Front Door

Arriving to the open front door, below, I knew we had chosen well.  The screen door view, marvelous.   



With the screen door open, below. 



Ca. 1880 home on the shore of Bar Harbor, Maine. 
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With good weather the front door and French doors were left open all day.  Bedroom windows were open too, upstairs/downstairs.  Air off the Atlantic ocean a few yards away, a drug swirling throughout the house.
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This space, at your front door, a work horse.  Thru the years I've had a few clients with the perfect foyer, excepting natural light.  Into my Garden Design goes their glass door, matching the existing front door, with glass panels, below.  We source the door, and our carpenter puts in the glass.
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Pic, above, here.
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Garden & Be Well,    XO T
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Staying at Shore Path Cottage, top pics, discovered, leaving, it is next door to the home Beatrix Farrand lived in.

Garden Narrative: 20's vs 50's

Layers of narrative, below.  At the front end of learning Garden Design professionally, mid-20's,  this type of garden, below, equaled the type of home it fronted.    At that front end, this garden was also too simple, too rigid, too formal, too boring, too lacking.  Oh my what 3 decades have wrought.


Pic, above, here.
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Now I see the narrative of this garden as pure joy, wisdom and a proscenium for your life.  Infinite scope for the imagination.  Importantly, easy to maintain.  No drama, your life, fully, enough. 
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More, a Garden Design for any era, any architecture.   
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"The best of life is life lived quietly where nothing happens but our calm journey thru' the day, where change is imperceptible and the precious life is everything.
-John McGahern".
Garden & Be Well,    XO T
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We are back from 10 days in Maine with a bit of Boston.  Portland, Freeport, Kennebunkport, Bar Harbor and more.
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One particular morning, staying at a B&B, still a private home built ca. 1880, on the shore in Bar Harbor, I arose early in excitement, knowing the coffee was awaiting, and exactly where I was going to sit and fully live.  The owner was awake and about, and as I carried my coffee to the porch, an older gentleman, already sitting and fully living, with a great deep voice said, "Good morning."  I replied in kind.  We two continued our full living in the greatest of silence, that symphony of Nature and ocean.
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An hour passed, the owner came outside to ask if we were ok.  The gentleman replied, "We are sharing a deep companionable silence."  She left.  We continued that deep companionable silence.  A few minutes later Beloved arrived, soon breakfast would be served and the day had begun its new threads.  "Take joy", Tasha Tudor signed off with.  Yes, indeed.
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Early morning view, Bar Harbor, Shore Path Cottage.

Pumpkin Pastiche

Not-one-bit-extra is an apt motto for my mom.  Poor dear was born into wrong era.  Her brain power seriously under utilized.  Married in the 1950's she had 2 kids and was a housewife and major volunteer.  Judge Judy never fails to amuse.  Especially her continuing success and earnings.  Why?  Mom could be Judge Judy, except bigger.  Mom could judge all the galaxies.  More, mom would pass judgment with the merest movement of her arched right eyebrow.  Clearly letting you know being stupid is the grander mistake than whatever brought you before that eyebrow.
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No surprise I grew up liking a little bit extra.  Not much.  Just a tad, or less.
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During the 1980's I worked at a garden center with many locations.  Christmas was a huge money maker for them, I still miss working there during Christmas.  Easter, Valentines and the other holidays were decorated too, lots of extra trinkets for sale.  I still use those holiday purchases.



One Halloween/Thanksgiving I performed in a play during 3rd grade.  Evening performance, all the parents/siblings in attendance.  How was I to know?  Read the paper teacher had us take home?  My parents would really go?  I didn't want to go.  Quite elaborate, the play a celebration of Thanksgiving with the Pilgrims.  Speaking parts, singing parts, dancing parts.  About 6-7 kids chosen to line the front of the stage at floor level, no singing, dancing, speaking for them.  Each child with a large cardboard cut out tied around their waist.  I was one of those few kids chosen to be in front.  Each of us, a sheaf of wheat.
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My dad, the NASA engineer, keep in mind this was the mid 60's, and I was a sheaf of wheat, when astronauts were dying, yet Kennedy and USA needed man-on-the-moon.  Standing thru the entire play, a sheaf of wheat, watching my dad get angrier, angrier.  I knew.  Not a star of the play, or even a speaking role, a sheaf of wheat.  It got quite ugly during the car ride home.  Best result?  Dad never came to a school event again.
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Age 8, I didn't know it took a strategy to be a sheaf of wheat.  All of us wheat sheaves, should have staged a pop-up Wind Storm, singing a ridiculous song we made up, finally collapsing into a pile.  If dad was going to be angry, I should have, at a minimum, made it worth my while.    



