Dear Friends,
Christmas Greetings to you all on this sunny but very cold morning (18 degrees Fahrenheit—about minus 10 Celsius) in the eastern hills of Tennessee. There is a 4-inch (about 10-cm) powder-deep snowfall on the ground that came down, quickly but gently, on the afternoon of Christmas Eve. We’ve not seen much snow in the last few years; most comes, if it comes at all, in January and February and then usually disappears pretty quickly, but this one has been here to stay for days.
Of course, as we’ve all experienced in this year of difficult times amid moments of joy and gratitude, there had to be a bit of trouble and it came later on the evening of Christmas Eve with a power outage that lasted 12 hours while the temperature plummeted. I never cease to be grateful for running water, our gas fireplaces, water heaters and stoves! And it all makes me remember our years of hauling heated water to horses at Lanntair Farm during some record years for cold and snow.
I’ve been in isolation at Blue Note Garden for ten months—six of those recovering from breast cancer surgery and chemotherapy—with growing appreciation for the world of nature that surrounds me here:
For several weeks, we had 60 goats—yes, that’s right, sixty—munching their way through the property across the lower road from us. We’ve had so much rain in the last couple of years that undergrowth on forest land that hasn’t been regularly maintained can become almost impenetrable—except for goats. The sounds of their work and play reminded me of when we first came to Knoxville and lived across the street from the playground of an elementary school—adorable to have nearby.
A couple of weeks ago, a large flock of cedar waxwings came through from the north and ate every single berry from all of my (my?!) holly trees and bushes before winging their way south. They left not a single branch for Christmas decorations. I was reduced to cutting down a couple of nandinas remaining here—which are invasive and warrant removal anyway. So the birds did me a favor in prompting me to get that done.
Unfortunately, a large robin collided with one of our living room windows several days ago. I put him in a cardboard box, hoping he was merely dazed, but he did not make it. It made me resolve to get around to putting together a bird mobile kit I purchased last year from Germany, of a large Merlin hawk to hang and ward-off birds from one particular north-facing corner where birds see-through to another series of windows and assume they can fly-on-through. If I build another house after selling Blue Note Garden I will be sure to install bird-safe glass—yes, there is such a thing and humans can’t tell the difference, but the birds can.
This morning a large, handsome red fox was walking around outside the house as though he owned the place. He just about does, because there have been far fewer human guests here at Blue Note Garden during this year’s Christmastime.
Still, I am very glad that most of you are not traveling unless quarantined, tested, or vaccinated. I think of you all in your own homes and it gives me great comfort to know that you are able to shelter, work and keep reasonably well. Please stay well and stay safe!
Much love to all,
Theresa
I don’t remember growing older
When did they?
When did he grow to be so tall?
Wasn’t it yesterday
When they were small?
Sunrise, sunset
Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly flow the days
Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers
Blossoming even as we gaze
Sunrise, sunset
Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly fly the years
One season following another
Laden with happiness and tears
— Paraphrased from Fiddler on the Roof
COVID-19 has wreaked havoc on humans throughout the world, but Blue Note Garden has fared very well in 2020, with a spectacular, long spring and steady rain. That was an especially good thing because I had to mostly ignore the gardens from May through August due to health issues. As I tried to regain weight and strength following surgery and chemo, the gardens proved, hands down, the best medicine and therapy.
In the midst of this fine summer, I look out our home’s many floor-to-ceiling windows and I am astounded by all the thriving, mature plantings that have settled comfortably into the landscape. “When did they grow to be so tall?” Most remarkably, with only a very few, truly hot days, even spring wildflowers such as Solomon’s Seal and ornamental trees such as the flourishing, weeping katsura are retaining both their green color and their leaves much longer than usual, making for many layers of infinite shades of green. Foliage is growing vigorously enough and everywhere that the main tasks are to remove it from obliterating massive rocks and to prune as high as possible so that smaller, newer plants can have access to more sunlight.
Otherwise, there is hardly anything to do in the garden, really, except that I can never resist fiddling with plenty good enough, trying something different and completing projects. But those are just rationale. When it comes right down to it, I much prefer working in the garden than any other form of physical exercise, although walking and hiking are always a strong draw if I can find the time for those as well. I am privileged and old enough that I don’t worry so much anymore about the day’s agenda, but I let the gardens tell me what to do. I finally have learned the lesson I was given by a good friend and fellow musician many years ago when I complained that I went out for a few minutes and came back into the house hours later having achieved none of what I had intended: “But, Theresa, that is the whole point of a garden—to dither, to be lead astray.” Indeed.
