We lost power last night

We lost power in the night. The heavy snow of the weekend bent the bows of trees onto power lines I imagine. It was a fairy paradise on the back path as I stomped through the cold whiteness and ducked under the curved saplings weighted by the heavy snow, creating shelter for the forest dwellers. Not such a happy thought for the power line workers who wrestled the limbs from the wires so that I could wake and have my morning coffee without struggle. I am grateful for them. I sit here on a quiet Monday morning with my dog, Max. My overstuffed chair sits facing eight glass panes through which I see a still landscape, so beautifully covered with white, it causes me to pause and write. But I don’t even know who my reader is. This is a test. To see if I can still put a thought to paper. And if so, is this the place for it? My December was a trial, and I want to write about that. My new year is unknown, and I want to write about that. But I am a gardener, and this is a garden blog…I think. I am a small shop owner, and this could be a place to write about small business…I think. But where do I write about my mother who has taken a turn to a place that feels like a final chapter, a chapter I would like to write about? Where do I write about the struggles I have with time management and all the projects I would like to accomplish…and boast about them when I do? Where would I write about what I see when I snowshoe in the winter and the joy of returning to sit by the fire and sip hot cocoa? …and how we lost power last night, and when I realized that at 330 in the morning I wondered how I was going to make coffee and that I should have filled a pot with water so that I could flush a toilet? So, this morning, I’ll write that here, and see what comes of it.

'Someday I'm going to have a store...

with a tinkly bell hung over the door…” So begins a book and poem written by Rachel Field, a book I purchased when my daughter was born in 1988. I read it aloud to her often, but she was busy learning to roll and discover her voice and place in this world, and I, well, I was really getting into this book! Someday, I WAS going to have a store. It happened, I opened the doors to a small garden center that grew from an industrial wasteland into a lush oasis for local plant enthusiasts, a place where I may have met you. I purchased, and stocked, and listened to you, and restocked, and marketed, and collected money, and counted inventory…and planted seeds. I loved it, so much that I opened a second lovely place just around the corner, where I learned about local artists needing a storefront, and struggles of retail in marginal locations, and the magic of trying, the real American dream! I am certain I met many of you there, where Suzy Sparkleberry was born. I loved having a store. Through twists and turns of life, the doors of my “stores” closed and my paths took a different direction. And today, I find myself stocking shelves once again. The opportunity has arisen to pop up a shop in the garden center where I am employed. I reconnected with some of my favorite vendors, local and distant; I am filling a space with twinkly lights and Christmas bells, and beautiful paintings, and candles so tasty to smell, and beautiful soaps to gift to your favorite friends. I suppose I can’t help myself…I have a little store and I will say “What can I do for you today?” I sure hope you come by and say hello and perhaps find a Holiday decoration to add to your favorites or a perfect gift that will bring a smile.

General Store by Rachel Field

Someday I'm going to have a store
With a tinkly bell hung over the door,
With real glass cases and counters wide
And drawers all spilly with things inside.
There'll be a little of everything:
Bolts of calico; balls of string;
Jars of peppermint; tins of tea;
Pots and kettles; and crockery;
Seeds in packets; scissors bright;
Kegs of sugar, brown and white;
Sarsaparilla for picnic lunches,
Bananas and rubber boots in bunches.
I'll fix the window and dust each shelf,
And take the money in all myself,
It will be my store and I will say:
“What can I do for you today!”