Pumpkins on our front porch, above, win zero awards for skill/talent, yet they pass my simple test question.  Does it make you smile?    
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Seriously, it's one of my Garden Design questions.  Does it make you smile?
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Garden & Be Well,   XO T
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Cute Kills is a Garden Design rule.  Hmm.  Every rule meant to be broken.  Another Garden Design rule followed, Overdose on a Theme.  And, a favorite Garden Design rule followed, Dinky is Stinky.  You over it with my Garden Design rules?  I was too, at the front end of learning Garden Design.  Now, I understand Garden Design rules for what they truly are, PERMISSION.  Limitations?  Hardly.

Garden Design: A Color Rule

Crisp & tidy, below.
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Whimsical.
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Copying a seemingly staid Garden Design Rule.
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What rule is that?
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Pic, above, here.
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Paint your garden furniture & accessories same color as your house trim/shutters.  Have loved this 'rule' for decades.
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Here, they've done more than classically phone-it-in-garden-design.
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They've let the color carry the weight of architecture.
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Does your garden tell me who you are at the curb?  Check.
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Is your garden so incredible I must go inside and see your home?  Check.
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It's one thing to deeply, truly, adore a color.  Another, entirely, to wield that color across your realm.  No fear.  Life is short, wield your color.
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Garden & Be Well,   XO Tara
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Irma residue is almost put away on our property.  Living in our ca. 1900 home for 2 years, we've done little Garden Design, it's mostly roads/drainage/shed renovations/drilling a well/pond updating/clearing invasives etc.  My personal gardening consists of a pair of aloe plants in terra cotta, and an echeveria a friend gave me, repotted into terra cotta.  Three little souls in terra cotta.  Last weekend, watering my trio on the back deck, they did spend Irma inside the house, I noticed one of the aloe did not fit in its pot, it was dwarfed by its pot by .5" diameter.  Hmm.
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Yard a debris field with fallen limbs, a new roof at the back of the house, lots of men covering ground here.  Hmm.  They are our men, all on our team.  Several employed by Beloved loooong time.  Hmm.  Thinking this one thru, my little aloe in its new pot.  If any of the men had broken the pot, I would have been told, "Miss Tara........"  Days pass.  Approached Beloved, on the deck, we were grilling dinner, "My aloe vera is in a new pot, and I know who did it."  He's looking at me all stoic, his Mona Lisa smile something his mom would recognize about age 6.  "You did it."  A day prior, I repotted that aloe vera into another terra cotta pot, an exact fit.  He looks at the pot, "If I had found a pot to fit, would you have known?",  "No.", "How did you know it was me?", "The men always tell me when something happens.",  "Hit it when I was blowing the deck.", "5 acres, loads of men, new roof, tree limbs, I'm a Garden Designer with 3 tiny potted plants to her name, you thought I might not notice?"
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Why are these type of stories so deeply amusing?  He almost got away with it.  Would have been fine if he had....

Playgrounds & Microbiomes

Too many times I'm told, "We must have a lawn for the children."
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'Poppycock' my grandfather would say.
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Chose his word in mission to the front porch/yard, below.
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He was a doctor, he served in WWII.  Member of the greatest generation.
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How many of the greatest generation had the ubiquitous lawn-to-play-on ?  Few.  Instead, it was their generation bringing that lawn into ubiquity once they returned from war.
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Fun, below.  Makes me want to play seesaw too, a doll, and a dog in a wheelbarrow, plenty of running around space.  Scope for the imagination as Anne of Green Gables said in earnest.
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Today, will site my oldest wheelbarrow near the fig & meadow.  Laskett always follows me to the fig bush.  Up he goes, into the wheelbarrow, camera click.
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Better, I'll put a vintage Christening gown on him, to wear in that wheelbarrow.
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Play.  It's contagious.
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Remember well, playing quite hard growing up.  Designing gardens with children, I know to give them 'flow' around entire house.  Solid fence at a side of the house?  Up and over they go.  I did.  No professor in college for horticulture mentioned 'flow' for children in Garden Design.  It is intuitive.
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Twenty years in to my Garden Design career I went to a Feng Shui lecture.  She, the expert, can't remember her name, certainly put 'flow' around a home into her lecture.  With slides to back it up.  Sweet.
 