Dear Friends,
Last Saturday morning, I started to worry about a family ZOOM call that we do each Sunday with many members of the family, some of them quite young children. I look pretty bad after an allergic reaction to my first chemotherapy session and did not want to frighten any of the little ones. So I came up with an elaborate disguise and said I’d have a Mystery Guest with me on Sunday evening.
Attached is a little 10-minute audio script I pre-recorded for the call. I hope it will bring a smile to your face. And also convey that I am doing much better after a difficult stretch.
Much love, Theresa
Queenie: An audio script for young (and old) children
Hi! DEAR FAMILY! I am Mama Owl. Among creatures in these parts, I am commonly known as Queenie.
Ah told My Dear Friend Treesa I would agree to be her Mystery Guest on Zoom with her DEAR FAMILY— IF AND ONLY IF she would get That Cat back in her bedroom where I wouldn’t have to look at her pretty face up close. That Cat set up such a fuss when I came in the house today that I told My Dear Friend Treesa I wouldn’t stay if she didn’t lock them both in back there and keep That Cat under control FOR SURE.
[Of course, please don’t tell My Dear Friend Treesa that that has been my plan all along!]
You see. Frankly, I am very-very worried about My Dear Friend Treesa. I spend a lot of time in the woods around My Dear Friend Treesa’s BEE-YOO-TI-FUL house looking in on her. She doesn’t have ANY idea how much I can see inside her house but I have very-very good eyesight and I really-really love sitting on her garden porch.
And, you know, I am SO LONELY. All my little baby owls are fledged and doing their little learning flights with their Papa Owl, who is FINALLY doing something useful. And now I am molting, which is a little sad but necessary, for almost all birds at this time of year. Silly people always wonder why birds go silent and hide in August. Well, when we molt we lose our feathers and we can’t fly very-very well. So then we hide because we are not only ugly but in danger. I came to see you today in my disguise. Do you like it?
Well, enough about me. I don’t know how well you know My Dear Friend Treesa, but she is NOT a layabout. Day and night she LOVES to work very-very hard in the garden and then come in and work very-very hard in the house, and the kitchen, and her office. She almost NEVER sits down except to read or play the piano. And then sometimes she does both of those standing up! I cannot BELIEVE what my eyes are telling me when I see that from my porch outside. I mean, my perch outside.
For almost three years now, she’s also been mourning a really-really big and tall guy that ALL of my family just LOVED to buzz when he’d come in and out. It was so much fun to do wheelies around the head of that sweet man. [Sigh] But at least she kept working hard while she mourned the big guy.
But in the last two months she just lays about on the bed or she lays about on the couch. Now, as you know, I could care less about That Cat but I can tell you that even pretty-face That Cat is worried about her. Especially in the last few days, My Word, even I have been worried about That Cat who, I can tell you, has lost a WHOLE lot of sleep running around checking up on My Dear Friend Treesa who hasn’t seemed to even be able to talk or eat.
But there are SIGNS that things may be getting better even though they are all still pretty strange. Poor pretty face That Cat has FINALLY been able to catch up on her LONG stretches of beauty sleep. That Cat FINALLY seems to feel there is a responsible adult back in the house. My Dear Friend Treesa is not back out in the garden too much except for the porch. But she’s moving around a whole lot better inside. She’s also molting just like me even though I never-never knew people could molt, did you? In fact, My Dear Friend Treesa has been molting SO very-very much that she’s going to win the contest this week with That Cat on hair loss. My Dear Friend Treesa is SO kind—she always collects ALL the hair when she cleans and puts it out in the big compost pile. Old Pa Owl and me collect from there every year. My Lord, almost every-every bird in the COUNTY goes there to collect nest fixings.
Well, enough already. When My Dear Friend Treesa told me she would speak with her family tonight I just HAD to get in here and check it out. Since I have no butt on MY bottom, I don’t have to worry about “butting in”—Get it?
Well, DEAR FAMILY, I think I have found the E-VI-DENCE of what’s been going on. [Ma Owl brings out tray loaded down with empty Ensure/Boost containers with a sign “EVIDENCE.”] Deep in a recycling bag are all these empty plastic bottles. Dozens of them. That is SO strange. It KILLS My Dear Friend Treesa to bring home cheap, unsustainable plastic bottles—and there are so MANY of them. And, God forgive them, but I think it’s OTHER people bringing them in, since My Dear Friend Treesa hasn’t gone ANYWHERE in, like, FOREVER. All you ever-ever USUALLY see in My Dear Friend Treesa’s kitchen is cooking-cooking-cooking—Get it?—and glass jars flying in and out of the freezer, and beautiful pottery, and shiny cookware rattling away on that big stove—all of that put away in the cupboards now.
