A collection of well tended allotments is a magical place. Although I would never again wish to live in a city, I have a fascination with small urban gardens and allotments. There is such an abundance of charm in small gardens with their clever use of structures and strategic plantings. The victory gardens on the Fenway create an oasis in the midst of crowds, cars, and chaos.

I love the rusty nails and thorny branches all over the posts and gates. I know they are there to discourage vandals and thieves but I find them so beautiful and sculptural in this context.

I’ve been completely lost in the limbo land between buying and selling a home. It seems as if all we’ve done this spring and summer is work on one or the other house or garden and move objects between them. Cats are confused. I am exhausted. My blog has been neglected. I’ve been painting walls and longing to paint again from a palette rather than a can. I am excited to move into my new home though and I love it madly even though it’s stolen all of my time. The most challenging and emotional part of all this has been moving the gardens, deciding which plants to keep and which to leave and where they go and all that jazz. These photos were taken last week at the beach house garden. Everything has changed dramatically again. Faded irises have given way to an explosion of daisies, coreopsis, and foxglove. So much inspiration. So little time.

While sorting through the old books at the Horticultural Center, I picked up a musty old tome which I thought was a history of gardening. It turned out to be a book about alchemy and the construction of various types of stills. Most chapters focus on use of plants by the Puritans of New England for herbal medicines and tonics. However, it does occasionally veer off into herbal lore and “the chemical art” of the early alchemists. The book was in rough shape, water damaged and falling apart so the scans are not so nice. Of course, I had to offer up a few bits of it, since this blog threads together the subjects of my fascination – art, old books, gardening, and alchemy. Included among these tattered pages, is a hand drawn map from the 1600s of the area where I now live and work. Sadly, it was too faded and ink smeared to scan well.

“The fifth chapter deals with the sum total of background knowledge applied by the settlers to their task of growing, distilling, and preserving all they would need for both meate and medicine. The sixth deals with ‘the meate’ and the seventh with ‘the medicine’ for which they felt sure so many plants were intended”. – Anne Leighton

“A satirical portrait of the vain Englishman of the time, Henry VIII, so keen on being in the latest style that he strides along with a length of woolen cloth over his arm, unable to decide what rayment to wear”.

In William Lawson’s ‘New Orchard and Garden’ the "falling gardens" are shown below 2 large squares devoted to fruit trees, one for an elaborate design of garden knots, and two for the kitchen gardens.

Sometimes we have to say goodbye though. I said farewell and all that to one of my favorite works titled Rabbit, pictured in a new frame chosen to match a lovely new home. This has been a running theme for the past few weeks. I wonder if the “rabbits” are trying to tell me something.

The Divine Hermaphrodite

Gnome and nastursiums…

…and bees

Potted thingies inside the sun shed.

Lovingly bundled sage waiting to be hung up.

The spiral path is overgrown and bursting with color.

Alpine strawberries, wild celery, and parsley are in their prime time. The hot peppers show no signs of stopping. They are still producing generous bounty in spite of the much cooler weather and early frosts. The combination of hoop houses, raised beds, and lots of compost is like a small season extending miracle.

Lettuce beds

Newly planted garlic beds and my mum foraging for lettuce in the background. :)

The head mason is my mother who is 70 years old and loves to build walls and paths out of stone. She doesn’t just design and supervise. She does the actual lugging and building. Crazy woman. Now you know where I get half of it. My father was crazy too so there is the other half explained. The stone path leads out to the sandy beach road and we’ve left the entrance open. No gate. There is an enclosed fence around the main garden in the back so I’d like to leave the front open if possible. It’s friendlier. We’ll see how well the neighborhood dogs behave.

I’ve also photographed our medicinal plants since it’s harvest time. I’m about to take most of them out of the garden to dry or otherwise store for the winter. Many will last through the fall a few will live through the winter in cold frames. This is my kind of health insurance. Build your own and grow your own. Self sufficiency and simplicity. I learned this from my parents. Hopefully, if I follow this path, I’ll be lugging big rocks around and planting trees when I am 70. Hmm. That didn’t come out quite right but I think you know what I mean. I’d like to keep that option.