Pic, above, here.
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Now, this photo reads as a scene from a movie.  We traded for foundation plantings, monoculture tidy lawn, homeowner association rules, deed restrictions, and out the window went this scene, above.
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Complaints about lack of outdoor childhood play have been written about for decades now.  More, scientific studies are arriving showing our bodies need many layers of microbiomes found, yes, outside.  When will the study arrive proving the 'play' construct of childhood is Nature's way of getting us those Microbiomes.
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Swath of lands my childhood play included ranged from our yard, friend's yards, empty lots, the saltwater lake, a street over, behind our house, and a peninsula of land in Galveston Bay 2 blocks away.  Bless that era.  The peninsula, which I considered mine, is now fenced & gated, a sign-in sheet for entry, which the police check, and warnings of all types.  Warnings.  Seriously?  It was my playground, no fear, pure fun.  Different world now.  More important than ever to include play spaces.
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Garden & Be Well,   XO T
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More than making sure children have play spaces, make sure you have play spaces.  A conservatory with vintage furnishings, invite girlfriends for lunch or in the evening for wine/canapes, best 'tea party' ever.

Relandscape vs. Delandscape

Ok, I get the house statement, below.  Well done.
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Landscape?  As my dear friend Susanne Hudson will say, dinky-is-stinky.
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Two approaches, below.  First approach, quite common, decades of experience with this 'issue'.  Build a fine home, there goes the landscape budget.  This home, below, can handle a lower landscape budget.  I would go much lower with this landscape budget.
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How?


Pic, above, here.
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Remove every foundation shrub, above, tuck lawn all-the-way to the house.  Done.
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If I had the chance to live in this home, very nice, lawn to the house, and a dense evergreen hedge at the curb.  More, slant the hedge higher at the right to lower at the left, copying the roof pitch in reverse.
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At present I 'see', "No budget for landscape."
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Merely removing the foundation plantings says, "Architectural choice, bold.  Nothing dinky-is-stinky here."
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This home a good example, removing-ugly frees the house to breath and show its beauty.  TV garden shows are always about adding landscape to make the house better.  It's not uncommon, with older homes especially, removing landscape makes the house better.  Perhaps this should be a named genre, Delandscaping.
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Take it away.
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Hope Delandscaping is a new arrow for your quiver.  Another way to 'see' landscape.
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Garden & Be Well,    XOT
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Lovely tree pruning, above.  
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It's not often I take out an entire foundation planting, perhaps 5-6 times in 3 decades.  Yet, 100% of those 'husbands' said, "I would have ripped it out first day we moved in if I knew my house looked this good."  And they all had waited years.

Penelope Bianchi: Garden Template

Concise architecture, verdant vining vertical lawn, primitive shutters, hi Victorian crenelated benches, potted plantings, no foundation plantings, gravel to the house, diminutive light above the door, the pair of poodles in welcome, no lions here, rich restraint, you have me at first glance.
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At a jobsite yesterday, this garden, below, in my head.  A more formal vernacular French, yet it will be lapping gravel to the house, potted plants, benches against the home, and vine on the home.  


