Archive for May, 2007
I recall years ago hearing Stephen Covey for the first time.
He had just come out with his hit book First Things First and was doing the corporate circuit, where I was invited to hear him at one of my big-name corporate client’s offices. I remember so vividly his big line “You can’t rush on a farm!” His point being that some things just have to be planned for and take time.
It’s true. It’s not often in the gardening and farming world that you can rush or get instant gratification. But when it comes to container plants and window boxes, you can really cheat!
I ordered a sky pencil holly from Wayside Gardens a few weeks ago expecting to get the instant gratification I longed for in recreating a potted arrangement I recently saw on my travels. What I received were two little, itty, bitty, tiny plants that would not do the trick.
I mean, really. The photo in the catalog showed the tree at 8′ tall! What I received wasn’t even 8 INCHES tall.
Happily, I spied one hiding in the back of a bunch of shrubs at my local garden center. I sent Ben, my son/yard boy back to fetch it. I was able to drag it home and THAT VERY DAY start the arrangement I longed for.
To illustrate the point, here are the two sky pencil hollies. The one on the left is the sad little specimen that I ordered and will have to wait YEARS to reach a respectable size. The one on the right is the example I fetched home from the garden center.
By the way, these really are supposed to reach 8 FEET tall. I have no idea where they will eventually go, but I figure I have time to plan for that.
In other news…
–I clean out the bluebird houses tomorrow. After waiting for two weeks, we have concluded that the five eggs are no longer viable and have been abandoned. I feel very sad. I also am embarrassed that my first official report to Cornell will be of a failure.
–Squirrels have discovered my bird feeders. I bring them in at night, but the fuzzy fellow have the temerity to belly up to the birdfeeder buffet during the daytime. Sarah (dog) and Miss P (cat) are on the job of providing a dis-incentive for that undesirable behavior.
–My orchids are doing beautifully. Fingers are crossed.
–Spinach has pretty much played out. Lettuce is still going gangbusters, so Harry has something to eat.
–We desperately need rain.
Robin
May is definitely a good rose month around Calvert County. Everything is happy and blooming and the Japanese beetles don’t arrive until June 1. (Yes, I have predicted their arrival date.)
There is a vigorous and continuing debate in gardening circles about roses. There appear to be two opposing camps. There is the camp that says roses are difficult, finicky and require lots of work. And there is the camp that says roses are easy-as-pie-what-are-you-whining-about?
Frankly, I think it all depends on your particular temperament and how much are you are naturally inclined to like roses in the first place.
Myself, I am VERY MUCH inclined by nature to adore roses. NOT THE KIND you get from the florist, which are generally ick and sick. I like a big bushy plant of crazy flowering roses that seem nearly wild.
I also believe that the camp to which you dedicate yourself–the roses are great or roses are evil camps–depend very much on your experiences.
Some of my very earliest memories are of my grandfather’s abundant rose garden. The whole family would gather at their house on Rush Street in Norfolk, Virginia, for Sunday dinner and story telling. Grandpa would hang around for a while until he couldn’t stand it (the grown-ups) any longer and then retreat to the garden and spend the afternoon deadheading and hand watering the roses. I distinctly remember sitting on a fence and watching how peaceful and happy he seemed all by himself while the relatives were hooting and telling stories.
Since I’ve been old enough and (reasonably) responsible enough to plant and care for roses, I have had the happy luck to have planted mostly antique roses.
I first learned about these old roses when I read a book many moons ago that included a chapter about “rose wranglers.” These are rose enthusiasts who seek out and secure old, non-hybrid roses growing neglected on old farms and fields–sometimes with permission and sometimes by stealth. These rose wranglers made the whole rose culture seem fun and exciting. Their enthusiasm for the cause convinced me there is merit to the old ways of roses.
The antique roses I’m growing include a beautiful pot-grown Katharina Zeimet, with its abundance of tiny white flowers that repeat bloom all summer long. The Antique Rose Emporium website says this shrub rose was discovered in 1901. I have had it in a big pot on the patio for about three years, where it has grown to its full-grown 3′ - 4′ size.
By the driveway I am growing the climbing New Dawn, again from the Emporium, discovered in 1930. I let it languish and trailing on the ground for a couple of years while I tried to figure out what to do with a climbing rose at that spot. Then I found these 6′ high rose trellises from Jackson & Perkins. My dad, thankfully, assembled them for me last July 4 weekend and they have already taken over the structure. I still need a more permanent solution.
