to me, you choose.” “Do you want to use the satin, or should we use the semi-gloss?” He remarks something that sounds very much like, “this isn’t a wrench, and I am not interested in it.” He’s a guy, a man, and male, you know, they really don’t love talking about paint colors, or decorating. But then to be fair, I don’t really love talking about oil changes, and battery levels, engine power, or rev’s per minute. But I do try to make sure to find a solution that works for both of us. It’s a far cry from when I grew up, my Dad worked, and my Mom worked the home. So when the decorating spirit hit her, Dad would come home to a sunshine yellow kitchen, and I mean SUNSHINE YELLOW! Good morning star shine. It’s a good thing that their royal blue bedroom was across the house, it might have clashed wonderfully. Although our bathroom was adorned with hot pink flowered wallpaper, like every other friend’s house. Remember the avocado green bathroom fixtures? Or the lavender? I was so jealous of my sister’s lavender striped wallpapered room, with the pale purple walls, because mine was RED! Everywhere red, how on earth did she find a red polyester bedspread? Oh what about the Burnt Orange craze of the seventies. My eyes are still smarting from that glare. The wall to wall carpet that covered the floor, and halfway up the walls of our “Rec Room,” the one with the dark brown squares that deftly hid the giant wolf spiders. Ah the good old days, and now thanks to all the decorating shows, we are fountains of good taste. At least until the next generation declares our favourite colors to be old fashioned.

Fine Gardening Botanical Match Game
This is one of those online memory games that pop up occasionally and is of fered by Fine Gardening. I am not sure where I first saw it, but It is certainly fun. You might find yourself trying to beat your own best time, over, and over. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. So far the best I can do is slightly under a minute, but I think that I need to practice a bit more. Feel free to share your best time if you would like to.

O, wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? ~ Percy Shelley
How sad to be a unwanted guest, one accused of reaching it’s icy tendrils into the cracks of all surfaces, and leaving a trail of white where ever it’s cloak is dragged. Winter we do not love you, or at least very few of us do. Those that claim you as friend, not foe are subjected to a deriding roll of the eyes when they turn their backs on us. We seriously doubt that they know their own minds when they claim to enjoy this frigid season. Is it not in the very core of our soul to long for spring? To hope for that renewal, to depend upon the longer days, the lightening of the morning skies? If you are a gardener, you count the minutes of light that are added onto each day’s end. You reach for the curtains in the morning to see if there are slivers of illumination before you eat your breakfast. You peruse the bare branches, interrogating them, do you have any green yet? You watch the ground for those first small weeds that signal a change, welcoming them only during this time of the year. Later you will destroy them with a vengeance, now you sing to them. Your ear is tuned to birdsong, hoping that the chirping birds are searching for each other, the cawing of the crows in the early morning signifying the time to build a nest. For winter is a unwelcome guest, one that we cannot seem to evict at this time of year, the not too subtle hints we are leaving going over it’s head. Stubborn, nasty, unwelcome. And it cannot change our mind.

I think that we all deserve some color in our lives today.

So here’s some bouquets of colorful flowers just for you.

Enjoy! Jen
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I know that spring is coming early, I can hear it. It is in the sounds of the seagulls as they travel the few blocks inland towards my home. They never come all winter, but I know that spring is almost here when they wake me early in the morning. I can hear it in the moss, as it shakes off the dew.

I can hear it in the song of the birds, as they rise with the dawn. I can hear it in the slowly greening buds, as they open towards the day. I hear the sounds of spring in the voices that carry, as more people walk the streets in daylight. And in the cold, dark, wet, soil that cracks with the green sprouts. Listen, and you will hear soon the song of spring. Yours may be muffled by a deep covering of snow, but soon you will hear the melting drips, from a warmer sun.

Listen for the sounds of spring, it is coming.

Certainly he is no snowdrop? I’m laughing at the thought. But he is my Boo, and we adore him. And since he likes to hang out in the little patch of garden in front of our place, where the snowdrops live, they seem synonymous in my mind. The snowdrops are up, much more advanced then the photos that I am sharing today, and finally maybe, I will be able to capture the whites without washing them out. It’s a challenging shot, they are deep into the garden, and dark, and if you light them, they wash out. And I don’t want to step in the soil, so I cantilever myself and my camera out over the dirt. Quite the sight, I assure you. Almost as good as the times I have chased the Raccoon in my nightgown, but that’s a old story. Of course then you have your assistants, both the Boo, and whichever “next door kitty” who is around must check out what is going on. The swish of a tail caught in the corner of the shot, a curious paw whisking away dirt. Recognisance missions in fur coats. All for the shot. Speaking of cameras, does anyone else ever have these dreams that you are somewhere beautiful, and you forgot your camera? I have been having them regularly, and they wake me with a sweat. It must be all the rain we have had, the flu, and the inability to get out there and shoot. Such a feeling of regret, I wake up sad. Tell me that you have them also, please!!!!

At the local Elementary school there used to be a parade of beautiful pale pink cherry trees scattering their blossoms all along the sidewalk each spring. They were a little like the beauty queens of White Rock in the spring, but after they finished blooming, it was like “girls gone wild, and even wilder.” Taunting branches wound their way outwards, catching hair, and hats as you walked by in summer. Insects scrapbooked with lace cut leaves, that browned and curled up all summer. In the winter they resembled old skeletons with arthritis, so painful did they look. The city decided to replace them with more demure, and smaller sized trees last fall. And as we walked by the other day I noticed these beautiful yellow blossoms.

Clearly I am feeling that I should recognize these trees, but I don’t. It is simply like a matter of pretending during a conversation with a stranger that you know who they are. When all along, you want to say, excuse me, but have we met before? And you don’t want to insult them by saying that. So you nod, and smile, and pick neutral subjects, all the while racking your brain, trying vainly to remember whom you are speaking with. Sometimes I think that we should all have name tags. That would certainly help me when I run into a old customer from the nursery.

So can you help identify it, this is a small tree right now, and I am sure it is not going to be too large, the yellow blossoms are clear, and similar to a Edgeworthia, but not fragrant that I can tell. Definitely a tree, not a shrub. I am stumped, help me out if you can. Oh, and next time if you run into me, tell me who you are, before I melt into a puddle of embarrassment please. Jane