Pic, above, here.
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Client hired me in an emergency.  Angst in her voice at the first phone call.  She had purchased a new smokehouse made to historic templates, and it was arriving in 2 weeks.  Where to place it?  Going full French, by request, I knew exactly where to place it.  Bless & grace in historic Garden Design 'rules'.  Zero fear siting her new 'toy'.  More, she wanted it sited at the edge of their new potager and orchard.  Delightful, the more constraints a garden has, the easier to design.
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Her husband is a garden zealot also, but the poor dear man travels like the wind across the globe for his career.  He had to trust what we were doing with the smokehouse.  Cannot imagine what that felt like for him.  We knew to get the smokehouse right, it must also make him beyond happy when he returned.
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Better than siting the smokehouse correctly, we got something larger.  A garden will inform you when it's pleased.  Their garden said something quite nice, a huge double check.  Approaching their home, from the main approach to the front door, and from a slight angle, as above, it's a Money Shot.
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Wildly excited at this discovery, I told the client right away.  When she saw it, she called her husband right away.  Once he got home, it was obvious to him too.  Three garden nerds in a pod.  High-fiving our Money Shot.
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Meeting with the grading contractor at their site today.  They've got grading, and oodles of other necessities ahead of photography.  You can be sure, their before/after, will include this photo, above.
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Why?  Once you get the memo about Historic Garden Design Rules, you'll be using them too, they're for every site.  Promise.
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Garden & Be Well,    XO T
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I love Penelope Bianchi's garden.  Heart-on-my-sleeve, LOVE.  More pics of her garden here.  Penelope Bianchi's website, here.  Somehow, before internet, social media, love for Penelope Bianchi's garden arrived in a magazine article.  Years pass, blogging etc arrives, and now I love Penelope too, the person, and her garden.  Penelope's interior design and gardens must be imprinted onto your skillset templates.  Consider this your best homework assignment ever.    

House & Garden Well Matched

Perhaps not your cup of tea, below, but a perfect cup of tea nonetheless.  Deer proof boxwood, evergreen, punctuated topiaried forms amongst the green meatballs.  Low maintenance, drought proof, no bugs.  Amusing, the slight stone dry stack retaining wall.  Great thought went into needing/not needing it.  We see which won.
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Trees lovingly pruned, small space, several rooms & hallways & walls.
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Huge invitation to enter with the pair of urns, graced with stone steps.
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Have a seat in the parlor, chairs/fence using black makes the small spaces 'larger'.
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House used wisely as the backdrop focal point.  Incredible restraint with the house, great simplicity, dozens of choices made, each with the answer, 'No'.  Modesty of the entire package, house & garden, displays a wise heart.

"A garden is not a picture, but a language.", Henry Mitchell.


Pic, above, here.
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As time passes, above, I would prune the meatball hedges into simple hedges, no rounding, letting the rounded topiary shapes 'pop' more.  Better than my thoughts, it would be more fun being friends with this gardener, above, and enjoying it unfold through their head/heart/hands.
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Great joy in getting the call from a gardening friend, "I'm going to move that hedge by the house, and put a gate in the fence near ......"
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Garden & Be Well,   XO T
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Irma update.  Hope it's the last.  Power came on last nite, att phone service came on while we slept, over 3 days without.  Beloved's team cleared, chain-sawed, raked, blew, etc. all yesterday.  We're back to a new normal.  Sunlight has changed with many large lost limbs, new scope for the imagination.  A Georgia Power team & a Tennessee Power team got our power restored, we're on the main drive in the historic district.  Side roads will get power today/tomorrow.  They had greater storm damage.

Irma: Still no Power & An Ezra

We did a lot of work preparing for Irma.  A child of hurricanes, now living in rural middle Georgia preparations were surreal, much like the ridiculous episode of Dallas, when they had a hurricane.
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Irma came, gusts into mid 50 mph range.  No official speed yet.  Predicted gusts into 70+ mph did not materialize.  Rain gauge was an even 3".  Better than 7"-10" touted at the front end.
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Our power went out early Monday morning.  Still no power 48+ hrs later.  Instead, loud hum of the generator.  Never used a generator before.  Was lockstep with Beloved while he got the generator going.  From turning off the interior panel box, placement of generator, threading the thick generator cable thru the dryer vent, plugging it into the dryer socket, making sure the dryer fuse was off, then turning on the rest of the panel box, swoosh, power.
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Earlier this summer 2 fugitives killed a pair of policemen nearby.  They were loose for days.  Several counties slept with guns by the bed, Beloved included.  Drama, finally learned to shoot.  As the chase continued, it was discovered the fugitives stole a pick-up truck from the quarry a mile from our house.
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2017, the year I earned 2 new arrows for my quiver, running a generator & shooting a gun.  


