An arrangement that's not as simple as it seems

My mother used to say that I would make a drama out of anything.  I've come to believe she was right.  I  look at the photograph above, taken yesterday at church, and I don't see the lovely arrangement.  I see a dozen stories that almost ended in disaster.

The background:  Saturday night was the wedding of the daughter of an assistant minister and counselor (and author of several books, I might add).  The bride and her mother had requested our Flower Guild team, because of a friendship with Benjie Jones, who usually does the altar.

We had long anticipated what her flowers would look like, sort of English garden-y.  First, we planned to use the urn you see above.  Peggy Witt (our other arranger) discovered it in a storage room a couple of years ago, and our team has used it almost exclusively ever since.

But, about a month ago, another team used the urn and noticed water all over the marble.  They had to take their arrangement down and mop the floor (underneath the marble is the place where they hide the concert grand piano when it's not in use).  The team captain decided the urn was no good because it leaked, so she threw it away.

On that Sunday, when I got word of what had happened, you'd have thought they'd thrown my daughter  in the trash and ground her up.  I went haywire.  I called up the innocent volunteer, saying we had to have the urn back.  She called a church staff person and had all the dumpsters checked.  Apparently, the trash people had come overnight and taken the precious urn away.

But luck was with us.  The head of maintenance at the church said no trash had been collected and that the urn had to be in one of the dumpsters.  Unfortunately, it lay at the bottom of the one the cafeteria uses.  We'd had a church-wide luncheon that day so all the food waste had been thrown on top of it.  I still feel bad for the poor guy who had to retrieve it.  I know how it is to spend hours in a dumpster full of cafeteria food.  When my younger daughter got retainers, the orthodontist told her never, ever to put them on a food tray.  The very next afternoon, I was in the dumpster at her school until dark, when at the bottom of the sludge, I finally felt the wires of the expensive contraptions.

But back to the arrangement.  We ordered hydrangeas, roses, lilies and snapdragons from the wholesale place.  We also had six stems of Alexandrian laurel (Danae racemosa, which I have in my yard, but not enough to share).

But what helped make this composition so beautiful was the magnolia.  At Christmastime, Peggy discovered a vacant lot surrounded by a chain link fence.  Three large magnolias had branches that spread way out to the road, so we figured they would not be included in the "NO TRESSPASSING" sign.  We've only cut a few pieces (good for the tree to be pruned, really), but it took some doing, like standing on the top of Peggy's SUV with loppers.

The aspidistra came from Peggy's yard.  We had used it a couple of weeks ago, and had counted on using it again, but someone had thrown it away.  I pulled several pieces from a trash can full of debris.  Now I see why this is called cast iron plant.  It had been in the trash for at least a week with no water, but it was still plenty fresh.  Those are the long, broad leaves hanging down on the right side.

Then, look at the lower part of the arrangement on the left and also at the top in the middle.  That's flowering peach from the farm.  My mother planted the trees in different colors probably 40 years ago.  I'd been down there a couple of days before and knew the flowers would be perfect, but had no loppers with me.  A friend came by with some bolt cutters, so I was able to get some fluffy branches to add.

Finally, Benjie, our designer, was diagnosed with heart disease, and Friday night, before he was to create the long anticipated arrangement Saturday morning for the evening wedding, he came home from the hospital after a catheterization.  It was a close call, because if he'd had to have a stent, they would have kept him overnight, and he would have missed the window to do the arrangement.

As you can see, it all came out pretty well.  A couple of hydrangeas wilted overnight, but they were likely still fresh for the wedding.  The bride and her mother were pleased, and Benjie is going to be fine. After all, those are the things that really matter.

An arrangement that's not as simple as it seems

My mother used to say that I would make a drama out of anything.  I've come to believe she was right.  I  look at the photograph above, taken yesterday at church, and I don't see the lovely arrangement.  I see a dozen stories that almost ended in disaster.

The background:  Saturday night was the wedding of the daughter of an assistant minister and counselor (and author of several books, I might add).  The bride and her mother had requested our Flower Guild team, because of a friendship with Benjie Jones, who usually does the altar.

