Disquieted

Berry Botanic Garden is on the endangered list. I’d been wanting to go, and when a visiting friend asked about it, seized the opportunity. We went this morning and saw dozens of new-to-me plants, including the exquisite Agapetes serpens from the Himalayas (above) and a kiwi relative (below) called Actinidia kolomikta, which appeared to be suffering from a beguilingly lovely fungal blight, but is actually healthy and normal.

I’m nowhere near knowledgeable enough to qualify as a plant geek. You think I knew these names? Any civilized garden -- and Berry is certainly that -- like any civilized social gathering, offers name tags to its guests.

My friend and her husband are staying downtown, in the Park Blocks, and I asked her to drop me off there so I could check out the current exhibit at the Portland Art Museum. The show is called Disquieted, and it lives up to its name: skewed, often creepy, images involving the human body. This highly detailed and realistic sculpture of a boy, for instance, by Ron Mueck. For scale, the mirror behind him, which is part of the piece, is about 18” tall. It’s like some freakish taxidermy, and yet so realistic that you half expect him to turn his head and start talking. Deeply disturbing, yet I couldn’t turn away. It reminded me of that plastinated cadaver exhibit that toured a couple of years ago, only without the flaying.

The show was interesting, though off-balancing and ultimately kind of depressing. I knew I’d find a welcome counterpoint downstairs, in the permanent Asian collection. I spent a few minutes with Quanyin, strolled through the hall of Buddhas, and headed for the bus, quieted.

Greenery overload

Last Sunday afternoon I took myself on the Sellwood Garden Tour, a benefit for the Sellwood Middle School PTA. Two of the six gardens were within easy walking distance of our house, one was on the east side of Sellwood, south of Tacoma, and the remaining three were in Garthwick. Garthwick? Why, yes; you follow SE 13th Avenue south, across the railroad tracks, and there it is, just a stone's throw from the notorious Goodwill bins. Yes, this is the "other side of the tracks" all right -- the upscale side. Garthwick is like the choicer chunks of Eastmoreland grafted onto Sellwood's funky charm. Who knew? Obviously not I.

One of the Garthwick estates belongs to a gardening writer for The Oregonian. Her columns always make me smile. But I will never again feel the slightest twinge of empathy when I read that she's made yet another impulse nursery buy and now must find room to plant it. Poor dear; this woman has acres. A vegetable garden. Ponds. Fountains. Gazebos. Multiple benches and resting places. Herbaceous borders with plants grown to Findhornian proportions. An expanse of flawless lawn. And two potting sheds, a real one and a larger, charming studio-like space labeled Pouting Shed. I could just move in.

The Sellwood-proper garden butts up against, and has in places colonized, the banks of Johnson Creek. That was my second favorite, on location alone, though I suspect it reaches flood stage with some regularity during winter storms.

I came home from the tour exhausted but inspired, and only a teeny bit envious of what I'd seen. I think I've fallen in love with epimedium, which loves shade and looks glorious. I saw some other beautiful shade-lovers, too, which I can't begin to identify.

Monday turned out to be a garden-tour day as well. It's so much easier to look than to, you know, do. Besides, with rare and precious exceptions, the weather these last few weeks hasn't been that conducive to doing.

I'd been promising Jer a trip to Lake Oswego. Yes, we lead such exciting lives. In the three years we've lived here, he'd never been. So we drove down (it's all of 15 minutes away), walked around town a bit, had lunch at St. Honoré Boulangerie, and stopped, en route home, at the Elk Rock Gardens of the Bishops Close. The Bishops Close is the headquarters of the Episcopal Diocese of Oregon. A Sea Ranch friend, a big Episcopalian, had told me about this place, and I'd tucked the info into my copy of Wild in the City, thinking "I should just bop down there one of these days; it can't be that far." It's not; it's shamefully nearby -- just two miles south of the Sellwood Bridge. The gardens, thirteen acres overlooking the Willamette, are unbelievably lush and peaceful, especially on a Monday afternoon in late spring. Some sections are manicured, English style, while others feel like nature barely tamed. Another incredible spot, tucked away so close to home.

