Sensei and Sensibility

IN PRAISE OF ARMCHAIR GARDENING

The White Flower Farm catalogue arrived yesterday. The catalogue is a harbinger of some dreamy armchair gardening, and I was delighted!

Just emerging from my reverie, I can report three things that really excited me:

-the wine-colored flower heads of Drumstick Alliums, with Achillea ‘Paprika,’ bright red, yellow-eyed flowers that gradually change to pink. This is called Red Highlights.

-the slender stalks of the green and silvery white mounds of Allium nigrum paired with the smaller, wine-colored blooms of Allium atropurpureum. This is called Summer Starbursts.

-the amaryllis flowers from South Africa—because they bloom earlier.

South African bulbs, which are promised to be as large and richly colored as their Dutch cousins, can be sent out in October. Having been grown in the Southern Hemisphere, they mature 6-8 weeks from receipt--and in time for the holidays.

Dutch varieties of amaryllis bulbs can be shipped in mid-November through January. It takes 8-10 weeks after receipt for these to bloom. “A truly spectacular performance” is guaranteed--including two flower stems per bulb. I can attest to the stellar performance of these Dutch bulbs having had them last winter. In fact, the slender green leaves of one are still adding line interest to a collection of houseplants positioned on the floor by the window.

Because I can’t choose one type of amaryllis, I think I’ll order some of both. I’ll order some paperwhites, too. I know the promise of these “little packages”, and, still, each new bloom season delights me as if it were the first!

This is the normal course of events evoked by the White Flower Farm catalogue. Season after season, year after year, it arrives and I am transported.

Armchair gardening has its merits. There’s been no sweat, no dirt under my fingernails and my back feels great!

SPIDER: THE MESSENGER IN MY FLOWER ARRANGEMENT

Like a carpenter in a lumber yard, I looked over the possible plant materials and chose equisetum (ek-wi-SEE-tum), a leafless, aquatic stem good, I thought, for strong lines, the highlighted aspect of this week’s free composition.

The stem of equisetum, commonly called horsetail, is cylindrical, hollow and erect. Nodes or joints occur all along the length of it. At the node points, the stems, which are very light, can be bent or easily taken apart. For my purposes, horsetail seemed like this “builder’s” dream material.

Having selected stems, flowers and a container, I set to work (meaning I played with focus and concentration). Eventually, a line construction emerged that brought depth to the arrangement and created movement.

Chamelaucium (kam-a-LAW-see-um), commonly called waxflowers, were added next. They provided volume and mass. Allium, the accent element and the final component, created a focal point relative to the other materials.

Sensei looked at the creation and suggested the addition of the horizontal line. (My response was the usual, “Ah, yes!”) Several of my classmates looked at it and said, “It looks like a spider!”

The spider connection was interesting. For starters, there were eight “legs” in my arrangement, and I had done some “weaving,” though nothing of the sort these master weavers do!

Warming to the possibilities that might be hiding here, I continued to think on the ways of the spider. This was fun!

I know now the “spider” was this week’s messenger in the flower arrangement. Her message? Be more creative in life. See with new eyes. Make the most of your freedom. Celebrate choice. Were she to speak, she might say, “Weave your creative threads in the dark and when the sun hits them, their intricate beauty will be apparent.”

MASS AS A MEANS OF EXPRESSION

In this arrangement, I intentionally assembled the celosia and the gypsophila into an obvious mass that I circled and contained with the ruscus leaves. The heavy appearance of the celosia, often called the “brain” flower or cockscomb (our Iowa name), provides visual mass--as well as the visual focus. The million stars gyp adds to the mass. The ruscus leaves gather the two materials together and lend emphasis to the beautiful expression of the shape they make one with the other.

I wanted to use an aspidistra leaf as well but, because we are not to let green materials get in the water lest they cause rapid deterioration, I couldn’t imagine what to do. I posed the problem to Sensei.

Not for nothing is aspidistra also called the cast-iron plant. Sensei assured me I could put this leaf in the water and cause no harm. I knew we could bend, fold, tear and otherwise manipulate aspidistra leaves, but I hadn’t known they were exempt from the “rotting rule.”

Sensei put the leaf in the water, twisted it a bit and voila, I had what I had envisioned—only better! As a bonus, I learned still another reason to value aspidistra leaves.

In this lesson, my aim was to experiment with mass as an important means of expression in Ikebana composition. In the process, I discovered a focus I want to explore further.

As the week goes by, I continue to look at and enjoy this arrangement, a departure for me. I’ve come to think of the component parts like members of a string quartet. No one “instrument” is more important than the other. Each is needed to create a satisfying whole. Still, as I ruminate on this, I can think of the celosia as the first violin; the aspidistra as the cello; the gysophia as second violin; and the the ruscus leaves as the viola!

