Book Review: The Peony by Alice Harding



The Book of the Peony by Alice Harding
This is a 1985 reprint of a book first published in 1917, updated with a section of color photos. One of the photos is of the 'Alice Harding' peony, a lovely white, named after the author for her contributions to peony history and culture. In the book she covers the history, mythology, cultivation and propagation of both herbaceous and tree peonies in a manner that is infomative and easy to follow. At the end she appends a paper from 1915 by Professor H. H. Whetzel delivered to the Massa chusetts Horticultural Society. This latter was a bit of a downer, I must confess, describing the icky things that can happen to peonies. He says the claim that peonies are free from disease is a "fable," but I think he's a bit of an alarmist. In my 30 years of growing peonies I have had very few problems with them, and mine have survived both my enthusiam and benign neglect.
I highly recommend this book for both the history and growing infomation it provides. There is also a wonderful list of cultivars, some still available, that has me wondering where I can fit in another peony bed.

The Peony Walk back to front, facing toward the street, with St. Francis on the half shell at upper left..  The foxgloves have started blooming as well.

The Peony Walk with Edulis Superba, Monsieur Jules Elie, Reine Hortense, Virginia Mary, Amabilis, and an unknown white that was a gift from a friend.  Not knowing the name of something drives me bats.  Like Anne of Green Gables I like things to have "handles."

Peony Walk border: Monsieur Jules Elie, Reine Hortense, Virginia Mary, Amabillis, unknown white.  The orange poppy back there was supposed to be the salmon pink Princess Victoria Louise.  I dug it up last year but obviously missed some.
In the front garden clematis Ville de Lyon, and peonies Karl Rosenfeld, Festiva Maxima, Bunker Hill and Moonstone 

Unknown pinks in the front border, with rose Tess of the D'Ubervilles against the house.

From the Garden




It is 9:10pm and I have just come in from the garden for the night.  In the words of Eric Clapton, "It's gettin' dark, too dark to see."  I could no longer see what I was weeding, and I didn't want pull something by mistake.  The mosquitoes were out too, and undeterred by my hat, were finding their way into my ears and behind my glasses.  It was dark at ground level, but the sky was still light in the northwest.  Venus was big and bright in the eastern sky and there were a few stars visible.  (At least, I think it was Venus.  It was the biggest and brightest non-moon object in the sky, which I always assume is Venus.)  Had it not been for the mosquitoes I'd have stayed out to admire the garden in the dark.  It looked beautiful and ghostly with the white and pale pink peonies and the ox-eye daisies blooming.  Pale pink looks white at night.


Finally got the urns planted, and the blue pot I found Wednesday.


I'm trying for a red, white and blue theme for the urns again this year.  At the moment they just look red and white as the blue lobelia hasn't started blooming yet.  I found the blue pot Wednesday at Home Goods and immediately envisioned it planted with a bright yellow snapdragon and a pale yellow petunia.  Which I just so happened to have gotten at Spring Ledge Farm in New London last Sunday.
Clematis Ville de Lyon, with Venice Blue Speedwell at it's feet.  Rose William Baffin against the house.

Between yesterday and this afternoon I got a lot of weeding done, though I still have a great deal more to do.  There is always weeding to be done, of course, but I got behind last fall and am not caught up yet.  As much as anyone can be "caught up" with garden work.  I am a thorough weeder but not particularly fast.  There's something very satisfying about pulling weeds by hand and feeling all the roots come out with the weed.  It's much faster when I use my hand rake.

Unknown pink peony given to me about 30 years ago by my mother-in-law.  I love the way the opening flower shows off the intricacy of the folded petals.
Same peonies open/opening.
Today's Quote
"When Spring is on the wane,
Then men are apt
To turn their thoughts
To peonies again."
Anonymous Japanese

Book Review: What's Your Creative Type?

