Remembering the Fourth of July

Every year at our Methodist church in Atlanta, we have what we call "Celebration of Freedom" Sunday.  The service starts with the National Hymn, God of our Fathers, as the processional (I pride myself in knowing all four verses, learned in the small town Baptist church of my childhood).  Now that I think about it, I believe they've changed the title in our updated hymnbook to God of the Ages.

At any rate, I always get chills and sing alto way too loud (anything above a whisper was too loud according to my two daughters).  In our service, we also sing My Country 'Tis of Thee, Eternal Father Strong to Save (the men of the choir sing this), the Star Spangled Banner and America the Beautiful.   After the benediction, everyone sings Irving Berlin's God Bless America (I sing too loud on this, too).  For the postlude, Scott, our choirmaster, gives a lively rendition of John Philip Sousa's Stars and Stripes Forever.

But, the highlight of the service is the Veterans Parade.  All people who have served in the U.S. Armed Forces are invited to march down the aisle as the choir sings the Battle Hymn of the Republic.  By the time the music starts slowing down in preparation for the verse that starts, "In the beauty of the lily....", I've already used up several tissues.  Seeing those men and women coming down the aisle, the last ones usually walking more slowly or in wheelchairs, I am practically sobbing.

I wasn't here for this year's service, but since today is the Fourth of July, I think I'll get out the (um..borrowed) Methodist hymnal and play all the songs on the piano.  I won't be singing, but I'll be remembering lots of happy Fourth of July celebrations, especially those of my childhood.

There was one year, though, that I was pretty miserable.  I should have known then that I would turn into a chronic worrier.  My family had a cabin on a lake where we always spent the Fourth of July.  We would have grilled hot dogs and hamburgers and pass the day swimming or fishing (I didn't do much of the latter, but Daddy did) or riding around in a boat.

I don't know how old I was, but one year Daddy decided to keep our watermelon cool by putting it under a waterfall on the other side of the lake.  I was so worried that someone would steal the watermelon that I spent the entire day guarding it, missing all the fun.

All this has nothing to do with the photograph above.  This is an arrangement my Flower Guild team did for one of our Celebration of Freedom Sundays.  We have always avoided straight red, white and blue, but instead have used summer colors that evoke the season.  Let's see if I can name most of the flowers:  'Freedom' roses are the red ones, orange Asiatic lilies, lavender colored allium, violet hued liatris, white and purple macrophylla hydrangeas, white Queen Anne's lace, light blue delphiniums, green spider chrysanthemums, golden sunflowers and yellow and white foxtail lilies.

Remembering the Fourth of July

Every year at our Methodist church in Atlanta, we have what we call "Celebration of Freedom" Sunday.  The service starts with the National Hymn, God of our Fathers, as the processional (I pride myself in knowing all four verses, learned in the small town Baptist church of my childhood).  Now that I think about it, I believe they've changed the title in our updated hymnbook to God of the Ages.

At any rate, I always get chills and sing alto way too loud (anything above a whisper was too loud according to my two daughters).  In our service, we also sing My Country 'Tis of Thee, Eternal Father Strong to Save (the men of the choir sing this), the Star Spangled Banner and America the Beautiful.   After the benediction, everyone sings Irving Berlin's God Bless America (I sing too loud on this, too).  For the postlude, Scott, our choirmaster, gives a lively rendition of John Philip Sousa's Stars and Stripes Forever.

But, the highlight of the service is the Veterans Parade.  All people who have served in the U.S. Armed Forces are invited to march down the aisle as the choir sings the Battle Hymn of the Republic.  By the time the music starts slowing down in preparation for the verse that starts, "In the beauty of the lily....", I've already used up several tissues.  Seeing those men and women coming down the aisle, the last ones usually walking more slowly or in wheelchairs, I am practically sobbing.

I wasn't here for this year's service, but since today is the Fourth of July, I think I'll get out the (um..borrowed) Methodist hymnal and play all the songs on the piano.  I won't be singing, but I'll be remembering lots of happy Fourth of July celebrations, especially those of my childhood.

There was one year, though, that I was pretty miserable.  I should have known then that I would turn into a chronic worrier.  My family had a cabin on a lake where we always spent the Fourth of July.  We would have grilled hot dogs and hamburgers and pass the day swimming or fishing (I didn't do much of the latter, but Daddy did) or riding around in a boat.

I don't know how old I was, but one year Daddy decided to keep our watermelon cool by putting it under a waterfall on the other side of the lake.  I was so worried that someone would steal the watermelon that I spent the entire day guarding it, missing all the fun.

All this has nothing to do with the photograph above.  This is an arrangement my Flower Guild team did for one of our Celebration of Freedom Sundays.  We have always avoided straight red, white and blue, but instead have used summer colors that evoke the season.  Let's see if I can name most of the flowers:  'Freedom' roses are the red ones, orange Asiatic lilies, lavender colored allium, violet hued liatris, white and purple macrophylla hydrangeas, white Queen Anne's lace, light blue delphiniums, green spider chrysanthemums, golden sunflowers and yellow and white foxtail lilies.