We had long anticipated what her flowers would look like, sort of English garden-y.  First, we planned to use the urn you see above.  Peggy Witt (our other arranger) discovered it in a storage room a couple of years ago, and our team has used it almost exclusively ever since.

But, about a month ago, another team used the urn and noticed water all over the marble.  They had to take their arrangement down and mop the floor (underneath the marble is the place where they hide the concert grand piano when it's not in use).  The team captain decided the urn was no good because it leaked, so she threw it away.

On that Sunday, when I got word of what had happened, you'd have thought they'd thrown my daughter  in the trash and ground her up.  I went haywire.  I called up the innocent volunteer, saying we had to have the urn back.  She called a church staff person and had all the dumpsters checked.  Apparently, the trash people had come overnight and taken the precious urn away.

But luck was with us.  The head of maintenance at the church said no trash had been collected and that the urn had to be in one of the dumpsters.  Unfortunately, it lay at the bottom of the one the cafeteria uses.  We'd had a church-wide luncheon that day so all the food waste had been thrown on top of it.  I still feel bad for the poor guy who had to retrieve it.  I know how it is to spend hours in a dumpster full of cafeteria food.  When my younger daughter got retainers, the orthodontist told her never, ever to put them on a food tray.  The very next afternoon, I was in the dumpster at her school until dark, when at the bottom of the sludge, I finally felt the wires of the expensive contraptions.

But back to the arrangement.  We ordered hydrangeas, roses, lilies and snapdragons from the wholesale place.  We also had six stems of Alexandrian laurel (Danae racemosa, which I have in my yard, but not enough to share).

But what helped make this composition so beautiful was the magnolia.  At Christmastime, Peggy discovered a vacant lot surrounded by a chain link fence.  Three large magnolias had branches that spread way out to the road, so we figured they would not be included in the "NO TRESSPASSING" sign.  We've only cut a few pieces (good for the tree to be pruned, really), but it took some doing, like standing on the top of Peggy's SUV with loppers.

The aspidistra came from Peggy's yard.  We had used it a couple of weeks ago, and had counted on using it again, but someone had thrown it away.  I pulled several pieces from a trash can full of debris.  Now I see why this is called cast iron plant.  It had been in the trash for at least a week with no water, but it was still plenty fresh.  Those are the long, broad leaves hanging down on the right side.

Then, look at the lower part of the arrangement on the left and also at the top in the middle.  That's flowering peach from the farm.  My mother planted the trees in different colors probably 40 years ago.  I'd been down there a couple of days before and knew the flowers would be perfect, but had no loppers with me.  A friend came by with some bolt cutters, so I was able to get some fluffy branches to add.

Finally, Benjie, our designer, was diagnosed with heart disease, and Friday night, before he was to create the long anticipated arrangement Saturday morning for the evening wedding, he came home from the hospital after a catheterization.  It was a close call, because if he'd had to have a stent, they would have kept him overnight, and he would have missed the window to do the arrangement.

As you can see, it all came out pretty well.  A couple of hydrangeas wilted overnight, but they were likely still fresh for the wedding.  The bride and her mother were pleased, and Benjie is going to be fine. After all, those are the things that really matter.

One more camellia for the season

Yesterday I pulled into the parking lot of an abandoned office in my hometown.  The property is for sale, so I felt it was okay for me to identify the giant camellia that's growing on the side of the building (actually a house converted to an office).  It was Camellia japonica 'Lady Clare'.  I confess that I have been driving into that parking lot for the past several months.  There are some smaller plants under this monster bush, and I wanted to see what the flower looked like before I asked permission to dig.  I think the "babies" are part of the original plant, rather than any kind of seedling (do named camellias produce seed?).  On the other hand, to my knowledge, camellias are not stoloniferous.  The one plant nearest the base did have a 'Lady Clare' bloom on it.  The taller ones away from the trunk had neither flowers nor buds.

I could use some more camellias, even though it will be many years before the 20 inch high plants reach maturity.  'Lady Clare' is a very old camellia and a popular one in this part of the country.  This particular plant is in blazing sun, so it has very dense foliage and is absolutely smothered with blooms.