THE GARDEN IN A BOWL OF SOUP

I make seafood gazpacho at least once every summer. It is one of my favorite ways to revel in summer’s bounty—and, at this time of year, every ounce of fresh flavor shines through.

Yesterday I made the soup for lunch and invited friends. (They suggested I blog about the soup and display the recipe here.)

“It has to fit with my theme, flowers and life,” I said. “Oh, you can make a connection,” they declared. That’s when the notion of “a garden in a bowl of soup” showed up!

Seafood gazpacho, a luscious “liquid salad,” consists of the usual gazpacho ingredients: tomatoes, cucumber, red pepper, jalapeno peppers and red onion—plus some others. In this case, crab and avocado embellish and “punch up” the dish.

I’ve always said, “I eat first with the eyes.” The dazzling colors of this soup give me pleasure.

The table arrangement was refreshed with the addition of white alstromeria, or Peruvian Lilies. The alstromeria with the contorted willow are more calm, cool and collected than the flowering eucalyptus (pictured in the last post) which lasted only a very few days.

The recipe for Seafood Gazpacho comes from The Silver Palate Good Times Cookbook, a book I've been using for years and years.

2 cups
Fresh bread crumbs
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 cucumber, peeled, seeded, and cut into 1/4-inch dice
2 sweet red peppers, cored, seeded, and diced
3 jalapeno peppers, cored, seeded, and chopped
1 medium-sized red onion, chopped
5 ripe tomatoes, seeded and chopped
5 cups tomato juice
1/2 cup fresh lime juice (4 limes)
1/2 cup olive oil
1 tablespoon ground cumin
Salt and freshly group black pepper, to taste
1 pound lump crabmeat, picked over for shells
1 ripe avocado, pitted, peeled, and diced

1. Combine the breadcrumbs and garlic and set aside.
2. Combine the cucumber, red peppers, jalapeno peppers, onion and tomatoes in a large bowl. Pour in the tomato juice and lime juice and stir to combine. Add the breadcrumbs to the mixture and sir in the oil.
3. Puree half the soup in a food processor fitted with a steel blade or a blender and stir back into the half that is not pureed.
4. Season with cumin and salt and pepper to taste. Refrigerate until cold.
5. Just before serving, stir in the crabmeat and avocado.

(10 portions)

Stir up the gazpacho, invite some friends and enjoy. (It is much more pleasant than walking in the heat with an ice pack on your head, something I saw on the street a few days ago!)

THE WILLOW MEANDERS AND SO DO I

In most Ikebana arrangements, two or more kinds of materials are combined. In this week’s class, I experimented with contorted willow and eucalyptus flowers.

Eucalyptus flowers are unusual. Sensei said this was the first time she had seen them in the flower district. That was enough for me! I knew I wanted to live with them for a week. I felt the same way about the willow.

Contorted willow branches meander. They have a relaxed and unrestrained sense of movement. This contrasts with the more forceful energy of the eucalyptus flower and its foliage.

Looking at the arrangement, I see airiness and feel lightness of being. On a hot summer day, this is good. My thoughts meander with the contorted willow and I think about meandering.

Meander is a lovely word! The word and its synonyms suggest a slow and leisurely pace, as in amble, ramble, saunter, stroll and promenade.

Following along one of these willow branches, I find myself remembering the two occasions when I’ve gone on summer rambles in England--to the Cotswolds two years ago and to Cornwall’s coast last year. In both cases, we walked an average of eight miles a day. By no means, was it a “forced march,” though sometimes a walker shows up who thinks it is about the miles. Me? If I see a bench, I’d like to try it out! It is one of the things that happen when consciousness moves to my legs.

In spite of the pace, when on a ramble, distances kind of add up. The walk begins after breakfast. You walk a couple hours and then there is a break for refreshment. You walk a couple more hours and there is a break for lunch—many times in a pub. After a leisurely lunch, you walk a couple more hours. Again, there is a break for refreshment. Some more walking follows, this time to the inn and its comforts. This is walking at a pace that has room for smelling the flowers, browsing for the juiciest blackberries, exploring a country church—and, yes, sitting. Sitting/resting is an essential part of a ramble. It is as fundamental as punctuation in an essay.

The meandering willow has taken me on a surprising “journey” this morning, and I’m delighted! More than that, I am happy and fulfilled.

THE SUNFLOWER'S SHINE

These “little known facts” (LKFs) relate to he bold, brash sunflower, one of my favorite summer flowers.

-Native Americans in the U.S. have been using wild sunflower for food and medicine for at least 8,000 years.

-Archeological evidence suggests that Native Americans began cultivating and improving the sunflower as early as 2300 B.C. Indeed, the cultivation of sunflowers may predate the cultivation of corn, beans and squash.