There are also these extremely vigorous shrub roses that have grown to 6′ high in about four years. I have long ago lost the tag and really need to sort through the Emporium’s catalog to recapture the name because EVERYONE asks about this beautiful, repeat-blooming rose.
I am desperately seeking a Cecil Bruner (the non-climber) to add to my rose container collection, but, alas, I have thought of this too late and must wait until another time.
Do I have any hybrid roses? Yes. I planted some baby doll roses in the Colonial garden last summer. They, too, are blooming and beautiful. I will see how I like them next summer and whether they prove to be as hearty as my old friends.
If you want to learn more about antique roses, I recommend the site hosted by my favorite antique rose grower, Antique Rose Emporium. You can visit their info site at Antique Rose Info.
And if you run across Cecil Bruner, please send her my way. Pretty please?
Robin
This time of year all I can think about is being outdoors. Between my own obsession and my recent reading, I’ve been thinking quite a bit about dogged pursuits.
Mine is the garden. But it is curious to me how people choose the lists they wish to check off or accomplishments they wish to pursue in life. I’m not talking about goals at work or academic degrees or such. I’m talking about the often innocuous passions that people pursue in their off hours when they could otherwise be socializing with friends, drinking beer, watching television, napping or reading a book.
I recently read the story of a fellow, one of a dedicated set of birders, who is intent on seeing every species of the 10,000 or so birds on the planet. I now am reading a book by a woman who set out to cook ALL OF THE RECIPES in the original Julie Childs cookbook. The $64 Tomato is the story of a guy who becomes OBSESSED with his garden and spends extraordinary amounts of money and hard work at the effort. Harry tells me about pilots who keep elaborate lists of all the airplanes that they fly. Some railroad fans (also derided as by U.S. rail workers as “foamers”—because they supposedly foam at the mouth—or, crudely, FRN for “f*%*^& rail nuts”) keep elaborate records of all the railroad equipment they can spot.
Some obsessions are completely unique to individuals, particularly collections, I think. Like the guy who collects airline airsickness bags. I used to go to a mechanic who had collected for years those two-quart 7-11 Big Gulp cups, stacking them inside of each other and lining the wall of his garage. Weird.
I am not a talented social talker at events such as cocktail parties and such. But a while back, I learned a few little tricks to deal with my discomfort. The one question that always produces the most surprising responses is, “I’ve been talking to people lately about what they collect. It seems that almost everyone collects—or wants to collect—something. Are you a collector of anything?”
In addition to the usual collections (stamps, coins, etc.) I have met people who collect buttons, 1950s nostalgia, beer cans, antique cars, orchids, paperweights, postcards. Amazing. And the interesting thing is that otherwise morose conversationalists actually LIGHT UP when you ask this question. People are passionate about the oddest things! Their dogged pursuits!
Perhaps these listers, collectors and hobbyists of all types don’t choose the pursuits so much as the pursuits catch them. What is it about a person who feels the compulsion to doggedly pursue an accomplishment that has value other than having done it?
I suspect that a subset of these folks is suffering from a socially acceptable outlet for an obsession compulsive disorder. Not all of us, of course. I think others were inspired by some event that created an epiphany that they seek to recreate. I have my own inspirations that I’ll share at some point when I can gather my wits about me enough to write coherently.
But for now, just be assured that I’m pursuing my own dogged pursuits.
This Memorial Day weekend was a big gardening weekend. I was lucky enough to have my 16-year-old play yard boy and accompany me to the local garden center where we left with THREE BIG CARTS of loot in addition to all the mulch they had to load in the stockyard. Then Harry (husband) took pity on me that afternoon and offered to help move plants from their nursery pots into the ground.
Happy day!
Robin
It has been such a dry summer so far that most of my time in the garden during the week is spent just keeping everything watered.
That has left little time for weeding or other chores, like putting all these plants that are sitting around in pots into permanent homes. I am desperate to get that completed this weekend and intend to press the two men in this family into service with some shovels. I will especially need their help this weekend because I’m still suffering from a wretched case of poison ivy. The doctor loaded me up with helpful drugs, but it’s still a matter of waiting it out. Miserable.
The perennial borders are starting to look more mature. These are some fabulous peonies I transplanted from the other side of the garden to this spot last year and some foxglove. That’s sedum sandwiched in between. Don’t look too closely because there are also some nicely established weeds I’m going to have to do battle with tomorrow.
