Boxwood gets a new look

With the help of chilled but enthusiastic apprentice pruners, the boxwood made the switch Saturday from a never-quite-him flattop to a beautiful soft, bouncy natural.

After hearing Martha gently and precisely present the basic tenants of pruning, workshop attendees observed the boxwood for some time, waiting for his own shape and texture to suggest the right style. The apprentice pruners circled the hedge, talking and touching the gray branches and tiny green leaves; the boxwood sat patiently and never once complained about being made to wait in 40-degree weather. Finally, it was settled: The end shape would be rounded all over with a wave pattern leading up to the crown. Each cut was carefully considered beforehand and examined afterward to make sure it led to the agreed-upon end.

At 11, with cold-stiff fingers and slightly runny noses, the apprentices put down their shears. Even through the hazy drizzle, the boxwood beamed. He looked fabulous. We think he actually tried to hug Anna, but as it happened so quickly, it was hard to tell.

Just a reminder: no open gardening next week because all of the gardeners are going to the O’Toole’s “Just Because” festival. See www.otoolesherbfarm.com for more information.

Sanseviera trifasciata

This is a Sanseviera trifasciata. Did you read real quick past the Latin? I did too. Most people find the botanical names of plants clunky and hard to remember. You more likely know this plant by the common name, "Snake Plant," or by its most common common name, "Mother-in-law's tongue."

You see why I started with the Latin.

Common names for plants are funny. How does one put a human language to a plant? It means crossing from the world of semantics into the world of nature, into a language of wind in trees, scuttles of ground creatures, bird songs, thunder claps, and silent signals that we are only just beginning to understand. So when people assign common names to plants, it usually says more about the namers than the named.



Take for example this one, Euonymous americana, aka "Hearts-a-bustin'."

Could anyone have named this plant who had never loved? Who had never been so completely filled with joy and love and light that her own heart nearly thumped out of her chest?

There is much in a name. Some cultures believe names to be so powerful that they have two names, one for everyday use and another kept private so that no harm can come to them through it. Names are one of the ways we store and access information in our memories. They conjure up pictures and associations, and help us orient ourselves in our earthly realities.

Is Sanseviera trifasciata called "Mother-in-law's tongue" because it is sharp and sinister-looking with its dark stripes and extremely upright orientation? Has the name persisted because the correlation of plant to name rings true for our culture? I hope not. So we're not going to use that name. Henceforth, in the Spirit Gardens this will be our “Happy Snake Plant.” Maybe even our "Sky-reaching Snake Plant." (This renaming thing could be fun!) We’ll be potting her up soon and tucking her back with the ferns and other shade-loving tropicals in the east end of the garden, in the new bed we prepared yesterday.

Pictures

After all the talk, I thought you may like to see what the garden looks like with all the bottles buried.

In the first picture, you can see the spiral beds, the circle bed full of irises, and in the lower right-hand corner, a few very happy little lettuces. Above the lettuces we have a row of sweet peas and sugar snap peas, which we will soon have to trellis.

In the second picture, you get another view of the circle bed, and beyond that, the crescent moon bed with beets, collards, and swiss chard. To the left you can see the lettuce again, and the lightest green plants are calendulas. To the right, a bed newly planted with more lettuce, carrots, and kale.

Apology, Worms, and Bottles

My number one New Year’s resolution was to be good to my body. I found that a kinder way to phrase “lose weight.” So, in an attempt to integrate exercise into my everyday (instead of separating an “exercise” time from a “living the rest of my life” time), I rode my bike to the garden on Saturday. I live at the top of one hill in Tallahasse, and WeMoon is at the top of another. That is to say that I arrived huffing and puffing, 20 minutes late, and with a heart rate that took twice that long to return to “resting.” I offer this by way of apology. If anyone came at 10 to an empty garden, you probably passed me swearing and pushing my bike up Mahan; I’m so sorry I missed you.

I finally found the family of squirmy culprits who had been eating holes in the collard leaves. Surprisingly, even though there was weird web-stuff around them, and they had goopy brown stuff on their heads (or rear ends? ew), I was not so completely grossed out. I saw them rather as a sign that this was a real garden, complete with resident pests. I did not have the heart or stomach to kill them, so I just cut of the leaf that they were living on and carried it over to a wildish spot on the edge of the property. That may have been a poor gardening decision, but I’m hoping it was good gardening karma.

We buried the last of the bottles this week! Next week, we’ll be breaking ground again on a new bed, tentatively reserved for bulbs and tubers. Bring your shovels and gloves!

First Workshop and New Website

Hello, ladies (and gents? who knows...)!

Well we have a new website dedicated solely to the Spirit Gardens. It's designed to tell people more about what we do and to give information on our monthly workshops, WHICH BEGIN ON JANUARY 29!!!! Hooray!

www.geocities.com/wemoonspirit/gardens.html

The Iris

I suppose I don’t need to remind you that it is January. I, however, was mildly surprised and annoyed when I woke up this morning to 70-degree, balmy weather. Although I love (love) living in North Florida, I sometimes long for picturesque, icy landscapes, or at least cool weather systems that come and sit for a spell instead of breezing by on the way to the Atlantic. And of course, we can thank global warming for making truly brisk Tallahassee winters a thing of the past.

So I was grumpy when I got in the (sticky) car, and I was grumpy driving to WeMoon. And then I arrived, and I was greeted by a single most perfectly ruffly white-yellow iris. The “uncharacteristically” warm weather had fooled the flower into coming out, and there she stood, tall and proud and elegant, and refusing to apologize for showing up so unexpectedly and for being so overdressed for such a modest and properly winterish garden.

On one hand, I find it frightening and sad that our climate is changing. I know the earth and its climate are always changing, but some of the biggest changes are made by human actions, and without considering the health of the earth or its other creatures. On the other hand, I feel it is neccessary to strike a balance between living in the now and living for the future; when I relax the notion that January ought to mean a set of very specific circumstances, I am free to enjoy the pluck of this first-ever bloom in the WeMoon Spirit Gardens.

Although we may carry signs and write letters and join citizens' groups to demonstrate our committment to helping the earth, we also must continue to love and laugh and live well ON the earth. When I think of this, feeling the sweat on my skin as I weed, seeing the white flower as big as a fist out of the corner of my eye no matter where I am in the garden, I feel a renewed. Yes, there is genuine and immediate need to take action to improve our environment. Yes, taking that path is tough, but there will be beautiful and surprising things that happen on the way. I refuse to live with my head either in the clouds or stuck in the sand. I made a mental pledge to come here on Saturday mornings with the intent to work in harmony with a small patch of the earth, but also to open my heart to her messages of joy, love, and light.

There is a green plastic two-seat bench in the garden, and if you are the type to seek out the company of particularly communicative flowers, then I would invite you to take a lunch or a book there some time this week. I hope you, too, are surprised and renewed by what you see and feel.

Workshops to Begin

Well gardeners, I'm delighted to tell you that our series of workshops is set to begin in the end of January. More details are to come, but right now it looks like we will hold a monthly one-hour workshop on Saturday mornings consisting of general and season-specific gardening skills, hands-on and seminar-type learning, and the kind guidance of Master Gardener Martha Weinstein. Keep an eye on the WeMoon calendar for the next update, and pencil in 10 - 11 A.M. on January 29!