Well, DEAR FAMILY, I think you need to check what was in these ugly plastic bottles.
The only other suspicious E-VI-DENCE I could find is this giant red bottle of MAGIC MOUTHWASH. [Ma Owl brings out large bottle marked “Magic Mouthwash.” I smelled it and it is just AWFUL. My Lord, who KNOWS what’s in that bottle, but it ain’t up to no good.
Now, I don’t have all the facts. But I’ve caught some talk about My Dear Friend Treesa moving closer to her family. God knows, we’re all going to miss her. She has a lot of friends all around here in the woods who will miss her terribly if she leaves. Some of them come every year to see her. My little OWL family is going to miss her something AWFUL. But family is the most important thing and she should be with her DEAR FAMILY. We creatures know that and we hope people do, too. Wherever she goes, we hope she’ll have a garden and a porch where we can visit her.
Everything moves in cycles in its time: Mourning, molting, moving. I’d say her time has come to move, and we bid her Adieu, Adieu, Adieu.
Get it?
© Theresa Pepin 2020
Queenie Audio
Approximately 11 minutes audio
New Recording 9 on iPhone
Queenie on Mac
In a wild, woodland garden, there are times when nature bumps gardening—and nearly everything else—off the daily time-clock, like yesterday:
This morning I catch sight of one of our owls on the railing of the garden porch. He so clearly contrasts with all the fresh green of this morning’s landscape—a mere few feet outside the large sliding glass doors—that he stops me in my tracks as I work quickly through early chores. He sits there for a long time—nearly an hour—while I get nothing done inside the house because I am either watching him or taking his photo from half a dozen angles, trying not to startle him. Several times he clearly sees me and follows my careful movements but it does not seem to affect him in the least. I’ve seen signs before that the porch is a favorite roosting spot. Nearby, we have put a laundry basket high up in a tree and are hoping he and his mate will nest there.
Yesterday morning I remember seeing him swoop-off the roof on the west side of the house above the kitchen window and disappear into underbrush. Today he seems to be watching a spot on the ground and another further up on the garden walkway. A hummingbird is plumbing a deep purple salvia’s blooms in a window box but does not seem disturbed by the owl, who is less than a dozen feet away.
My guess is that he measures about 18” from the top of his head to the tip of his tucked-up feathers. He is stocky—perhaps 10” across in diameter at his widest point. He is able to crunch himself further down in his body, making himself seem even more stout.
It is amazing to see at close range what he can do with his head, everything from preening and cleaning feathers all the way behind him to watching me and several other spots intently. The crevices of our large rocks on the uphill side of this old, played-out marble quarry—our house was sunk into it mid-century—shelter legions of chipmunks, voles and moles. I’d warrant this owl knows that well. From some angles, he almost seems to have a hump on his back.
I had not appreciated that owls blink. I do a fast Google search to learn more and quickly find both a Winking Owl wine and a Blinking Owl wine—not exactly what I was hoping for but close enough. From time to time he closes his eyelids completely for long seconds. At one point he seems to take a deep breath and then settle back into an entirely peaceful stance. He raises one foot to scratch himself and then sets it back down, sometimes rocking from side to side. A few minutes later he seems to close his eyes entirely and nod his head slightly, as though bored with the day and his surroundings already. His eyelids seem nearly as dark as his eyes, which are black. Finally, it appears he might be sleeping.
He is beautiful, with spots on his back and streaks on his front—mostly brown and beige until the morning sun in the east hits him and gives off a golden glow. He seems to hoist his shoulders, toss his head back, and look directly into the sunlight. Tucked in, his wings appear barred with the spattering of spots becoming more definite and numerous down his backside. There is a disturbed spot on his feathers that appears puffy, perhaps a small injury of some kind or just normal wear and tear for a creature that speed-sails through trees and branches with outspread 4-foot wings. Occasionally, he raises one or the other folded wing partly and drapes it over the crown of his head.