I've put up a few more botanical porn shots, including prurient closeups, on my Flickr page.

Eat, Play, Shop

My friend Anita, art quilter extraordinaire and mother of the delightful and talented Zoe, was in town for a short visit, and yesterday was gurlz day out. Our ultimate destination was the Cracked Pots garden art show at Edgefield. We stopped for lunch en route at Om Seafood on SE Powell at 70-somethingth. I bought crab at the market several months ago, but hadn't yet gotten to the adjacent Chinese restaurant. Anita and I both ordered rock cod; the fish was impeccably fresh, our dishes were tasty, attractive, and well-prepared, and the service was friendly and flawless.

Everything sold at the Cracked Pots show -- bird houses, bird baths and feeders, benches, tables and trellises, whimsical sculptures and what-have-you -- is made from recycled materials. The opposite of flawless, in a way. One artist, for instance, transformed hundreds of pieces of flatware into a single giant fork. Another built a charming tractor out of rusty god-knows-what. (That's Anita in the green top, standing to the left.) Someone else turned old kitchen drawers on edge and called them shelves. I loved it. Edgefield itself is a recycled property, the former county poor farm, repurposed by the McMenamin brothers and folded into their funky yet picturesque hotel/restaurant/pub empire.

I lusted in my heart for several items, including a 12-foot-tall fire-breathing dragon with a price tag of $8,000-ish that surely would have been the talk of Rural Street. But heron sculptures have been calling out to me consistently since we moved to town, so I could easily justify my purchase of a two-dimensional Great Blue. S/he seems perfectly at home by the marshy-looking clump of grass just in front of our porch.

On the way back from Edgefield, we made two more shopping stops. Anita wanted to go to Fabric Depot, where I have no trouble killing time. She found yardage and incidentals she needed for Zoe's wedding, while I picked up a few random items, including Shiva paintsticks, a book on using same, and a new, ergonomically-friendly pair of scissors. I resisted buying a set of plastic, pre-formed, textured sheets (op-art, triangles, ethnic motifs, etc.) specifically designed for stamping and rubbing. I'd rather hunt for random objects, though the animal skin set was actually pretty cool. I did love the bolt of day-glo orange fabric on the display marked "camouflage." In what universe?

Finally, we detoured into Portland Nursery on SE Stark. It was another Anita-driven stop, but it gave me an excuse to cruise the shade house in search of the elusive toad lily, which Grace had recommended for the spot in the backyard from which she'd rescued and transplanted three or four struggling roses. I managed to wrest two variegated tricyrtis from Cornell Farm several weeks ago (long story), but they weren't in bloom, and here were several in full, glorious flower. I bought just one, a different variety from those you can kinda see in the background here, and will plant her, I hope, tomorrow.

So, a very satisfying afternoon. Several relaxed hours with a friend, sunny but not hot weather, a good meal and new restaurant discovery all in one, plus modest indulgence in my favorite kinds of shopping: fabric/sewing notions and plants/garden stuff. The only thing missing was a side trip to Powell's, but that would have been too much of a good thing.

Great balls o' fire!

I spent most of yesterday in an air-conditioned car riding to and from air-conditioned Astoria with my art-quiltin' STASH buddies. It was a welcome respite from Portland's heat wave. Tuesday was a record-breaking 102; temps have gradually moderated down into the high 80s. But still: HOT.

Last night, after it cooled off a bit, Chef Jerub prepared a lovely dinner of grilled chicken and veggie skewers, served over rice with a side of sauteed greens. We'd finished eating and were watching a Jerry Lee Lewis tribute concert on the PVR, when we heard what sounded like thunder. Strange; there was no rain in the forecast. We paused Jerry Lee and came upstairs to check out the scene: More thunder, lightning, and finally a steady downpour that went on for an hour or more. Several of our neighbors were out on the sidewalk, too, or sitting on their front steps. We talked for a while, illuminated by flashes of lightning, enjoying the mild summer storm.

