Monthly Archives:

June 2013

My niece Emi likes to eat chives. She’ll go up to the small group of green stalks, pull one off, and just start chewing it. It’s a little strange, but kids could do far more destructive things, so this seems like a healthy quirk. (She also likes to pull off the flowers of irises, which is less healthy, but I digress…) Because chives are so common and hardy, I’ve never given them the adulation they might deserve, but having recently added them to a number of dishes, it’s worth noting that they can make all the difference in the world. As can be seen here, they’re even pretty in the rain.

The subtle, slightly sweeter hint of onion adds a delicate flavor to many foods, and their bright green color and clean form lends a refreshing pop and pizzazz to otherwise lack-luster presentations. I find it easiest to cut them into the desired length with a pair of scissors (versus a knife and cutting board) – it tends to leave a cleaner cut and results in less bruising. If you’ve ever been daunted by growing your own herbs, or chopping them up, chives are a great way to start.

There are certain leaves that hold water well, allowing it to bead and pool like sterling drops of mercury, perfectly capturing and throwing back the light, shimmering and sparkling like a thousand tiny crystal orbs. The lady’s mantle is one of these plants. A great garden plant without such tricks, it throws sprays of bright chartreuse flowers out at this time of the year, the perfect reflection of the freshness of the season. The day these photos were taken was following a stretch of rainy days, so they had more than enough moisture collected for their close-ups.

There’s a more subtle beauty to be found in the overlooked foliage of certain plants. It’s easy enough to be wowed by the flashy floral fireworks of roses and peonies and lilies, but without a proper verdant background, those things just wouldn’t pop.

Sometimes, with a helpful sprinkling by Mother Nature, those leaves become a show of their own.

Battle-worn, weary, with barely a fight in me left, I stare out at the late spring afternoon sunlight pouring into the backyard. The overgrown branches of a pair of mockorange bushes threaten to close off the view, which is mostly just a panoply of bright green, backlit by the sun. They are only beginning to come into bud now – summer is still a couple of weeks away. We can pause for a moment. Still the night, still the moment. After they bloom, I will prune them back hard. This is the year of cut-throat rejuvenation. If I can tame a thirty-foot cherry, I can topple a fifteen-foot mockorange. The gardener must be ruthless.

I just cleared an overgrown viburnum, and with little room left in our yard I had to let it go completely. After pruning the branches back to the main stumps, they wept, spilling their treacly sap in perfect emotionally-manipulative form. I almost felt bad, until my back felt how stubborn their roots were. Then the battle was ON. And it was heated. A few earthworms may have been innocent casualties. A whole bunch of sweat, dirt, blood, and tears later, and one very unhappy but finally dislodged little tree, and the day was done.

Not that I’m entirely heartless. In fact, the reason for all this effort was to make a better home for a prized Japanese umbrella pine, which had finally outgrown its underneath-the-cherry place in our backyard (as deep down I always knew it would). For something as rare and graceful as the Japanese umbrella pine, some coddling and pampering are warranted. Fingers crossed that the transplant does well. The ghost of a vicious viburnum may spurn anything that tries to follow in its path. In this world, no one is entirely innocent. The blood of trees is on all of our hands.