Bring Your Dad to Work Day

A year ago and beyond, I habitually called my dad on Sundays to chat and catch up on any news. He resided in a cozy cabin on a magical, picturesque plot of land in a poor rural county of Ohio, set in the middle of Amish country, surrounded by land and trees and deer. Saying he had a sizeable vegetable garden is an understatement; I have never seen one so large on a personal homestead. Our phone conversations were dominated by his time spent in his garden - prepping the hard clay soil, planting, weeding, picking out stones, harvesting and trucking the abundance to his local foodbank, his charity of choice. We’d talk about the weather, and the economy, and health, and they all connected back to his garden. He always liked to say how dirt from the garden isn’t dirty. The garden, the surrounding air, sounds of animals and insects were all part of his soul. It was his life passion at this stage in his journey. The path of his journey has taken a significant turn in recent months, leading to the sale of his home, uprooting him from Ohio to the Northeast to be near family, and residing in a new place under someone else’s roof. With no garden at hand, and very little to occupy his time (until he finds a new groove!), he shares that he longs for the garden dirt again. So, as a gardener, I took the opportunity to bring him to work with me yesterday. Intent on perfecting the grounds of my customer’s yard, he set to work weeding and raking, whistling and telling stories, getting his hands dirty and filling his heart with joy. He was great company for me, as I mostly work solo. It’s a simple gesture:daddy-daughter work day has got to come again soon.

It's a glorious Easter Morning

The magnolias are spectacular this year, perfectly balancing their muted pink with the loud and bright forsythia anchored across the yard. It’s a wonder to me how each year can be so different from the one before. I thought our magnolia was dying last year, and here it is full and vibrant and showing off! My children and grandchildren will come for Easter dinner this afternoon. The schedule of holidays and gatherings and expectations has been thrown off kilter with life changes and pandemics and such, and the thought of a family holiday dinner and an Easter egg hunt has me feeling, well, normal. Life as it should be. The Easter baskets are filled with locally made chocolates atop real grass started six weeks ago in the greenhouse. Like the magnolia, the grass is full and colorful and perfect for this Easter morning. After coffee, Max and I will go out in the yard and gather some daffodils for vases, and I think a few of those magnolia branches may add a nice touch. Happy Easter everyone, it is a glorious day!

Returns

I never make returns. It’s just not what I do. If a clothing item doesn’t fit right, washes poorly, rips early, I keep it anyway, or give it, or throw it, but I don’t return it. I don’t return bad produce or sour milk or discolored meat before it’s due date. So, when a customer ordered a specific shrub after much research and confidence on their part, I made the purchase and delivered the beautiful plants. Surprised by their shock at the size and, even worse, the projected mature size, their anxiety grew evident right in front of me, hoping I could make a return. Assuring me over and over that this was their error, they insisted that this variety had to be returned and hoped for an exchange for one that would perform as they wished. Despite disclaimers from the wholesaler that all returns faced a 20% restocking fee, my customer was prepared at any cost for an exchange. I loaded my trailer the next day, 28 shrubs packed in, covered in a protective blanket and drove to the wholesale yard. Approaching the office with my receipt in hand and tail between my legs, I was greeted by a friendly sales rep who took my paperwork, ordered a forklift and pallet with hands to help me unload, and returned my copy of the receipt with a wide yellow highlight “Return accepted, No restocking fee, J.T.” Within minutes the ordeal was over, painless. Not as I imagined it with a long wait only to face a disgruntled manager, but painless and pleasant. Not that I want to encourage returns from here on, because now I need to face the exchange. I realized long ago that the reason I don’t make returns is because there is no “perfect” product on the other side…there is always a risk in buying. But in this case, after deliberate communication between the customer and myself, I am working hard to make the exchange as painless for them as the wholesaler made it for me.

Freeze Dried

Ancient grains granola and freeze dried blueberries sat atop a bowl of Greek yogurt on my breakfast table. What a delicious way to enjoy the fruits harvested from last season, giving a faint reminder of their fresh plump juice when picked in season. Freeze dried is not, however, an attractive adjective when it comes to describing the old wood in my house, my aging skin damaged by years in the sun, or the foliage of the evergreens under attack by old man winter. Winter battles these latter treasures, and it is time to engage in the war and prevent further casualties.

The woodstove and heat registers contribute to the loss of moisture in the house. To combat this, I run a humidifier, keep my houseplants moist, leave a full pot of water on the woodstove to release vapor, and keep the diffuser filled with water and essential oils to release healthy vapors into the atmosphere inside.

My skin has been the longtime defender of my insides for many decades. As the calendar continues to turn, my skin becomes thinner and drier more quickly. The sun has been beating on me as I have spent so much of my life outdoors. Winter reminds me of the care I need to take to love on this lifetime companion. Thick creams and sunscreen and drinking water all help. Coming in from the cold outside, it is tempting to jump into a hot shower, but this is not the best for my skin and hair, I must resist and keep it lukewarm.

