In the Labyrinth

The Mountains and The Gardens: Part III

It was hard not to be constantly astonished by the beauty of nature all around us throughout the trip. We traveled from northern Italy through the Valle D'Aosta, with its terraced vineyards, crossing the border of the Italian Alps into the French Alps, where Mont Blanc rises out of the mist. The wind pulls snow off the high peaks and the light catches the mist turning it into swirling rainbows. We stayed for a few days in the small town of Chamonix -- noted for its skiing -- especially on the glaciers which present an incredible challenge for the skier. Chamonix is completely surrounded by mountains, as is its more wealthy resort cousin, Megeve a handful of miles away, My brother once lived in Megeve many years ago and it is the birth place of the stirrup ski pants.The houses are all wooden and decorated with shuttered windows, carved rooftops, some brightly painted and always a flower garden. Settled in the woods of Chamonix, they look like something from a fairy tale.

But traveling south again, from Como to Corbetta, to Rome, the gardens are everywhere, bursting with blooms even in the late fall due to the warm temperatures. In Rome, a Villa has become a public park and the light -- that famous golden Italian light -- streamed through the Maritime Pines.

Back From Travels...Report to Follow

...once the jet lag subsides and I stop feeling in sleep/wake limbo. It's been a fantastic month between getting some much needed work done, some wonderful travel to see friends, and a most unusual book signing event. Photos and menus coming soon...

The Garden Spiral

It seems every time I put a garden in my novels it has a spiral path. I think I like the shape because it is evocative of so many different ideas -- the snail (which I feel I am sometimes carrying everything, family, memory, work, bills all on my back), the ambiguous journey both inward and outward, the pleasing vertigo of going almost in a circle, but arriving somewhere new.

So I decided it was time to put one in the garden of the house where we live, so I can see it everyday as I come and go. It's pretty, especially in the morning when the stones are a bit damp and full of color. But it's also nice in the mid day when the sun bleaches everything and it looks like a fragment of an ancient ruin. In the fall, I will plant Mexican poppies -- buttery-orange blossoms-- in the spiral's path, along with purple verbena for contrast. My own yellow brick road.

Emily Dickinson: The Poetry of Flowers at the New York Botanical Gardens.

If you live in NYC or find yourself visiting the city sometime over the next two weeks consider stopping by what looks to be a fragrant and poetic event at the New York Botanical Gardens: Emily Dickinson's Garden, The Poetry of Flowers. Here, they have recreated the divine Em's house, woodland gardens, vegetable gardens, and formal gardens. And tucked into all that natural beauty are snippets from her poems. Dickinson, while better known today as a reclusive poet, was very well known in Amherst as an incredible gardener. Every plant had a place in her fields -- including the lowly dandelion which is usually thought of as the scourge of most gardeners. Dickinson identified with the wayward plant writing to her sister-in-law, "I am from the fields, you know, and while quite at home with the Dandelion, make but a sorry figure in a Drawing room." 
 

You can read an interesting review of the show from the WSJ here and the NYBG has a great little website for the exhibit, including three short films chronicling the building of the exhibit. There are week poetry readings and poetry nature walks. Children are welcome. The exhibit lasts until Sunday, June 13. And if you happen to make it there, stop back here and let me know how it was...sadly I won't get a chance to go!

The Cereus Redux

 
Once again the Night Blooming Cereus cactus in my backyard that vines around the Mesquite tree has put on a spectacular display of blossoms -- around 30 or so as if to commemorate Memorial Day with a special benediction of its own. We had been watching the blossoms fattening up for about a week and then all through Memorial Day the outer green wrappers slowly unraveled in a botanical striptease. By night fall these beauties bloomed, producing a stunning wall of flowers. I took photos in the dark -- and one last one just after dawn. Already as I type this (around 10 am) the blossoms have closed and I know by late afternoon they will have all withered. Happily, judging by the frenzy of bee activity this morning, there should a significant quantity of red fruit in which all the birds delight.

And not be outdone by is showy sister in the backyard, the smaller Trichocereus cactus in the front yard also produced midnight blooms -- though I didn't see them until this morning when I skipped out to grab the morning paper. Beautiful salmon pink, with a hint of lavender.

 

The Neighbors' Gardens

 

I have to say I live in a very beautiful and old neighborhood of Tucson. Many of the houses are from the 1920s and 30s and each one is unique. There are small houses (like ours) that are tiny craft bungalows existing alongside modest territorial houses and sprawling walled villas, surrounded by huge old trees and fantastic sculptures. So I figured it would be fun to share some of the sights of my neighborhood -- not the desert this time, but the extraordinary gardens and the art that is scattered throughout, such as the elegant and really large stone sculpture of a tiger pictured above. Below is part of a long wall with a thick border of flowering plants and at regular intervals a rectangular recessed area to allow a huge bougainvillea vine room to grow undisturbed.

I love this front "yard" of a nearby house, with it's sheltering mesquite tree and the fabulous mix of Mexican poppies, agave, orange mallow and trichocereus cactus that will soon be covered in brilliant blooms.

And this door...with its sublime colors and the heavy detailed doorway.

 

There's Writing and Then There's Gardening: Hard to Tell the Difference Sometimes

 
Sometimes it seems as if there is very little difference between the act of writing a novel and the act of building a garden. I love doing both and occasionally it is necessary to do one while ignoring the other. Thus I have been absent from the blog and my desk in general because I have been building a garden -- a big garden with lots of little parts, different plots (sorry...couldn't resist the pun!) and characters -- and it has been glorious. And very necessary as a way of climbing out the fog of last year -- shifting from being a full time caregiver to my mother, to a writer day dreaming up the next novel into words. Gardening provides a bridge from last year into this for the physical acts of gardening are much like the literary ones of creating a story.

 

Each section of the garden has its own colors, its own textures, its own needs -- yet at a glance it must come together as a whole. Each plant has its own character and no amount of my forcing will let it be anything other than itself. There is time to reflect, to create.  I find myself inspired by the dirt under my nails, the sun on my back and the almost constant whirring sound of the hummingbirds that have arrived to inspect the new flowering plants I have added especially for them. The air is redolent with orange blossoms, tombstone roses and compost. And when I focus too long on small part, I look up to see the spears of green in the canopy of the newly trimmed mesquite tree that sprawls over most of the backyard.

 
Front and back of this little house are very different. The front is open to the sun and the Mexican poppies here have taken it over in a fiery blaze. I have a narrow planter on side in which I planted a cactus garden that has begun to bloom and will over the next two months.

 

 
The back of the house is like a secret garden. The mesquite looms over everything, the patio roof is buried beneath a huge coverlet of tombstone roses and I have planted many new sections with different flowers -- some for butterfly, some for hummingbirds. There is a night blooming cereus cactus that drapes itself over the trunk and branches of the tree and when it blooms will attract the bats and the luna moths.

 
So am I working on my novel.  Really. The garden restores, and stories happen.