Pic, above, here.
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During Irma preparations on our property, tired, almost done, saw something on the harvest table, 'What has Beloved put on the table I've already cleared?'  Walking past, I knew it could become a projectile.  Went back, started to lean in, clear eyed, not tired anymore, an 18" water moccasin napping, or whatever, owning the space.  Immediately called Beloved, he was in the Caterpillar at the back of the property.  Big cavalry arrived at full speed.  He climbed down from that Caterpillar, grabbed a shovel, did the deed.  At some point soon, I know it's coming, snake dispatch.  Not the good ones, they can go about their business.



Pic, above, here.
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At the peak of Irma gusting Beloved went into the back kitchen/laundry and discovered water running from the ceiling.
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We knew before going outside what happened, roofing peeled off in the winds.
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Beloved ran for the ladder, raining, winds gusting 50+ mph, dodging huge fallen limbs, running in the odd pattern of our pecan tree drip lines, managing not to snap an ankle with the chunky bumper crop of pecans now all on the ground, a hornets nest next to the exact ladder he needed, he's allergic, getting back to the deck/roof/me.  Ladder retrieved, not quite enough, he had to go back for the extension ladder.
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Three shade umbrellas had been stowed in a shed, their 30 lbs bases still on the deck.  With Beloved on the roof, raining, winds gusting 50+ mph, I marched up the ladder 3 times, and he placed those bases on the roof.  Agreed, stupidest part of our actions/story.
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Has it caught your attention, in the news, anyone over 50 is 'elderly' in most stories?  That would be me, and Beloved wildly elderly, over 60.  When you're middle class, and elderly, this is what you do, fix your own roof during a raging storm.  Both of us wearing work boots.  Saw a pic of almost a dozen looters in a Florida jail Monday with a great caption, "Not a pair of work boots among them."
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Late Monday Beloved 'had' to go investigate our hamlet in middle rural Georgia.  We got in his truck, chain saw in back.  Areas were pristine, or a debris field.  On schedule, he came to a pine tree in the road.  Not a problem, a few cuts later, tossing chunks to the side, the road clear.  Beloved also helped others prepare for Irma.  Some, Millenials.  He's a good man, elderly helping the young.  (Ok, will try to leave it alone but such a piquant lagniappe.)
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Odd, it must be the Texas in me, I don't want Beloved 'having' to take care of me.  Would rather him go help others, he's got the know-how and tools, and the heart of a helper, an Ezra. He's too valuable a resource during emergencies to help only '1'.  Hence, learning to run a generator, shoot a gun, and determined to kill my own poisonous snakes.
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Garden & Be Well,   XO T
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Growing up on Galveston Bay in the 1960's, during hurricanes, looters were shot, dead.  Last nite with entire town blacked out, oh my the stars, and Milky Way.  It's not often I can navigate by the mercury lite of the Milky Way.    
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Chickens back in their coop late yesterday morning, gifted me with an egg not much later.
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Hamlet?  Noticed long ago, in the NYTimes, how a story would lean, always predicated by the descriptor of the town.  Perhaps, 'In this agricultural town past its prime....', 'In the pastoral historic district......', 'In the unkempt pastures......', 'Nestled in the rolling Piedmont hills......', 'At the edge of the interstate....', 'In the place they call Mayberry.....'     Yes, all of these could be used for my dear 'hamlet', dozens more......
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Before hurricane Harvey my sister went to the other side of Houston, to evacuate my mother who lives on salt water.  Mom refused.  Sister had to leave, or get stuck.  Sister's side of Houston had to evacuate, she went to Huntsville, TX.  Her stress at evacuation, plus, having left mom, off the charts.  Once I was phoned about the split, my stress hit the charts, I phoned mom's local police department.  Incredibly helpful/kind, they also let me know, once the storm hit, they would not be going on rescues, too dangerous.  Rightfully so.  My phone/email were put on mom's police department emergency updates, huge help.  Thank you, Nassau Bay Police Department.
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The memo is clear with these storms, especially, Irma.  Beloved is an Ezra, and my job is to be his Ezra, while he's performing on the macro stage.  Don't want him worried about me or spending his macro-Ezra-time with me, when he can be helping those truly in need.
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My grandmother came from a large farm family in Robeson county, NC.  The farm a land grant from King George.  Still, owned by family.  I never met her dear oldest brother Ezra.  An RN, my grandmother was at her brother Ezra's bedside when he died.  When he lifted up in bed, and began talking to their parents, smiling, eyes clear, voice strong & happy, grandma knew there was no known medical possibility of him doing just that.  Their parents long dead, Ezra's body infirm & diseased.  Ezra was gone moments later, after his head lay back on the pillow.  I grew up with this story, and a strong curiosity about this Ezra who grandma loved/admired so much.  Ezra, from the bible, means, helper.    
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Made first outing this afternoon, to the dump, and post office.  Nice to get some loud rock, performing the mundane, traveling far in my head with U2, One Love.
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Praying for those affected by Irma & Harvey.  In thanks to those who help/rescue/aid.