The plants seem to've appreciated it, too, after all these days of artificial watering. Several of the grasses are flowering, all but one of the transplanted rose bushes (rose sticks, really) are leafing out, the ground covers are spreading. Some of the plantings are actually starting to touch each other, yay.

Our Sea Ranch friends Bill and Claire visited last weekend, and bought us a carnivorous pitcher plant (sarracenia) at Saturday Market. Its requirements are completely counterintuitive: it wants a nutrition-free growing medium, since it gets its nourishment from the insects it eats, and, as a bog native, as little drainage as possible. It seems happy so far, in a pot in the garden. We're resisting the impulse to name it Audrey.

No mow lawn

Yesterday was a dramatic day, weather-wise. Bright sun, then -- suddenly -- dark gray clouds followed by fifteen minutes of heavy rain. Then sun. Rain. Sun. Showers. Sun. It was an amped-up version of the changeable climate we first experienced two years ago, right around this time of year, when we came up to house-hunt. It reminded me then of Hawai'i -- rainforest weather, only temperate rather than tropical. I wondered if things grew as well in Portland as they did in the islands. Silly me.

Grace came by last week to install the last couple of plants and to give us a guided tour of what she'd done. In preparation, I'd systematically taken photos covering the entire garden, and printed them out on regular paper so I could easily make notes. I annotated while Grace unerringly spelled out the Latin names. The walk-through took about two and a half hours, at the end of which, with perfect timing, Jer offered a champagne toast. We'd had a bottle of Gloria Ferrer in the fridge for weeks, and this turned out to be the occasion. Salud!

Fair warning: If plant lists make your eyes glaze over, you'd be well-advised to skip the next couple of paragraphs. But for any gardeners who might be interested in the particulars: We have several varieties of phormium (New Zealand flax) with beautiful shadings (one is called Maori Sunrise), numerous dots of dwarf acorus (they look like goldy-green sea urchins), crocosmia, fescue, and several other grasses, including my favorite-named, Black Mondo.

In no particular order, we're also responsible for the survival of an obsidian heuchera (a.k.a. coral bells), a blue-flowering ground cover called pratia peduncularis, a very delicate, purple and ferny acaena purpurea, a couple of ajugas, sedums, a cynara, club moss, cimicifuga, three or four different euphorbias (which I suppose only Jerry and I call Flying Saucer plant), some hebes (proven butterfly attractants), a dianthus (in the carnation family, but the flowers are reputedly much more interesting), rubus pentalobus (a.k.a. creeping raspberry, though it's not known for its fruit), firefly and sundrop heathers (erica), a dwarf conifer called chamaecyparis, brass buttons (leptinella), corokia cotoneaster, myrtle berry, and the knockout-foliaged trachelospermum jasminoides something-Japanese. Obviously, I am merely parroting back most of these names, but perhaps eventually some of them will stick in my sieve-like brain.

But that's not all! There's a mock orange, which we're not to expect edible fruit from, but also gooseberry, salmonberry, blueberry (two plants) two kinds of strawberries, huckleberry, and a dwarf pomegranate, which we are. Herbs, too: variegated sage, lemon thyme, pennyroyal, a pretty oregano called Kent Beauty and, in a major role as groundcover, wooly thyme.

We also have a Silver Dollar eucalyptus that could get 12 feet tall, and, making friends with the front porch, a golden-leafed jasmine (jasminum aureum) that's flowering already, and a hefty wisteria.

Given a choice, Grace will go for the odd and unusual cultivar every time. "Weird Variety" is her middle name. Her last name is Constantine and her and Micha's business is Rejuvenation Artisans. They aren't cheap but they're geniuses and great fun to work with. The last of the plants she had been waiting for, and planted that afternoon, were juncus effusus spiralis, known as corkscrew rush, and juncus effusus 'Unicorn,' or giant spiral rush. I get a giant spiral rush just thinking about all these weird and wonderful plantlets whose lives are now in our hands. Live long and prosper, y'all.