You can’t see it in this photo, but that’s yet another strawberry pot of hens and chickens. I’ve been pulling out the babies and plopping them into the ground under the bench when I’m sitting there. By the end of the summer there should be a nice hens and chickens bed under there.
Oh, and that’s the house in the background (House #4) where our bluebird family is living.
I’m really going to have to discipline myself with whatever new plants I drag home because I’m simply running out of room inside the Colonial Garden. Happily, I’m discovering all sorts of new shade plants that I can use to fill up the shade garden I’m putting next to the turnaround. I’ve even been flirting with getting some more container roses from Antique Rose Emporium, but, sadly, they’re out of the Cecil Bruner rose that I want.
This is one of two clematis that I have. Pruning clematis is tricky, so if you ever buy one, make sure you make a note about what kind it is so you can look up to see if it is in the A, B or C category. Each of them require a very different pruning method.
I’ve started reading Dominique Browning’s Paths of Desire, about her time in her suburban garden. Browning is editor of House and Garden magazine. Her writing style is very calming, so it’s just what I need right now.
I see an early bedtime ahead.
Robin
I am a warrior. I am an adventurer. I face dangers every day without fear. Unflinching. Unfailing. Unafraid.
I…am…a…gardener.
The past few weeks have taught me that there is a host of dangers lurking out there among the butterflies and buttercups. I am a walking, itching, oozing example.
In the wee hours of the morning I awoke with a burning and itching sensation on my face. This morning–there it was. There was a slash of red rash from my forehead to my cheek and creeping down the back of my neck. Poison ivy. Ugh.
According to the American Academy of Dermatology, about 85% of people are allergic to poison ivy.
I don’t want to boast, but I happen to excel in this regard. I just have to THINK about poison ivy and I start to break out. If I stand downwind of a poison ivy sproutlette, I’m a gonner. A couple of years ago, I got such a bad case the doctor told me it was the WORST he had ever seen. At first he didn’t even believe it was just poison ivy. He thought maybe it was leprosy or some sort of hazmat accident.
Harry, on the other hand, is bulletproof in this respect, as in about every other way I can imagine. He doesn’t need to eat or sleep as much as normal human beings. He never–ever–gets sick. He does not catch colds or get tired. He can have a POISON IVY SALAD and walk away unscathed. IS THAT FAIR?
I see this as yet another joke God has played on Robin. Nothing makes me happier than being outdoors, gardening and playing with the little dogs. So what does God do? He makes me allergic to everything outdoors and to DOGS! I HAVE TO GET SHOTS!
To add insult to injury, I was taking my ravaged face out for a walk this morning up and down our long driveway. (Exercise, you know?) I looked to my right and what did I see? A mysterious cloud arising from the hayfield on this otherwise sunny day. At first I thought perhaps something was on fire. FIRE!!! The air was filled with this MYSTERIOUS CLOUD.
But then…it dissipated. And there was no lingering smoky smell.
But I started to SNEEZE and my head nearly exploded. Yep. Hay pollen.
I got to thinking about my explorer friends and the dangers that they face climbing Everest or braving the venomous snakes of the Amazon. It seems to me that as a gardener I face more than my share of hazards. If my ravaged face and exploding, sneezing head weren’t enough, let me give you a few MORE examples:
-The hand surgeon people tell us that gardening can wreak havoc with our hands and much more. In fact, they give us the handy statistic that there are more than 400,000 outdoor gardening-related emergency room visits each year. There is a mighty useful article that I won’t bother to re-state here, so go visit it now and save yourself a lot of pain and embarrassment.
-Sunburn. Put on some filmy, gauzy clothing or some coconut scented lotion, but save yourself the sunburn issue. Myself, I have invested in a fetching floppy hat. Think of it as a fashion statement. And I also make sure to use an SPF 24 on my face and other extremities.
-Falling down on your butt. NOT ME, but a clumsy-favored-relative-by-marriage recently did something quite silly and managed to slip and fall on his BEE-HIND, landing him in the emergency room and hospital for a couple of days. I haven’t heard the story first-hand, but Harry tells me that it was a mowing incident gone awry. Be careful with big machines and wet grass.
-Branches. How many times have I nearly been blinded by a branch or wayward twig as I was reaching just…a…little…bit…farther into the bushes?