Irma: Chickens in the Storm

Power off, generator on.  Irma is here, middle rural Georgia.  Since last Thursday huge amounts of Florida traffic heading north along our country lanes.  Gas expensive since Harvey, stations here run out of gas, then have it again within 24 hours.
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Last weekend spent prepping for the storm.  Our century old pecan trees and 75 mph winds on the roof main concerns.  Pecan trees are already quaking from top/bottom in the winds, only about 45mph at present.  Each, an old soul.
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Placed huge dog crate into chicken coop yesterday, let the girls get used to it.  Water bowl wired to the side, their food/water already awaiting under the house, safe from 'critters' in a metal box.  Beloved/me just in from getting the chicks into crate, under the house snug/dry/safe.
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Their coop is sited strategically at a canopy opening amongst pecan trees.  No it wasn't easy getting their fast maneuvers into the crate.  One gust arrived and I saw the headline, Elderly Couple Dead in Chicken Coop, Chickens Survived.


Pic, above, here.
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If this were my greenhouse, above, my chicks would not be allowed inside, no matter how good the photography.  My girls would have every pot knocked over/off within minutes.
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Getting ready for Irma Saturday/Sunday it was amazing to watch chickens and cats, all knew.  Hyper vigilant.  Hyper movements.  What was it they were responding to?  Air pressure?  Winds weren't bad.  Scents?
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Air in the garden is scented with the fragrance of pecan wood.  Prepping our 5 acres and ca. 1900 home I felt the house here to take care of us, and our work for the house, a gift of stewardship.  Kindred spirits with each former owner.
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Harvey came very close to my mom & sister in Houston, both remained dry, kept electricity.  Flooding on mom's block, flooding 4 blocks from sister.  Sister is in Katy, and flood waters near her not expected to go down until December.  Police & military a large presence in her area, and she's glad of it.  Gas difficult for each to find.
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And Florida.  Beloved & I have a favorite destination.  Cheap tickets on Southwest, rent a convertible, and a week in the Keys.  How else to calm the eyes/brain from designing gardens?  Beauty of the Keys, and their pace, beyond sublime.  Praying for the best in Florida, Texas, Georgia.
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Watching the pecans sway in the larger gusts from branch tips, inner branches, upper trunk, lower trunk, at the ground, sensing the roots moving just-so in a swaying waltz from ground to highest branch tips, to survive, I hear C.S.Lewis, writing of trees, and how they walk....
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"Awake.  Love.  Think.  Speak.  Be walking trees.  Be talking beasts.  Be Divine waters."
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"Look for the valleys, the green places, and fly through them.  There Will always be a way through."

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"This world is bursting with life for these few days because the song with which I called it into life still hangs in the air and rumbles in the ground. It will not be so for long. But I cannot tell that to this old sinner, and I cannot comfort him either; he has made himself unable to hear my voice. If I spoke to him, he would hear only growlings and roarings. Oh, Adam's son, how cleverly you defend yourself against all that might do you good!”

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C.S. Lewis, The Magician's Nephew

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Garden & Be Well,    XO T

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Again, many notes/calls/texts, thank you for each.  As I am wished the best, and sent prayers, in return, you have my best wishes, prayers, love.  