But, the camellia pictured here is not 'Lady Clare' and has nothing to do with the above story.  This is 'Taylor's Perfection', which is actually a japonica hybrid from New Zealand.  Who else but Margaret Moseley put me onto it (I struggled with using a different photo of a huge cluster of blooms atop her 10 foot high shrub, but vetoed it due to bad light in the background;  this is a bloom down lower on the plant).

Another amazing gardener, Rhoda Ingram, who turned 90 last year, gave me 'Taylor's Perfection' a couple of years ago.  One can understand why it has "Perfection" in its name.  The blooms are so lovely and the color is such a clear pink, it's hard to imagine anything prettier.   The flowers are truly dazzling when they open up and are so finely formed that they appear almost artificial.  The foliage is narrow and unfortunately has proved tempting to the deer.  They've only bothered one side, so I'm hoping they are rejecting this as a food source.

It won't be long until the camellias are finished for the season.  But just now, as I scrolled back through several dozen photographs, my heart was pounding as it does so often when I want every flower I see.  This weekend, I hope I can get out to a local nursery that specializes in camellias and see what they have.  On my list are:  'Magnoliaeflora' (blush pink), 'Nuccio's Gem' (white) and 'White By the Gate'.  Oh, and I need 'Pink Perfection' and 'Berenice Boddy' and so many others, now that I think about it.  This is going to be difficult.

One more camellia for the season

Yesterday I pulled into the parking lot of an abandoned office in my hometown.  The property is for sale, so I felt it was okay for me to identify the giant camellia that's growing on the side of the building (actually a house converted to an office).  It was Camellia japonica 'Lady Clare'.  I confess that I have been driving into that parking lot for the past several months.  There are some smaller plants under this monster bush, and I wanted to see what the flower looked like before I asked permission to dig.  I think the "babies" are part of the original plant, rather than any kind of seedling (do named camellias produce seed?).  On the other hand, to my knowledge, camellias are not stoloniferous.  The one plant nearest the base did have a 'Lady Clare' bloom on it.  The taller ones away from the trunk had neither flowers nor buds.

I could use some more camellias, even though it will be many years before the 20 inch high plants reach maturity.  'Lady Clare' is a very old camellia and a popular one in this part of the country.  This particular plant is in blazing sun, so it has very dense foliage and is absolutely smothered with blooms.

But, the camellia pictured here is not 'Lady Clare' and has nothing to do with the above story.  This is 'Taylor's Perfection', which is actually a japonica hybrid from New Zealand.  Who else but Margaret Moseley put me onto it (I struggled with using a different photo of a huge cluster of blooms atop her 10 foot high shrub, but vetoed it due to bad light in the background;  this is a bloom down lower on the plant).

Another amazing gardener, Rhoda Ingram, who turned 90 last year, gave me 'Taylor's Perfection' a couple of years ago.  One can understand why it has "Perfection" in its name.  The blooms are so lovely and the color is such a clear pink, it's hard to imagine anything prettier.   The flowers are truly dazzling when they open up and are so finely formed that they appear almost artificial.  The foliage is narrow and unfortunately has proved tempting to the deer.  They've only bothered one side, so I'm hoping they are rejecting this as a food source.

It won't be long until the camellias are finished for the season.  But just now, as I scrolled back through several dozen photographs, my heart was pounding as it does so often when I want every flower I see.  This weekend, I hope I can get out to a local nursery that specializes in camellias and see what they have.  On my list are:  'Magnoliaeflora' (blush pink), 'Nuccio's Gem' (white) and 'White By the Gate'.  Oh, and I need 'Pink Perfection' and 'Berenice Boddy' and so many others, now that I think about it.  This is going to be difficult.

How daffodils made a difference

When I was young, my mother would take me to Rich's department store in downtown Atlanta.  That's where she did most of her shopping and where I bought most of my clothes.  I even got my wedding dress there, and to the great chagrin of my bridesmaids, their dresses, as well (one bridesmaid said they looked like a line of creamsicles marching down the aisle).  I defend myself in that there wasn't much choice at the time.