-Similarly, I have learned to wear eye protection when using the weed wacker. Bad things can happen when it kicks up stuff (a technical gardening term).
-Protect your ears. Aaaah. The day that the monster mulcher people gave me my very own ear protection, I started wearing them all the time. I can do the weed whacking a LOT longer, use the blower for an ETERNITY and do all sort of other nifty power tool tricks now that my ears don’t take the beating and I don’t get a headache. (Now that I’m thinking about it, they might come in handy INDOORS when my 16-year-old son is lobbying to get the banished TV back into his room.)
There are a bunch more hazards out there waiting for you…bees, cuts, bites and such. But think of the whole thing as your own personal adventure into the wilds. I don’t need to join an African expedition or jump from towering cliffs to get my adrenalin pumping. I just have to walk out the back door.
How sweet is that?
Robin
Yes, it’s Vegetarian Week. Did you know that only about 1% - 2% of Americans are vegetarian?
That little fact is probably not a surprise to you. I say that not because being a vegetarian entails such a Spartan diet. It really doesn’t. You have all these FABULOUS vegetables and vegetarian dishes, particularly from India and the Middle East, that provide lots of savory satisfying flavors. The difficulty, at least as I am experiencing it, is threefold:
1) Not all, but a LOT of really good vegetarian dishes take extra time to prepare. You can’t just toss a couple of steaks on the grill and be ready in 20 minutes. Now, I am TOTALLY behind the whole Slow Food Movement. In fact, the food around our house is so slow it routinely takes me 1-2 hours to make dinner, which is typically served at 8:30 p.m. But TIME is not necessarily something I have an abundance of, so I have to really work hard to carve out that bit of space to make a dinner we’ll all eat and enjoy. (On the upside, at least we eat a family dinner 6 out of 7 nights I’m home.)
2) The rest of the world has not customized itself to accommodate vegetarians. Sure, things are a heck of a lot easier than when I became a vegetarian for the first time back in the 1980s when I was…well, younger. Even living in California I was hard pressed to find much more than a tossed salad and some steamed vegetables in those days. Now, although there are nearly always vegetarian options available, they are slim pickins’ in the overall scheme of things, which leaves us true food lovers a bit left out of the party when it comes to restaurant eating. That’s not even to mention that people are generally disinclined to invite you to dinner, for obvious reasons.
3) Traveling is PARTICULARLY difficult. And I travel a LOT. It’s quite frustrating to be stuck in an airport with options that only amount to cheese pizza and ice cream and then landing late at night at a hotel that offers only a tossed salad and fruit. It does make a girl a bit cranky.
I was just reading an article in Yoga Journal about some of the popular yoga teachers and how they travel with their own cooking supplies. Shiva Rea even packs a whole extra suitcase with a hot plate, pot, mung beans, rice and other supplies so she can cook in her room. She has even served up to 12 people by cooking up beans on her hot plate!
Well, I’m not sure how I feel about that. As much as I would like some of those mung beans and rice, I don’t know that I have the wherewithal to cook in my hotel room late at night. I generally am more in the mood for SERVICE, preferably in 30 minutes or less.
Despite these drawbacks, if you’ve considered a vegetarian diet but just can’t make the commitment, I recommend reading Fast Food Nation by Eric Schlosser. It’s a very compelling read that puts a whole new face on the way most Americans eat. Believe me. You WILL NOT want to eat any beef, pork, chicken or fish after reading this book. You might not eat again.
Another helpful tip: PETA, whether you love them or hate them, is well organized and has sponsored its own Go Vegetarian website where you can even order a free vegetarian starter’s kit. I tried to send some to a couple of friends in need, but their form for friends isn’t working properly. Sorry, you’ll have to download or oder your own. Check out the website though. You can “Meet Your Meat,” take the “30 Day Veg Pledge,” get recipes and even become an activist.
And if you’re ever in Calvert County and in need of a good vegetarian meal, just let me know. It may be slow, but it’ll be healthy and vegetarian.
Robin
Hi everyone. Sophie is taking a break today in preparation for her trip to the beauty parlor tomorrow. Besides, this is MY blog not hers, regardless of what she thinks.
Now, before I go much further, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TODD, you old toot–I mean coot.
Now that’s out of the way, today’s message is just a few notes and loose ends.