Giverny's tuteurs still holding up

Back in the 1980's, when interest in ornamental gardening was at its peak in the U.S., I would see metal tuteurs like the ones that hold Giverny's climbers for sale in catalogs.  Maybe I'm not looking in the right places, but I haven't seen them offered in recent years.  Basically, there were, in addition to arches, two kinds available.  One was a tall, semi-obelisk (which I bought - wish I'd gotten two); the other was in the shape of an umbrella.  I'm thinking the rose in the above photograph is trained onto one of the latter.

I'm wondering.  I have a book with old photographs of Giverny.  One shows Monet's head gardener, Felix Breuil, deadheading a rose in the same location I took the above picture.  The rose appears to be growing on an identical tuteur.  The photograph, which is not dated, shows irises in full bloom.  I missed the peak of the season for roses, and all the irises were gone, so the above rose must be a late bloomer.  I think I caught it just in time.

From what I've observed, Americans seem less likely to use structures to add height to their gardens.  This is a total generalization, and I can think of dozens of exceptions, but you just don't see very many scenes like the one above.  Elsewhere in Giverny, there are iron structures that hold clematis high above the rest of the cottage-type garden.  One period photograph shows rows and rows of upright iron posts, crisscrossed at the top with perpendicular bars.  Each is festooned with Clematis montana 'Alba'.  These supports still exist, but I don't think there are as many now.

At any rate, no one much here is thinking about anything but keeping plants alive.  But, when the weather cools off, it would nice to plan for more tuteurs and climbing plants to add to existing beds.  I'll keep looking out for sturdy ones for sale.  If not, I might need to learn how to become a welder so I can make my own.  I do have plenty of bamboo for some temporary ones, but since time seems to pass so quickly, and given the vagaries of weather, I'd like something a little more permanent.

Giverny's tuteurs still holding up

Back in the 1980's, when interest in ornamental gardening was at its peak in the U.S., I would see metal tuteurs like the ones that hold Giverny's climbers for sale in catalogs.  Maybe I'm not looking in the right places, but I haven't seen them offered in recent years.  Basically, there were, in addition to arches, two kinds available.  One was a tall, semi-obelisk (which I bought - wish I'd gotten two); the other was in the shape of an umbrella.  I'm thinking the rose in the above photograph is trained onto one of the latter.

I'm wondering.  I have a book with old photographs of Giverny.  One shows Monet's head gardener, Felix Breuil, deadheading a rose in the same location I took the above picture.  The rose appears to be growing on an identical tuteur.  The photograph, which is not dated, shows irises in full bloom.  I missed the peak of the season for roses, and all the irises were gone, so the above rose must be a late bloomer.  I think I caught it just in time.

From what I've observed, Americans seem less likely to use structures to add height to their gardens.  This is a total generalization, and I can think of dozens of exceptions, but you just don't see very many scenes like the one above.  Elsewhere in Giverny, there are iron structures that hold clematis high above the rest of the cottage-type garden.  One period photograph shows rows and rows of upright iron posts, crisscrossed at the top with perpendicular bars.  Each is festooned with Clematis montana 'Alba'.  These supports still exist, but I don't think there are as many now.

At any rate, no one much here is thinking about anything but keeping plants alive.  But, when the weather cools off, it would nice to plan for more tuteurs and climbing plants to add to existing beds.  I'll keep looking out for sturdy ones for sale.  If not, I might need to learn how to become a welder so I can make my own.  I do have plenty of bamboo for some temporary ones, but since time seems to pass so quickly, and given the vagaries of weather, I'd like something a little more permanent.

Steak and Ale style, circa 1783

Saturday night, I returned from the land of clipped hedges, potagers, grapevines draping over walls, hollyhocks springing up from cracks in the sidewalks and hideous graffiti covering every possible surface along the highways and train tracks.

I have been a francophile ever since I first stepped into the country on February 2, 1966.  I still have a pale colored photo I took of a friend in front of the Eiffel Tower on that cold, gray day.  From Paris, we went to Aix-en-Provence, where I spent the spring semester of my junior year in college.  When our bus rolled into town, I was taken aback.  That winter, the branches of the enormous plane trees which line the Cours Mirabeau, the main street of Aix, had been clipped and looked like giant, ugly stubs atop tall, thick trunks with multi-colored bark.  I was disappointed.  But by May, the wide street, dotted with fountains in the middle and lined with cafes, was completely shaded over.  It was an aesthetic I grew to love - allees of trees in almost every little town and along roads in the countryside.

It's hard to know where to begin for this trip.  I took hundreds of photographs, and wish I could show them all at once.  But, I'll start here in Versailles.  Many of you will recognize the Hameau de la Reine, Marie Antoinette's contrived country village near the Petit Trianon at the far end of the gardens of the Chateau de Versailles.  As old as these buildings are (built in 1783), the rustic compound still reminds me of a Hollywood set.  Only the various vegetable gardens, tunnels covered in grapevines, winding canals and paths bordered by clipped hedges make the farm village appear more authentic.