The plants outside suffer no lesser fate. Here in New England, by mid winter the roots of our trees and shrubs are frozen, unable to deliver moisture to the evergreen foliage. Any stored moisture is at risk of being lost to harsh winds and winter sun. Some plants experience discoloration and death in their leaves due to loss of moisture. Like a moisturizer for our skin, an anti-desiccant can be applied to lock in moisture. According to the extension service, mid-winter can be a good time to apply a coating to our broadleaf evergreens if needed. I took a stroll around the yard and found my shrubs in good shape, but I will keep an eye on them in the bitter cold days ahead (especially this weekend!) Much as we wear a down jacket and mittens, some evergreens will benefit from a covering of burlap if you’d rather not spray the foliage, a project to pencil in for next Thanksgiving week.

Bundle up this weekend as we hit single digits, and don’t forget to moisturize and hydrate - yourself and your surroundings. Be well!

Wish list:

Diffuser and essential oils

Humidifier

Wilt-Pruf anti-desiccant

Bee Silk, rich restorative cream

Who is Suzy Sparkleberry, anyway?

In short, she is me as a blonde.  Suzy is a character created as a mascot for a shop I owned a while back, the main character in short stories written to market events and seasons in my retail world. 

Twenty years ago, I was a partner in ownership of a small garden center in central Massachusetts.  The acreage was conflicted with poor drainage, which is optimum growing condition for very few things, one of which happens to be the native winterberry.  I grew the variety, Ilex verticillata Sparkleberry, a deciduous shrub yielding abundant medium sized red berries late in the season – a delicacy for birds when the temperature begins to drop.  After the turn of this century, I opened a second retail space two miles from the garden center, which became an artisan shop for the locals to sell their makings.  Before its doors opened, a name was needed.  I tossed around any number of plants that I grew at the garden center to incorporate in my brand, and settled on “Sparkleberrys”, with the encouragement of my daughter.  Sparkleberrys became a magical shopping arena, and Suzy became the poster girl.   

As time went on, I went through a short period of loss, and the little store was one of them. However, Suzy lived on in a side business I dabbled in with cut flowers. I called it Suzy’s Gardens; and it remains to this day. I still grow and cut flowers, work as a gardener, and provide seasonal upkeep in containers and holiday decoration for my valuable clientele. As long as I continue to play in the dirt, Suzy will live on.

Gathering time

During the early October snowstorm, I searched high and low for my snow pants. After my recent address change and full downsize, I have come to realize that much of what I could count on for seasonal change has either been given away, tossed, or is packed in a box somewhere, who knows where. So I sat down and ordered some winter outerclothes to prepare for the next season. Here in New England, we get to change things up 4 times. The change from fall to winter includes getting out the heavy boots, knit hats, and sadly putting away that final t-shirt and those beloved flip-flops until the thermometer breaks 60 again. In the gardens, the final harvest has been made in my yard. There are a couple of lingering pumpkins trying to turn orange that may become our Thanksgiving pie. The compost is spread and it is ready to rest for the winter. But the outdoor work is not done; it is gathering time. Pine boughs, red berries, sticks to paint, cones, clippings from beautiful ornamental shrubs…all have a place in the winter decor inside and out. With the pandemic nipping at our heels, inside gatherings are strongly prohibited…time to take a walk; invite a friend, your family, grab a basket and some clippers and go gathering, and perhaps enjoy a turkey sandwich and a slice of pumpkin pie in thanksgiving for one another, far and near, and for what nature has to offer us as we prepare for beauty in the next season.