It’s difficult to get any rest around here. What with all the things that need watering, trimming, brushing and petting, we’re lucky to get done what we do. Poor Harry. He works like mad all during the week. All he wants to do is sit down and read on a weekend night. Here’s what it typically looks like. Miss P, Sophie and Harry want some peace and quiet. Sarah mixes things up.
I heard back from the president of the Maryland Bluebird Society. He was extremely helpful and encouraging. In fact, he directed me to all the right information and forms to report my bluebird monitoring. Now, I’m fully registered with the CORNELL UNIVERSITY Bluebird House Project. That’s right. I’m a bluebird house marshal. I should get my badge sometime this week. Don’t mess with me.
I am supposed to monitor the arrivals, nest building, egg laying, hatching, fledging and such along with a host of other information in these extremely complicated forms that get submitted to Cornell. The idea is that with the input of me and bunches of other bluebird lovers like me (okay, no one’s REALLY like me), they can figure out a whole bunch of things about the health and welfare of the hopefully rebounding bluebird population.
I feel so honored. I’m also stressed that I have this whole new job.
In other news, the garden is humming along. Harry is happy as a lark that he can traipse out in the evenings to pick lettuce, spinach, basil and oregano for his daily salad fix. I am happy that things are growing–especially all those teeny tiny little plants I started from seed and worried wouldn’t ever amount to much. I’m sure it sounds naive, but I’m still amazed that when I plunk something into the ground that it grows.
In addition to the aforementioned lettuce, spinach and herbs, we also have several varieties of tomatoes, bush beans, pole beans, squash, zucchini, musk melons, chard, peppers, cucumbers and probably some other stuff that I forgot.
The flowers include peonies, foxglove, beebalm (very invasive!), daylilies, roses, clematis, wisteria, climbing hydrangeas, cone flowers, marigolds, bachelor’s buttons, columbine, hollyhocks, lavender and some other stuff. I can’t wait until everything is blooming!
I’ll go ahead and sound naive again.
I’m always disappointed that when I order something from an online nursery. At least at first. For example, I ordered these two fabulous looking plants called “SKY PENCIL.” They are really, really tall–up to 6 - 8 feet tall–skinny bushes that serve as a dramatic focal point in a landscape. Perfect for what Harry calls my “estate-look-lust.”
Well, my two SKY PENCILS arrived today and they are THREE INCHES TALL!!!! It’ll be a while before this place is very estate-like.
Ah, well. Gardening does teach us patience.
A couple of short housekeeping notes.
1) I have added a new bird book to the book reviews section. I’ll be reorganizing the books soon with more categories since it seems to be getting a bit jumbled. (I believe Sophie already told you how much I like to organize things, yes?)
2) My trip to Chicago was postponed and probably moved to Minneapolis. If anyone knows anything useful about garden spots in Minneapolis, let me know.
In the meantime, I remain…
Robin
Today was Skip Day at our house. That means that everyone skipped what they were supposed to do.
Dad said the Pope gave him and Ben an “air show pass” so they could skip church today. Now, I know I’m “just a dog,” but I’m pretty sure the Pope has never, ever, thought of such a thing as an air show pass. And I’m also pretty sure that if he heard Dad say the Pope gave him one he would be in some pretty big trouble for lying on top of things.
As for Mom, she skipped her Iyengar yoga class today to catch up on some garden work. At least SHE didn’t say something silly like B.K.S. Iyengar gave her a garden pass.
So anyway, as you have no doubt deduced, Dad and Ben went off to the airshow and, you guessed it, left Mom here to work in the garden. Sarah and I, of course, stayed here to help Mom out since no one invited US to the air show.
Mom started the day with doing a lot of what she calls “puttering.” From what I can tell, puttering involves moving this stuff over there and that stuff over here. She also made an ENORMOUS dirty mess in the kitchen when she potted a bunch of orchids and other house plants because she doesn’t yet have a proper potting shed. Then, of course, she had to scrub down and disinfect the kitchen, which made everything smell like medicine.
By the way, about those orchid things. You know how she gets all excited about new projects and such. Orchids are her new project. She’s been reading all kinds of books, like Orchids for Dummies and Orchids for Whimps and bought some orchids from Logee’s Greenhouses. They arrived on Friday and I thought she was going to do a little jig she was so happy unwrapping them.