Our summer mornings feature an ever-shifting scattering of the sun’s rays through the tall trees—striking their targets in what can seem random but that prove to be, after persistent observation, a slowly changing pattern. The beams of light seem to seek-out our owl this morning and it is as though he knows he is nature’s star in today’s showtime for the hapless human indoors. He seems to say: “We should give her what thrill we can on this fine morning. Make her day!”
When I finally decide I cannot spend the entire day watching an owl who is watching me, I go downstairs to put on my gardening hat and gloves and the owl peers down at me on the ground floor through several of the many floor to ceiling windows in the house. He seems almost disappointed when he realizes I’ve gone outside from the other side of the house to start working, but he moves up to the next higher level of the railing to keep lookout.
A couple of hours later, he is still there, his gaze calmly surveying all before him. I go into the house when my work is completed and he watches me closely when I sit in front of the glow of the computer screen in my office to write this story. As if he takes it personally that I am ignoring him, at last, he spreads his wings wide and silently takes off.
In the evening I am out on the garden porch eating my dinner when he shows up again on the railing. I don’t know whether he can smell as well as I know he can see and fly, but he cocks his head to check out my vegetarian meal. It is found wanting—just as my husband and my cat would judge, too. Moments later, as he takes off in a gentle swoosh over and up behind my head, I could swear he winks at me.
The invitation went out for Open Garden Days at Blue Note Garden on Sunday, 26 May from 4-6pm and on Monday, 27 May from 9-11am. It included the following message:
Some of you may remember the unfinished Giant’s Staircase that Kenneth started but that was still not finished when his Memorial was held here in November 2017. Last winter, the marble sculptor, Bruce Bennett, and his assistant Charlie, enabled the moving of many large boulders from our rocky terrain into place down-hill—we never move anything up-hill—for steps like those in the Smokies. It’s taken me many, many months longer than it would have taken had Kenneth done it, but I finally laid the last few concrete, terracing blocks a couple of weeks ago, and planted the big stone crevices, and we are ready for visitors.
It has been an exceptional spring this year with light rain and many cool days—making for plenty of good, full days for working outside. The two young men who live in Blue Note Garden North and help to caretake the property have been a big help, resulting in a couple of new gardens as well as a great deal of landscape maintenance. Kenneth’s friend and fellow contractor, Russell Kear, finished the indoor work on new doors, the utility room and east balcony this winter. My brother Paul André Pepin is scheduled to bring in a slab of live-edge wood for the top of a modified cabinet in the hallway.
Wear sunglasses to keep the midges out of your eyes and sturdy shoes. Rain or shine.
All photos on this post are by my neighbor Jeff Slavin taken during Open Garden Days.
Dear Friends,
I loved seeing many friends I’ve lost touch with in the last, difficult two years. It always feels good to see many people enthusiastically connect with others in gardens. The drawback is that I do not get a chance to speak nearly as long with each person as I would like—chatterbox that I can be when it comes to gardens.
Many of you asked for additional information on a number of plants at the Open Garden Days but, of course, with failing faculties and other concerns pressing in during the last week, I am not remembering exact association of name with the plant information requested. Perhaps the most frequently asked question had to do with the coir mat we use on the trails of our precipitous slopes. I found out about the material from Knox County Stormwater Engineering; we order large rolls from Walt Tappan, Jen Hill Construction Materials. There may be other sources on the web. I like that the material is critter-friendly and completely (but slowly) biodegradable. Much of ours has been down on the ground for five years. Not cheap but good.
The window boxes have heucheras intermixed with the Bounce Violet interspecific impatiens (the best alternative to the disease-prone walleriana) and Torenia Summer Wave Large Blue. Both are healthy and grow vigorously all summer long (summers so far).
There are a number of varieties of Carolina allspice here (Calycanthus/Sinocalycanthus) and they all come from J. C. Raulston. Fragrance is variable even within a particular variety. The ones that got the most attention last weekend were C. “Hartlage Wine” and “Aphrodite,” the latter probably the best of all and a champion repeat bloomer once it attains a good size. These two are grown here side by side in the garden downslope near Carriage Lane. I have several “Athens” with wildly varying scents that are just beginning to put out their yellow blooms as well as the white “Venus.” If they get high shade in woodland conditions they all grow well and easily.
The two exquisite hydrangeas that always elicit comments are what I call Japanese hydrangeas and, if I recall correctly, in Japan they often call “mountain” hydrangeas: Hydrangea serrata Shichidanka Nishiki (paler colors) and H. s. Miyama Yae-murasaki. All of the hydrangeas will likely be in fullest bloom by this weekend coming up.