What's Your Creative Type?: Harness the Power of Your Artistic Personality by Meta Wagner
An entertaining look at what the author considers the five types of creative people - A-Lister, Artisan, Game Changer, Sensitive Soul, and Activist. The categories are rather narrow, and I suspect most of us would be found in more than one of them . Each type gets a chapter with definitions, quizzes, ideas and advice, and famous examples. This skims the surface of its subject, but is still an interesting read.


For the Birds



I miss my birds.  There is nothing that gives me so much joy as getting up in the morning and watching them at, or under, my feeders.  Goldfinches, house finches, purple finches, juncos, tufted titmice, nuthatches, chickadees, the cardinal pair, mourning doves, downy woodpeckers, the occasional rose-breasted grosbeak, and in summer the catbird.  There must be two catbirds, but I've never seen more than one at a time.
And then there are these furry grey ones.  I hadn't realized birds could have tails like that.  So greedy.  They eat me out of house and home.  They'll just plaster themselves to the feeders and stay and stay, just gobbling away.  I don't understand why the birds don't mob them and drive them away, there are many more of them than there are squirrels.  And, by the way, my supposedly squirrel-proof feeders aren't.
But why am I missing my birds right now?
We had a visitor two weeks ago.  I went outside on a Monday morning and was greeted with this sight.  I feed the birds year round, in spite of warnings, so I do know the risks.  But on the whole I've been lucky, and in the thirty years we've lived here we've only been visited by a bear three times.  We live right in town, after all, and the middle school and high school are just down the hill.  Though there was a day, back when my older son, now 31, was in high school, that a bear ambled across the upper field while he was at soccer practice.
This fellow was particularly thorough and took out all three feeders, as well as the suet feeders, in the side yard.  Fortunately he didn't go through the garden, though he, or she, left a calling card beside it.  And a much larger pile in the back yard.  The hummingbird feeder and seed feeder in the front yard were untouched, fortunately, but  I've taken in the seed feeder to be safe.  I will probably put them back out again in a few weeks as there's been no evidence (no additional piles!) of a return visit.  And I miss my birds.  There are still birds around, I hear them all the time I'm home, but the finches have all gone elsewhere.  I particularly miss the goldfinches.  Their brilliant yellow gives me such joy.

Quote of the Day
Each morning when I open my eyes I say to myself: I, not events, have the power to make me happy or unhappy today. I can choose which it shall be.  Yesterday is dead, tomorrow hasn't arrived yet.  I have just one day, today, and I'm going to be happy in it.
Groucho Marx

Book Review: Splintered Light

The view from my east window this morning made me think of the title of Verlyn Flieger's book Splintered Light.  There is actually a German word for this phenomenon of the sun shining golden through the new spring leaves, which translates as Mayshine, or May light.  Thank you to Robert Macfarlane for defining it on his blog.  He has a Word of the Day feature which I love.

And, since I mentioned it, here is my review Flieger's book:
Splintered Light: Logos and Language in Tolkien's World by Verlyn Flieger
An interesting look at Tolkien's use of the Word, words, language and light in the world that he created. Actually, he called himself a sub-creator, as there is only one true Creator. He believed that it was important to go back to the roots of words, even to their ancient Indo-European meanings, to understand what a word truly means, in all of its nuances. As language got more complex, as more dialects proliferated, as words were more tightly defined, he felt that it has inexorably separated us from one another and from our surroundings. The more the meaning of something is splintered in this way, the more it will be seen as Other than we are.
There are still a few tulips left in the garden, and a couple of late, double daffodils.  The creeping phlox is blooming like crazy.  In the front border the lilacs are in full bloom, though here on the east side of the house poor Miss Kim (lower right corner) seems to have expired.  She's been struggling the past few years.  I will not mourn, but view this as an opportunity to try something else.

Quote of the Day:
It isn't what you have, or who you are, or where you are, or what you are doing that makes you happy or unhappy,.  It is what you think about.
Dale Carnegie, from Everyday Happiness, ed. Emma Hill






Today from VioletThyme

A New Camera for Peony Season

The front garden.  Ox-eye daisies, peonies, and roses.                  My camera died this spring, most inconveniently during spring ...