Sage

Mint

Wild Strawberries. They look homely but they are so good.

Echinacea

Dandelion Greens.

Oregeno

Cat Mint!

Raspberry Leaves.

Lavender

Comfrey

Rhubarb

Heavenly Blue Morning Glories. ;)

Purslane

Chamomile

Basil

Jalapenos & Cayenne

Parsley, Rosemary, Chives, Heather, Lavender, Garlic, Dill, Mullein…

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I love these little orange “sungold” tomatoes. They taste like candy.

Pesto!

Bees love sunflowers.

The new front garden planted with evergreens, heather, and mums for fall.

Hibiscus flowers as big your face. Kids love these.

Foxglove

Marigolds and clover.

Hot hot hot peppers. Cayenne, jalapeno, chili, and banana peppers. We do so love our peppers.

We haven’t had to purchase herbs or produce all summer with the exception of limes, lemons and avocados. We’ve had parsley, basil, mint, chives, onions, garlic, lettuces, wild celery, raspberries, strawberries, cucumbers, tomatoes, hot peppers, grapes, dandelion greens, radishes, nasturtium, purslane, and rhubarb in abundance. We may get a few eggplants and figs in the fall. Blueberries and sunflower seeds are a possibility if the birds will allow. We’ve planted pear trees and I have one little avocado tree that may survive in a cold frame. I’ve been saving up all the excess for winter like a good little squirrel. Canning, drying, and pickling. C.P.’s next project is the cold frame. Between that and the new shed, I’m fascinated to see what I will be able to grow and harvest through the winter. Last year, we harvest mache, beets, radishes, and parsley through the winter in open beds with nothing but a frost cover so I think we will squeeze quite a nice harvest of fresh food out of a cold frame.

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The phoenix is an eagle-like bird that is said to be nearly immortal. Some variant of the phoenix appears in the mythologies of many of the world’s ancient cultures. In classical Greek myth the phoenix undergoes a death-and-rebirth cycle approximately every 1,000 years, by building itself a pyre of myrrh branches in which it is burned to ashes. From the ashes a new phoenix is born.

In modern times the phoenix is a symbol of the Lebanese people, who are descended from the Phoenicians, and of Beirut in particular, a city eternally reborn from its own ashes. In alchemy the phoenix represents the element of fire and the fiery aspect of sulphur. It also symbolizes the perfection of unified opposites, in that it reproduces from itself without need of an “other.”

Every year the tulip bulbs are planted in clusters according to color and every year the squirrels rearrange them for me.

Evening primroses growing up right through the mulch under the lettuce bed. A mystery. I would never plant anything red in my garden deliberately. Everyone has an opinion and the general opinion seems to be that I need more red plants in my garden.

Johnny Jump-Ups jumping up around the Tulips.

An overview of the back garden in development. It will eventually be an edible landscape, a mix of wild perennials and self seeding or saved seed annuals.

I love dandelions and don’t understand why people spend so much time fussing about them and trying to kill them. It makes me happy to see them peeking out everywhere. They are such useful plants. Every part is edible and medicinal.

One of these creatures guards the gate and the other guards me.

One of the joys of gardening are the little surprises that happen when nature asserts an opinion over whatever I’ve planted deliberately, like the wild violets that sprang up all around my tulips or the red and yellow mystery flowers growing up under the lettuce bed. I don’t even know what those are. I always listen and work with what I am given. It’s a delicate balance between cultivation and chaos that makes a garden come alive and so much more interesting than the neat little rows of widely spaced heavily mulched alternate color annuals that landscapers seem to love. It is also the best way to slowly build up a healthy eco-system.

Herbs, flowers, fruits, and vegetables are all planted together using deliberate companion plantings and working with volunteers. Everything eventually works out, as in who which plants compliment each other aesthetically and practically. Two of my favorite books on companion planting are “Carrots Love Tomatoes” and
“Roses Love Garlic” by Lousie Riotte.