-The Incas revered the sunflower because of its resemblance to the life-giving sun. They made sunflowers the symbol of their god.

-The flower in its early stages of development travels daily on its stalk, keeping its face always towards the sun. Thus the flowers have the benefit of perfect exposure to the sun.

-Technically, the sunflower isn’t even a flower, but a head made up of two types of flowers—disk and ray—that combine to look like a single flower. The center of the head has dozens of tiny individual disk flowers, whereas the periphery of the head consists of ray flowers with a petal-like appearance. They are usually yellow or gold.

-In Europe, marigolds and daisies were called “sunflowers” before the actual sunflower from the Americas arrived there.

-The leaves of an ordinary sunflower will transpire in a day as much water as a man perspires.

Van Gogh looked at sunflowers and saw a subject he wanted to paint. I agree. When I was taking watercolor classes, I often painted sunflowers. There is something about the pooled dark center that pulls me in—like a bird looking for seeds. It is seeing by immersion.

Sunflowers deserve careful looking. To help you see their “shine,” a magnifying glass is great!

A MORNING IN THE FLOWER DISTRICT

As usual, my friends and I were the slowest life forms in the flower market Saturday morning. On such a “play date for the senses,” we poked along moving from shop to shop taking in the tempo, feeling and smells of each, and looked always for the possibilities of what we wanted to create for home.

We looked, too, for what was new and unusual, and we tried to name the flowers we saw. Saturday I saw flowers for every letter of the alphabet except j, q, w, x and y! (I may never see such flowers.)

Sometimes we were baffled and/or puzzled (see picture). When you go in the company of others, however, not knowing is voiced. Passersby regularly answer your questions! Conversation is not unusual. Saturday, for example, we got into an animated conversation with a woman from Columbia. “That’s a banana flower,” she told us. “In my country of Columbia, we grow bananas,” she continued. Exports (and imports) were a rather boring topic in geography lessons of old, but in this context they became fascinating.

Fast and faster are the usual paces in the flower district. Always fast, the pace quickens with the breaking down and cleaning up. “There is a lot of purposeful energy here,” one of my friends observed. (We were purposeful, too, but our worlds were “worlds apart.”)

The debris generated by a morning’s flower business is astonishing. As papers, plant materials and more were corralled and swept up, we quickly made our purchases and headed for home.

It had been a very satisfying morning. “A gentle pleasure,” I call it—one I enjoyed thoroughly.

A BOUQUET OF BOATS BLOOMS AT LINCOLN CENTER

The recently installed “Bouquet of Boats” in the plaza at Lincoln Center has expanded my notions of “bouquet.” I like that!

I first read about the boat sculpture in The New York Times in late June. In that article, the artist, Mary Rubbins, was said to expect the final assemblage to resemble a bouquet (from one angle), and she compared her on-the-spot composition to flower arranging. I was eager to see this!

As I circled the installation this week, I asked myself: How is this like an Ikebana arrangement?

For starters, it is different from every angle. And, like our summer arrangements which feature a variety of flowers—as many as seven different types, Rubbins has included many different types of water vessels. I counted seven: canoes, kayaks, rowboats, surfboards, windsurfing boards, sailboats and dingies.

The “Bouquet of Boats” can be enjoyed through September 4.

MORE ON THE LAUGHTER OF FLOWERS

The dahlias faded fast so I replaced them with daisies—a totally different flower. The laughter is totally different, too.

Daisies represent an innocence I associate with the soft, joyful laughter of young children—when they are bright, cheery and sunny! The daisy has a gentle, happy laugh.

The laughter of one of my young nephews, a daisy-like kind of laugh, surely, is a sound that has delighted me through the years. Even now, when I hear it, and I do sometimes, I think of Gary. I am transported to another time and place. I smile…remembering.

Imagine how different this arrangement would be were I to have chosen black-eyed Susans. The structure of the two types of flowers is much the same, but the black-eyed Susan is of heartier stuff. It laughs in guffaws is my guess.

NATURE LAUGHS IN FLOWERS

After a hiatus of two weeks, I had another flower class yesterday. This morning I’m enjoying the grass seed heads that seem to explode like high tinkling laughter over the colorful dahlias and the mass of the philodendron leaves. I see the laughter of the flowers and it delights me.

Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “Nature laughs in flowers.” I look at this arrangement and I ask myself, “What kind of laughter is this?”

Having considered a range of possibilities from giggle to guffaw, chuckle to belly laugh, titter to hoot—and more, I’ve determined the philodendron leaves are smiling, a quiet form of laughter. The dahlias are chortling in a combination of sounds both soft and loud, while the seed pods cavort about in bursts of gleeful giggling.

The laughter of the flowers is music for my soul.