If you live in and around Atlanta, you know that Rich's is long gone.  But in my mind, I can still see just about every floor on both sides of the bridge.  I can also picture myself, tagging along with my mother and being almost sick with boredom and impatience as she studied the flowers in the horticultural exhibits which were held in the department store.  I particularly remember her lingering over the daffodils, because they belonged to someone my mother greatly admired - Berma Abercrombie.  Never did I dream that the person who grew those flowers would one day change my life forever.

It would take days and days for me to tell you about this remarkable woman.  The short version is that she was a charter member of the Georgia Daffodil Society and several other plant groups, and that she and another woman would regularly take all the blue ribbons at the Rich's show.  She was known to daffodil hybridizers all over the world.  She even raised special cattle because their manure was particularly good for flowers.

Many years later, when I was working for a magazine, I had this idea that I sent in to the Atlanta Journal & Constitution.  I suggested that they needed to profile the fascinating people who were gardening and specializing in certain flowers.  It would be a great way to introduce plants and get advice from experts on how to grow them.

I sent a letter outlining what I thought they should do.  As fate would have it, someone I knew had just started working at the paper and intercepted my letter.  She showed it to her editor, and he called and asked me to write a sample article.

In the meantime, my mother had told me more about Berma Abercrombie, who lived near where Mama grew up between Rico and Roscoe in south Fulton County.  I called her up to set up an interview.  I went there on a cold, windy day in late February.  As I neared her house, I started noticing daffodils growing in the ditches along the road.

Berma was a diminutive woman who suffered at that point from macular degeneration (she was in her 80's).  We sat in a cozy room in her antique farmhouse, surrounded by daffodil (more correctly, narcissus) catalogs from as far away as Australia.  While she had only some peripheral vision, she was still able to point out several types of flowers in her yard, including her beloved 'February Gold.'  She also had bird feeders set up outside a big picture window and used binoculars to watch the action.  In addition to her interest in horticulture, she was a respected ornithologist, as well.

A month later, my sample article on Berma took up almost the entire front page of the Home & Garden section of the Atlanta Journal & Constitution.  At that point, my career took a major turn, and I began what would be a 21 year stint as a columnist for the paper.  Berma's article drew all sorts of attention and brought in offers from magazines.  This all eventually led to the collaboration with two partners to create A Gardener's Diary on HGTV.

Once again, I've left out so many interesting facts about Berma Abercrombie's accomplishments (I haven't even mentioned her incredible peonies, nor the day lilies, iris and chrysanthemums she grew).  Most of the photographs I have of her yard are in the form of slides.  Soon, I hope to have these converted to digital images so I can show you more of her flowers (oops.  I have to admit that these are not her daffodils shown here).

It's pretty amazing to look back now and realize that this one person changed the direction of my life.  It is so fortunate that her nephew and his wife (yet another wonderful story) have restored the farmhouse and taken care of the land where Berma enjoyed gardening and sharing her prized flowers and her great knowledge with so many others.

How daffodils made a difference

When I was young, my mother would take me to Rich's department store in downtown Atlanta.  That's where she did most of her shopping and where I bought most of my clothes.  I even got my wedding dress there, and to the great chagrin of my bridesmaids, their dresses, as well (one bridesmaid said they looked like a line of creamsicles marching down the aisle).  I defend myself in that there wasn't much choice at the time.

If you live in and around Atlanta, you know that Rich's is long gone.  But in my mind, I can still see just about every floor on both sides of the bridge.  I can also picture myself, tagging along with my mother and being almost sick with boredom and impatience as she studied the flowers in the horticultural exhibits which were held in the department store.  I particularly remember her lingering over the daffodils, because they belonged to someone my mother greatly admired - Berma Abercrombie.  Never did I dream that the person who grew those flowers would one day change my life forever.

It would take days and days for me to tell you about this remarkable woman.  The short version is that she was a charter member of the Georgia Daffodil Society and several other plant groups, and that she and another woman would regularly take all the blue ribbons at the Rich's show.  She was known to daffodil hybridizers all over the world.  She even raised special cattle because their manure was particularly good for flowers.