Don't let it scare you

I lived in Alaska for three years. When it started snowing, it didn’t stop until it was time for spring thaw. When the days started getting shorter, they didn’t stop until there was no more light left peeking through the cracks in the drafty door. Cabin fever set in, it was time to hunker down for a long winter’s shut in. It could be frightful if you weren’t ready. Here, in New England, it is snowing today. More of a preview of what is to come. Don’t let it scare you…but let it remind you that a shift in seasons is upon us. Perhaps it is time to put the flip flops away and dust off your snow shovel. In our gardens, the leaves have not yet gotten fully blown off, and the perennials are not cut all the way back. But we still have time, right? Most likely. But one thing is sure, winter will come. I love the sneaky arrival of this snow, like a surprise visit from a distant relative. I’m knocking on your door, but won’t stay long.

So, today, I ordered a new winter jacket, because I’m worth it I convince myself. I pencil in the calendar the remaining jobs I hope to finish to tuck my customers’ gardens in for winter’s snooze. I flip through the pages of holiday decor magazines, because with the teasing snow comes the images of red berries and greens and winter wonderland magic. And I put another log on the fire…the warmth feels good.

Measurements

How tall am I mommy? my child of long ago days inquired as I penciled her growth on the chart in the kitchen doorframe. She wanted to know if she was getting big, a sign of importance. She couldn’t measure my love, though she knew it was overflowing, but she could measure her bigness. Other things we gauged were how fast she could run or how long she could hold her breath. These days we measure popularity of leaders, lines at the unemployment office, distances between us as we socialize, and sadly, number of pages in the city obituaries. We like to measure and count and analyze…it helps us confirm our bigness, our significance, and the seriousness of the matters at hand. Though measurements can help, they do not tell the whole story. An April snowstorm dumped a handful of inches on us two nights ago. Weather stations were certainly taking measurements of the heavy flakes to enter into their databases for April averages to come. What was certainly not measured were the number of scarves used to dress perfect snowmen and the giggles and snowball fights that followed; or the footprints in the snow of morning hikers taking in the unusual spring beauty of peeking daffodils weighted down under a white blanket aside the grape hyacinths standing tall and proud, unwavering. Some very important things, big things, are never measured. In these strange days, those things are still there.

RECIPE: measuring for mulch.

Mulching is helpful to hold in moisture, keep back weeds, and vainly speaking…to make it look tidy and pretty. Two inches is a nice layer. Perennials a little less, trees and shrubs perhaps a little more. Color is your preference, no color is better than another; the barkier the better…woodier attracts bugs. That’s the simple answer. Mulch is sold in bags at your local hardware store for small areas; bulk from your local garden center. When ordering bulk, it is measured in cubic yards 3ft x 3ft x 3ft. Layed out in a bed it is 100 square feet, 3 inches deep (generally); 108 sq ft to be exact.

So if you wanted to spread mulch 1 inch deep, 1 yd will cover 300 square feet. (100 sq ft x 3/1)

At 2 inches 1 yd will cover 150 square feet. (100 sq ft x 3/2)

Measure all your beds and divide your total square feet by the square feet covered by your desired depth. For example, if you have 750 square feet and you want to spread mulch 2 inches deep then divide 750/150 = 5 yards.

The same formula applies for bulk deliveries of compost and loam, which you may also be contemplating as you prepare your spring gardens.

Have fun getting dirty!

"That ol' Easter egg ain't got a leg to stand on" - John Prine

That line came from a pretty song, written by John Prine, the man that saved my life and lost his this week to our global pandemic. I owe so much to him, the salve that healed my wound, and the door that opened to a new room filled with love, laughter, and a corner for me as I am. Today is also the day that is celebrated across the globe as the day that our Savior, the One who really saved us all, died at the hands of the oppressor. John Prine sang my song, spoke to my life through music. Jesus saved my soul and taught me love is all that matters. The Easter bunny, well, who knows? He hips and hops along, and mischievously plants eggs for the innocents to find. I follow him too… The meaning of all these cross-sections at this season is beyond me, I just know it is all somehow true. So today I embraced it…one of those grand days that did not require a punched clock or agenda to be fulfilled. Let’s get out the paints, put on some John Prine music and see where the day takes us/me. Which is to now. So here are my Easter Baskets. There is not a chocolate bunny to be found on the grocery shelves, so I have some generic candy tucked in the lovely spring grass. Happy Easter everyone, I hope you embrace all the love and magic it has for us all. Stay well!