Faux Bois: Diane Husson

How is it chair & table, below, appear grown from the trees?
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Never have I seen faux bois this beautiful.  Nor so well mated to its site.
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The impression deep, I pinned it to my own pinterest garden board.  Perhaps, one of my century old pecan trees could handle this type of faux bois.  Two years in our ca. 1900 house and 99.8% of what I see for gardens does not pass go for our garden.
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If the grass, below, were grown as Tara Turf, and the table/chair set at angles more appropriately, below, the scene becomes, timeless.  Appropriate angles?  Chair/table must appear in relationship to the person who just left after reading a long letter from a dear friend while drinking hot tea.  Demand much?  Yes.
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My tribe understands, 2-3 for lunch in the Conservatory, and ask their thoughts for exact table/chair placement.  Probably a good 15 minute discussion.  With added time for going into the vignette, adjusting, walking away for perspective, going in to adjust again.


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Diane Husson, sculptor, designs & creates by hand the faux bois, above.  Each piece unique, no molds.  Glad her name was on the pic, above.
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From her website, " My latest quest is to make sculpted concrete faux bois furniture that appears to be formed from live branches and still growing curious vines. These benches, chairs and tables are created to look like artifacts from an ancient civilization where the boundaries between nature and the spirit world were paper thin, and some secret wisdom is waiting patiently to be rediscovered. "
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She's succeeding in her quest.
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Garden & Be Well,   XO T
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This is not a sponsored post.  Wildly impressed with Diane Husson's work.  She also creates large scale art pieces for commercial clients.

Life: Topiaries, Windmills, Rabbits, Baskets, Stone Terraces

Last month, earnest conversation with Beloved about my garden topiaries for inside the house, made the poor man more confused at my reasoning, methods, plodding.  Not that he wasn't already deeply confused by my winning trinity.
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Wickedly I decided to mention full-on my topiaries.  Understand, at present, zero exist.  Exactly the excitement of embarkation of a quest realm.  Dear, dear Beloved, poor- unfortunate-soul, as one Disney (The Little Mermaid) movie sings.  Been trodding this path before meeting him.  Real path to me, a path he can't see, not real to him.  Velveteen Rabbit hasn't had quite all his hair loved off .
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Topiaries delayed, moving from my house of 30 years, into our ca. 1900 house 2 years ago.  No worries, soon soon will build my conservatory here.  Perhaps 2.  A small garden shed has a tin roof at front, and another at back.  Built for tractors to park, instead, will source old windows, hire the carpenter, voila, a pair of conservatories.  One will have modest heat.  Obviously for the topiaries to overwinter, when they are off display from the house.  Exactly how serious I am about 'my' topiaries.
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A pair of vintage florist stair-stepped wire shelves are already on the front porch, awaiting their spring/summer/fall use for many topiaries, quickly swapping inside/outside.
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Beloved considers this topiary quest merely another Don Quixote tilting at windmills.  Stupid, doomed to failure, waste of time.  No worries, I do have a great love, Laskett, on this path to topiaries, loving each moment of it.  Good enough for me.
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Much laughter seeing Architectural Digest's new article about Tory Burch, below.  Obviously her hair has all been loved off, her decorator's, Daniel Romualdez, too.  Topiaries, front/center.


Pic, above, here.
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Once topiaries are in the house, in the conservatory, on the vintage florist wire shelves, I'm copying the pic, below.  Our house has a graveled front parking court.  Will source the blouse, below, at local thrift store, and wax-shine my ugly little service van, Tess.  So ugly she's cute, type of ugly.  More, Tess is fun while being useful.

 
Pic, above, here.
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Collateral to  topiaries is Bunny Mellon's garden, below.  When I saw this pic, had never seen another garden designed exactly like mine.  Curiosity to discover the brain behind it led me to Bunny Mellon.  And, her topiaries.


Pic, above, here.
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A portion of my basket collection, in my office, below.

 
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Baskets in my office, above/below.
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Bunny Mellon had a few baskets, below, too.


Pic, above, here.
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Entering my garden room, below.



My stone terrace, below, planted with myriad flowering plants, something for each season.



Bunny Mellon's stone terrace, below, planted with flowering 'weeds'.


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Bunny Mellon, below.
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Pic, above, here.
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Garden & Be Well,    XO T
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Isn't your garden worth tilting at windmills?
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Laskett, below, in my office overlooking the stone flowering terrace.
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Pic, above, here.
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Cannot imagine life without tilting at windmills.  Found my tribe while tilting at windmills.  All their hair, loved off.