Many years later, when I was working for a magazine, I had this idea that I sent in to the Atlanta Journal & Constitution.  I suggested that they needed to profile the fascinating people who were gardening and specializing in certain flowers.  It would be a great way to introduce plants and get advice from experts on how to grow them.

I sent a letter outlining what I thought they should do.  As fate would have it, someone I knew had just started working at the paper and intercepted my letter.  She showed it to her editor, and he called and asked me to write a sample article.

In the meantime, my mother had told me more about Berma Abercrombie, who lived near where Mama grew up between Rico and Roscoe in south Fulton County.  I called her up to set up an interview.  I went there on a cold, windy day in late February.  As I neared her house, I started noticing daffodils growing in the ditches along the road.

Berma was a diminutive woman who suffered at that point from macular degeneration (she was in her 80's).  We sat in a cozy room in her antique farmhouse, surrounded by daffodil (more correctly, narcissus) catalogs from as far away as Australia.  While she had only some peripheral vision, she was still able to point out several types of flowers in her yard, including her beloved 'February Gold.'  She also had bird feeders set up outside a big picture window and used binoculars to watch the action.  In addition to her interest in horticulture, she was a respected ornithologist, as well.

A month later, my sample article on Berma took up almost the entire front page of the Home & Garden section of the Atlanta Journal & Constitution.  At that point, my career took a major turn, and I began what would be a 21 year stint as a columnist for the paper.  Berma's article drew all sorts of attention and brought in offers from magazines.  This all eventually led to the collaboration with two partners to create A Gardener's Diary on HGTV.

Once again, I've left out so many interesting facts about Berma Abercrombie's accomplishments (I haven't even mentioned her incredible peonies, nor the day lilies, iris and chrysanthemums she grew).  Most of the photographs I have of her yard are in the form of slides.  Soon, I hope to have these converted to digital images so I can show you more of her flowers (oops.  I have to admit that these are not her daffodils shown here).

It's pretty amazing to look back now and realize that this one person changed the direction of my life.  It is so fortunate that her nephew and his wife (yet another wonderful story) have restored the farmhouse and taken care of the land where Berma enjoyed gardening and sharing her prized flowers and her great knowledge with so many others.

The hunt for the red camellia

Back in the early 2000's (that sounds so weird), I went to a garden in the Tidewater Virginia area.  The owner and I were walking down this long, shady path, really more like an allee, since it was straight and rather narrow, when I stopped dead in my tracks.  There, in front of me was the reddest, most beautifully formed camellia - really one of the prettiest flowers I'd ever seen.

"What is this?" I asked.  "I have to have it."

"I haven't the slightest idea," came the answer.  "It was given to me without a tag.  I'm not sure it even had a name.  It could be an unnamed variety."

I rather doubt that latter statement, because if a flower is that magnificent, it would have surely been selected and named.  I was disappointed, but figured I could find a similar one somewhere.

The following winter, I did see a photograph in the Monrovia catalog of a stunning, large red camellia that had to be the twin to the Virginia camellia. I was ecstatic.  But then came the let down.  You may remember  the year sudden oak death fungus was discovered in Monrovia's camellias in one of their California nurseries.  Every plant had to be destroyed.  This camellia was one of them.

But, that's the fun of being a plantaholic.  I will find that big, red-red camellia again.  A couple of times recently, I've stopped my car to see if what looked like a large red camellia could be the one.  So far, there have been some good ones, but not one is quite red or large enough.

I took the above photograph in Margaret Moseley's garden last Friday.  This flower isn't as big, but the color is close.  She has a book with pictures of just about every named Camellia japonica, so maybe I can find the elusive red camellia there.  It's a formal double, the color of maraschino cherries and maybe five inches across.  It's not a reticulata, because it was hardy in a similar climate to ours.

I just went upstairs to see if I could find the Monrovia catalog, as I never throw anything away.  I had multiple copies from several years, but I can't locate a single one now.  But, I will keep looking.  I think I can find this camellia or one that will do just as well.