Recipe: follow the numbers from the image attached:

1 - Grow rye grass 4-5 weeks ago. Trim until desired shape for Easter

2 - Push pin a hole through smaller end of egg. Push pin hole through larger end of egg. Insert a toothpick and wiggle back and forth to try to loosen insides. Blow from smaller end out of larger end til all yolks and yucks are gone. You can scramble these for breakfast tomorrow if you like.

3 - Showing you the larger hole here. After the eggs are empty, clean them, let them dry over night. There may still be some residue in the morning, re-wipe the shells before getting started on coloring.

4 - Get out your painting supplies. I used water color pencils and watercolor paint.

5 - Practice sketching on paper, also on eggs, curved surface is a little different. I’m not an artist, but this is really fun, give it a trial run first, then go for it!

6- Pencil sketch some of the figures on your eggs. Paint that and the surroundings. Let dry. I outlined some of the figures with sharpie marker after the paint dried. Set them upright to dry for a little while. Watercolor paints do not take long. 1 hour maybe.

7- Arrange the eggs in your baskets

8 - Add candy to the baskets…give to your favorite people.

Happy Easter Everyone xo

Blue. Azul. I'm feeling it.

Blue is the color of my eyes when they sparkle, the color of the sky and the water I love so much, the color of denim that I reach for daily in my wardrobe. My favorite. But as a feeling, not so much, and I’m feeling it today. I reach for the blue crayola and color the whale and the bird and the umbrella in my Spanish workbook. I realize there is alot going on in this mindless activity of coloring. Many skills are exercised, like recognition, sorting, following directions, developing fine motor skills, using imagination, to name the first that come to mind. I suppose the same could be said for the blues…there is most likely alot going on.

First of all, it’s raining. That raw, cold, soaking rain that seeps in deep, that breaks through the layer that was frozen not so many days ago. The awakening drink to the thirsty underground. Lifegiving. Somehow, the grayness, takes the sparkle and life away from me, like a knock on the door from an unwelcome visitor, that if I invite inside will stay too long, will seep into the depths of my humanity, which causes me to chase it away like my grandmother did, running after the taxcollector down the driveway with her frying pan in hand! So, chase I will. It takes effort. This is not a time to be nice.

Second of all, we are bound within our borders. Perhaps some, me included, have a little cabin fever. We have time on our hands, time spent with…the headlines, the reports of unemployment, sickness and death, an apex down the road, low stock of inventory, missing loved ones, despair…I guess that’s why they call it the blues. (Thank you Sir Elton)

For me, I’m going to fight it, do a little chasing of my own. Take some lessons from my coloring book and make some preparations for tomorrow…because I believe that the sun will come out then (thank you Annie).

RECIPE FOR TODAY:

Recognize what is emerging in your gardens. Assess what is coming back, what needs to be divided or moved, what spaces need to be filled for spring color. Take notes in a journal to prepare for next spring. If you are like me, you may also forget. Sketch and record.

Sort through your toolshed. Take stock of garden gloves, tools, potting soil; do your wheelbarrows need air in the tires? Make sure everything is clean, sharp and ready to use. Order some new gloves.

Follow directions on seed packets. Most seeds need to be started in a protected spot at this stage. Some can go directly in the garden now. I planted my peas on St Patrick’s Day. There is still time, but do it now.

Use your fine motor skills to drop seeds into the cells one by one.

Use your imagination to create a new garden - flower, herb, veggie or a combo; plant a beautiful window box to welcome spring. Add something blue to your beds - try amsonia, it’s a beauty! Blue pottery and a blue gazing ball are eyecatchers!

Contact me, I can help with your local projects.

Chase away the blues man…tell him to leave the package on the doorstep and drive away. Open the package when the clouds have lifted, the contents will look better then.