Up the page are a couple of shots of the front of our house as it looks now, followed by one that demonstrates its "curb appeal" on that sunny-rainy-sunny day when we first saw it.

What hasn't changed are the rows of roses on the west and east borders of the lot, flanking the gorgeous but relatively austere -- let's just say it's a different aesthetic -- new garden. Grace did transplant three red rose bushes from the back yard that had been languishing for lack of sun; when they leaf out and blossom again, they'll form a visual bridge between the roses on each side. I pruned both rose beds, mercilessly, in February. They obviously didn't mind; they're back with a vengeance. Everything grows in Portland.

Rock On!

It's been a dramatic day on the landscaping front. Early this afternoon, a gargantuan truck with a huge crane delivered the rocks -- significant rocks; we're not talking pebbles -- for our garden-to-be. The driver, to our great relief, was an absolute pro. He didn't snag any overhead wires (a strategically-applied push-broom helped) or destroy personal property in the process, a significant possibility when you're swinging around half-ton potential projectiles.

Under Grace's direction, Micha and David eased each boulder into its pre-dug, pre-assigned crater, and then guided the pallet of flagstones onto an empty spot on the rapidly-disappearing lawn.

By the end of the day, the path was in place, and the sparse grassy patch in front of Casa Jereva well on its way to transmogrification.

Each little (a relative term) boulder is a thing of beauty. Grace put a lot of thought and care into choosing them. The shapes and colors are entrancing. One roundish stone with a concave top will surely become a natural birdbath.

It's so cool to glance out and see a curving flagstone path to the front door. This is exactly the way it should be.

I'm sitting in the living room, watching the shadows cast on the contours of the basalt column by the evening sun. Soon these massive stones will be accent pieces, surrounded by plants and eventually, perhaps, covered with moss. Right now, though, they're the main event.

Lawn time comin'

Work got underway this week on transforming our scrabbly front lawn into some kind of horticultural paradise, or at least an attractive garden with interesting and sustainable plants. Here's how it looked at the end of the day yesterday. The new path defines the route that most people already take to and from our house. It'll be flagstone, and the pavement in front of the stairs has been stained a subtle terra cotta to go with the warm colors of the stone. The project will probably still be in high gear when we leave for Kauai this weekend; our friend who's house-sitting will have a front-row seat as the landscaping drama continues to unfold. All going well, Jer and I will return from the Garden Isle to a new garden of our own.

Speaking of tropical flora, a particularly weird and gangly rescue cactus I took off a friend's hands at Sea Ranch has bloomed spectacularly, proof that the sun does shine in Portland.

And speaking of vacations in Paradise, I've been meaning to blog about my soujourn on the coast a couple of weeks ago with five of my art quilter friends. It was new territory for me -- Oceanside, OR, a few miles from Tillamook -- and I really enjoyed seeing the ocean again, as well as getting better acquainted with these interesting and creative women. I posted some of my artsy beach photos on Flickr, but I can't add much to Gerrie's and Terry's excellent accounts of the weekend itself.

Believe it or don't

I discovered a few days ago that my little herb garden, where I've been happily toiling away for the last two growing seasons, is shaped exactly like an acoustic guitar -- two-thirds of a dreadnought, to be precise. It's bordered with mossy brick, so the outline is quite clear when viewed from above.

I couldn't fit this astounding revelation gracefully into the paean to spring I posted earlier today. But it seems like a perfect April 1st entry, even though, like the Easter bulbs, it's totally non-bogus. I've Photoshopped in a couple of lines to highlight what I'm talking about, but that's it.

Now I'm wondering about the previous owners of the house. Famous singer-songwriters? In the instrument biz, perhaps? Or just old folkies and music lovers like Jer and me?

It's kind of spooky, but good spooky, don't you think?