I had several views of this cottage, which was surprisingly planted on one side with a mix of cabbages and calla lilies.  I purposely cut off the top of the house, because the roof was too pointed and reminded me of a cross between the old lady's house in Hansel and Gretel and a small Steak and Ale restaurant (do they have those anymore?).

But the vines draped along the front, the low clipped box borders and the clever plantings were inspiring and quite charming.  If you look along the top of the cottage on the right side, you'll see what I assume are Iris tectorum (Japanese roof iris), growing on the thatched roof.

For at least 25 years, I've had stones piled up along my driveway.  They came from the walls of a late 19th century lodge that was up the hill from me.  The abandoned house burned, and my late husband and I scavenged the granite from the sides of the house.  I have enough for a small stone cottage and am always looking for ideas.  I wouldn't copy this house, but the approach and and the thought of being surrounded by vegetables and flowers are definitely appealing.  All I need now is a sunny, flat piece of land surrounded by centuries-old trees and a lot of euros or dollars to help me realize my dream.

Steak and Ale style, circa 1783

Saturday night, I returned from the land of clipped hedges, potagers, grapevines draping over walls, hollyhocks springing up from cracks in the sidewalks and hideous graffiti covering every possible surface along the highways and train tracks.

I have been a francophile ever since I first stepped into the country on February 2, 1966.  I still have a pale colored photo I took of a friend in front of the Eiffel Tower on that cold, gray day.  From Paris, we went to Aix-en-Provence, where I spent the spring semester of my junior year in college.  When our bus rolled into town, I was taken aback.  That winter, the branches of the enormous plane trees which line the Cours Mirabeau, the main street of Aix, had been clipped and looked like giant, ugly stubs atop tall, thick trunks with multi-colored bark.  I was disappointed.  But by May, the wide street, dotted with fountains in the middle and lined with cafes, was completely shaded over.  It was an aesthetic I grew to love - allees of trees in almost every little town and along roads in the countryside.

It's hard to know where to begin for this trip.  I took hundreds of photographs, and wish I could show them all at once.  But, I'll start here in Versailles.  Many of you will recognize the Hameau de la Reine, Marie Antoinette's contrived country village near the Petit Trianon at the far end of the gardens of the Chateau de Versailles.  As old as these buildings are (built in 1783), the rustic compound still reminds me of a Hollywood set.  Only the various vegetable gardens, tunnels covered in grapevines, winding canals and paths bordered by clipped hedges make the farm village appear more authentic.

I had several views of this cottage, which was surprisingly planted on one side with a mix of cabbages and calla lilies.  I purposely cut off the top of the house, because the roof was too pointed and reminded me of a cross between the old lady's house in Hansel and Gretel and a small Steak and Ale restaurant (do they have those anymore?).

But the vines draped along the front, the low clipped box borders and the clever plantings were inspiring and quite charming.  If you look along the top of the cottage on the right side, you'll see what I assume are Iris tectorum (Japanese roof iris), growing on the thatched roof.

For at least 25 years, I've had stones piled up along my driveway.  They came from the walls of a late 19th century lodge that was up the hill from me.  The abandoned house burned, and my late husband and I scavenged the granite from the sides of the house.  I have enough for a small stone cottage and am always looking for ideas.  I wouldn't copy this house, but the approach and and the thought of being surrounded by vegetables and flowers are definitely appealing.  All I need now is a sunny, flat piece of land surrounded by centuries-old trees and a lot of euros or dollars to help me realize my dream.

Roses still hanging on at Giverny

Lest you think this is in Monet's garden, I have to say that it's not.  It was so crowded in there, it was tough to get good shots.  Plus, for some reason, I sort of panicked.  I do have some photos that are worth sharing, but I liked this one that's in the village of Giverny, just up the road from Monet's house and garden.

I had previously heard from my friend Carol that I would be too late to see any roses.  But, the weather has been cold and rainy this spring (since I arrived last Thursday, we've had alternating sunny and what I call "set-in" rainy days).  If this pattern continues, tomorrow should be a nice day.  I'm going early to the Jardin des Plantes, which isn't too far away.  Then, my daughter arrives from New York around noon.  She may be tired and might choose to rest (I know one shouldn't do this; she should stay awake).  We have reservations at a bistro at 9:30 p.m., so we'll see who falls asleep at the table first.

Anyway, I still want to go to the Bagatelle in the Bois de Boulogne in case there are any roses left there.  I also need to get to the Parc Monceau.  I can usually depend on some lovely flowers there.

One interesting thing today:  We came across the biggest fig tree (with limbs the size of trees) in the Marais on our way to the Place des Vosges.  I looked and saw more fig trees and then noticed the name of the street - Rue Figuier or something like that.  I need to check that spelling.

Back to the roses at Giverny.  This was in the side garden of a house there.  I only recognized one rose in the garden ('Graham Stuart Thomas' - the color gives it away), and it's not in the picture.  Still, I loved the way the gardener had planted with abandon - quite a lovely scene.