Amarillo is not just a city in Texas

Pronounced Am Uh Ree jYo, it is the color yellow in Spanish. I know this because I am working through the introductory pages of a Pre-K workbook of starter Spanish. I purchased the school book to work with my granddaughters when they came to stay with me at the first stages of isolation, school closings. My oldest is in the Spanish-immersion Kindergarten program in town, and I figured it would be a fun activity together to keep pace with her learning until this thing blew over. As it turns out, this thing didn’t blow over, and is most likely just getting started. The girls returned to their parents care and will not be coming back to me any time soon, as we maintain our distances…and I have an empty, unopened workbook. I figured, what the heck, broke out the crayons and started working my way through chapter one, colors.

Today’s color is amarillo, and as I look out the window and walk through the gardens, amarillo is busting out in pops and dots all around. Forsythia, daffodils, and the pollen of the crocus, all heralding the arrival of a new season, without reserve or isolation. During times of setback and adjustment, I take comfort in the trustworthiness of the seasonal cycles. The pollinators are on their way, some have already opened the doors of their winter homes. There are no restrictions on breathing fresh air or digging in the dirt or going for a stroll. No warnings to put your clippers down, so snip some daffodil stems and forsythia branches and bring some amarillo sunshine indoors.

RECIPE FOR TODAY: cutflower bouquet

Forsythia branch to force

Magnolia branch to force

Yucca leaves

Arrange in a large vase filled with water. I like to curl the yucca leaves under like ribbon candy. But play as you will, and have fun.

Adrift.

I feel relatively uninspired. The nations are restricting us people to our homebases to thwart the advances of Covid19, a global pandemic. During this isolation, the creativity of most is surfacing, embracing a new ration of time and space, an opportunity to paint, draw, laugh, dance, learn, write. It is a wonderful consequence. But me, I feel relatively uninspired, like a leaf being carried downstream atop a babbling brook, with twists and turns and the occasional obstruction of a fallen branch or outcropped rock to redirect or halt its course. It just “is”, adrift on something with power and force and direction, something other than itself. Yea, so that’s me, starting a blog, aimless and dependent on the flow of Him who carries me.

It’s not that I don’t have stories to tell…believe me, I do. Perhaps my pencil will reveal them in time. During days of uncertainty, the globe is literally being held captive by a novel coronavirus that has no cure and a contagious traffic pattern. In an effort to slow the commute to the ICU, many governments, the United States included, have restricted citizens to activity outside the home that is essential only. “Essential” may prove to be a big word down the road as mental health and financial well-being may enter the essential category to those healthy in body, but weakened in other aspects of being. I’m no expert, a mere leaf, remember; but I am curious how diverse the implications will be.

I became leaf-like, a floater, when my world changed dramatically not too long ago…though it feels like ancient history. Once self-directed and driven, now living quite simply with little anxiety and care, I don’t know how the transformation happened; perhaps clarity will come as I write more of the story. Since I am journaling as Suzy Sparkleberry, stepping back into her story, she begins here with a shovel, dirt overturned, and the sighting of her/my first earthworms of the season…perhaps making love and disturbed by my blade. My joy in seeing them wriggle brought me hope for a new season. Perhaps I disturbed their escape from an intruding outside world. Perspective, ah, perspective. So there I was pruning roses and giving their roots some homemade compost to break their fast. The forsythia are swelling, so the roses are expecting some attention. While I was sprinkling their driplines with an appetizer, the earthworms squirmed and tangled, and went back under the covers.

Other return visitors thus far have been the crocus, daffodils - the early ones, and hyacinth just getting started. I’ve raked out the tangled pachysandra and given a spring haircut to the perennials. The Easter grass is growing in baskets awaiting Resurrection Sunday when we may be forbidden to hunt. But we’ll have to see.

This week is a gray one, early spring rains. When the sun comes out, we will all shout hallelujah to welcome the joyous Spring landscape. Enjoy your new ration of time and space. I hope you are able to expend some of your newfound energy in the outdoors.

RECIPE for the week:

Rake beds on a dry day

Cut back perennials that have wintered in the garden

Prune roses and berries, compost the driplines

Cut stems of flowers getting ready to pop…enjoy in a vase indoors.

Take a good look, pause awhile

I have a story

My name is Suzy Sparkleberry and I have a story to tell.