It’s really kinda sad that her she gets all on fire about these little projects instead of having something important to do. Perfect example: SHE TOOK PHOTOS OF HER NEW GARDEN CART! She was all proud that she had stocked it with all her favorite tools. She even hung a laminated copy of Mac’s “Good Bugs. Bad Bugs” to the handle for handy reference. I mean, really.
As you can tell, organizing appears to be a favorite hobby of hers. Some people ski. Others bowl. Some people collect stamps. Mom organizes things.
The other day her friend Angela came to visit and remarked that she was surprised that given Mom’s love for organizing things that Mom hadn’t invested in one of those fancy garage organizing systems.
Oooooh. You should have seen Mom. I thought the top of her head would come off. I’m not sure what was going on inside her head, but I’m sure that she was saying some of those words she’s not supposed to be saying any more.
As for Dad and Ben, they arrived home tan and happy. Ben apparently knows a whole lot about airplane stuff and Dad said he was impressed. Mom rolled her eyes and made some snide remark about how she’d be more impressed if he knew how to conjugate some French verbs. As for me, I would be more impressed if he would feed me something other than the big food Mom gives me.
Before I go, I want to address an issue that has come up around here. Several people have called and written to ask why I am a guest blogger here on Bumblebee and Sarah is not. In fact, several loyal readers have suggested that they like my observations better than Mom’s.
That has not set well with Mom and I think she might be a wee bit jealous.
As for Sarah, I know that people say she’s sweet. Everyone talks about how pretty she is. As for me, I say she’s just this side of teachable.
Now Mom’s all mad at me for being mean to Sarah when her Bumblebee policy is to be positive whenever possible. But you get the point. Don’t be expecting Sarah to write anything because SHE CAN’T WRITE.
Until next time,
Sophie
Robin
Okay, this time I have to admit that I felt horrid peaking into the bluebird house because Mom did not look happy.
I have written to the president of the Maryland Bluebird Society asking if they collect the bluebird information and whether I should continue to bother the bluebirds. I don’t want them to get up and move away because they have peeping Toms for neighbors!
There are four eggs. According to the bluebird people the bluebirds usually lay four to five eggs. They incubate for 12 to 14 days and then stay in the nest for 16 to 21 days before they fledge. Even after they fledge, they depend on their parents for food for a couple of weeks.
The bluebird people say that after the babies have fledged I’m supposed to remove the nest. Doesn’t that sound harsh? Where do they sleep if I tear up their house?
Oh, the burden of it all…
Robin
So, to complete the last (you hope) chapter in the Robin-Does-Memphis saga, I have posted some new photos of the Dixon Gallery and Gardens in my photo album. In case you didn’t already know, the Dixon is the “premier art institution” in Memphis.
Now, I don’t mean to sound like a snob (Okay, I’m a snob.), but 2,000 paintings does not make a “premier art institution,” especially when only an itty bitty percentage of those paintings is on display. Unless, perhaps, you’re in Memphis. (Snob talking here.)
I’ll dispatch with their whole “premier art institution” concept pretty quickly. Few paintings on view (about 30). Some nice, some okay. Small gallery space, even if nicely done. Mostly taken up with an UNBELIEVABLY BORING SILVER EXHIBITION when I was there. A VERY SMALL glimpse of the original Dixon residence is open. Very traditional and very unspectacular. Snore.
BUT, the gardens, although relatively small, are truly wonderful. Unlike the Memphis Botanical Gardens, the Dixon folks have truly captured the whole concept of a versatile garden.
You enter the gallery and grounds through the Dixon “cutting” garden, which is more than just an ugly cutting garden. It is a real jewel–mixed borders, mixed pots of plants, archways, water features, even a small arboretum. It’s small, but very nicely arranged and maintained. I especially appreciated that the caretakers had taken the time to LABEL THE PLANTS so you could go home and look them up (and order them!) when you got home. You would be amazed at the number of gardens that fail in this elementary function.
Mrs. Dixon (I have no idea what significance these Dixon people had other than owning this property. Look it up yourself.) apparently loved the woodland garden. It’s truly spectacular. The only reason you don’t see more photos is because my photography skills stink. Shade is tough, man.
Mr. Dixon apparently loved the more formal gardens. These also are very nice, lovely places with mixed plants, water features and interesting structure.
My advice for Memphis: Skip the gallery and do the garden.
Coming up next: Bluebird update (eggs!) and (for family and friends) some handsome pictures of Ben as the new ensign in the photo gallery. Don’t miss it.
Robin
