Since moving upstate I’ve been using my library a ton. The catalog is online and inter-library loan means I can request books from throughout the region and then walk a block to pick them up. No months of waiting followed by hours of heavy schlepping on the subway. I am liking the country life.

I’ve been devouring my way through unabridged recorded books (secret sanity-preservers for those of us who work with our hands) as well as glossy, gorgeous books on home improvement, knitting, baking, and of course gardening.

I was a little disappointed with Designing the New Kitchen Garden by Jennifer Bartley. I think she shot most of her pictures on overcast days and they are not quite as yummy as I’d like.

Then I turned the page and saw this.

Look familiar?!

I’ve never seen the book before; I designed my layout over the winter, doodling variations on graph paper.

My raised beds and the ones in the book are the same shape, the same width and length. The only differences are that my layout allows more room at the entrances and between the outer and inner beds so you can get a wheelbarrow through easily, and I have a path around the perimeter.

Jung’s theory of the universal unconscious is looking good to me. Patterns seem to be out there, waiting for us to reach out and find them.

Beware what you wish for – I have so much jewelry to make that I feel like I’m in a tightly choreographed dance, moving from beads to chores to paperwork and back. I am not complaining; it’s the good kind of busy, plus there’s cat play and coffee breaks, and excursions to the village board meeting and pilates class (variety is the spice).

In the middle of this twirling we’re going to Scotland and England to visit my family. A welcome break from the daily busy. Or at least it will be welcome once it’s here. I can’t wait for the moment when there’s nothing more I can do to prepare. Too bad if I’ve forgotten something; they sell toothbrushes in the UK. For this glorious “it’s too late” moment I have purchased yarn, and I plan to knit as many of these as I can. Mindless pleasure perfect for airport/airplane/visiting with relatives.

Since posting has been slim, despite my camera being full, before I leave I give you a little catch up of the past weeks here:

I made jam for the first time.

And it was good.

The kittens learned the value of a perfectly-sized box,

the importance of packing toys as well as yourself,

and the usefulness of recycled materials in lieu of those pesky packing peanuts.

The blight took out my solo tomato and all my potato plants.

My harvest was a few pounds of Dark Red Norland spuds,

and five green tomatoes which were respectfully chopped up and cooked into a chutney. (I’m hooked on canning.)

There were wonderful moments of feline détente between the young and the old.

Even, miraculously, between Miss Hissy and Maxie. (Actually I’m not sure that she knew he was there.)

And just in the last few days the leaves from the maples along the drive have taken flight.

As we’re about to do.

She is back. Every day. Usually in the morning when I’m making coffee, but sometimes mid-afternoon. For a second snack.

And she’s bringing her daughter. Who loves to play hide and seek in the forsythia bush and I suspect is the person responsible for sampling my “deer-resistant” perennials and the 2 magnolias I planted. Bless her rotten little polka-dotted soul.

My dreams of the perfect fence continue.

This summer is turning out weird. There was a foot of rain in June; four times the average. Crops are soggy and there are warnings about late blight. Needless to say that between the deluge and jewelry production there has been very little activity in the raised garden. But there has been some and I give you a picture of progress – soil in four beds.

I’m finding that heavy shoveling is a good balancing activity to teeny tiny beadwork.

In the last couple of days potatoes and calypso beans have started poking their heads above ground. I want to go out and pet them and do a little “I’m so happy you’re here” dance. It seems crazy-magical that I poked some dry beans and wrinkled potatoes into the dirt and now there are leaves sprouting. I can’t imagine that miracle ever gets boring.

We’ve had so much rain the last two weeks that I’ve yet to get the soil (a.k.a. mud) into my raised beds. These little peas were grown in a pot on the patio and are an absolute treat; fresh and tasty of themselves, and heralds of future food production.

Plus their shape is perfect – I’m sure there’s a jewelry design in there if I could just figure out how to make that structure out of beads…

Hmmm… days and days and no blogging? What’s up with that?!

I’ve been building my raised bed mandala of insanity. I have the blisters, sunburn, and hammer-bruise to prove it. Turns out it was way easier to draw on graph paper than to build. Figures.

But it is almost complete – M has hammered in the stakes (at great cost to his physical well-being), I’ve mulched the beds with cardboard and dried leaves, and I’m waiting for delivery of topsoil (delayed by truck woes) and chomping at the bit as June slips on and still no veggies in the ground.

Don’t tell me that filling the beds with soil and building the fence will be hard work; I’m not listening. Lalalalalalala!

Longwood Gardens is over 1000 acres of horticultural intensity.

Huge conservatories, an orchid house to die for, meadows, tree houses tucked into the forest of tulip trees, Versailles-worthy fountains, giant topiary…

We spent two days there and I feel like I just scratched the surface.
You should go.

In the end what struck me most were details.

The stonework everywhere:

Shapes and textures:

And the most beautiful Copper Beech tree I’ve ever seen:

I’ve come home with a whole lot of inspiration for the next jewelry designs. And an even longer list of “I need” plants than I had before.

We just got back from a little vacation in the Brandywine Valley of Pennsylvania. The highlight for me was visiting Longwood Gardens (although the new Star Treck movie was fun too.)

I’m going to post pictures of Longwood but in the meantime here are some pictures of someone who was discovered on the back patio a week ago:

Isn’t that the best belly?! The impertinence didn’t last long; we released him in a nice weedy patch out of sight of the hawk flying overhead.

Hand modeling thanks goes to Ellen.

I will not post a picture of the collection of seeds I have acquired this season, in an attempt to protect myself from the mocking laughter of all who know me. Let’s just say that my purchases have been ambitious.

I defend myself with the evidence that seed catalogs are very very pretty, and it’s not my fault I was given a book on heirloom melons, and anyway who can blame me for wanting any and all plants dating from when the house was built. On top of which it is extremely difficult to pass up seed when you live in a county sporting seed racks in every grocery and hardware store… so let’s move on.

I am willing to post pictures of my favorites, which are the seeds sent to me by gardening friends. It doesn’t get better than receiving Chrisi’s Magic Morning Glories:

Or the mail bringing a small box wrapped in hand-drawn paper and filled with these treats:

Coincidentally while unpacking some plant pots I found an envelope of calendula seed with matching handwriting, given to me by the same Michigan friend back in 1998 when we shared a garden, years before the children who illustrated my parcel were born.

I did a viability test, soaking the seeds on wet paper towel and hoping that against the odds they would have survived over a decade. They hadn’t. I’ll compost them, the envelope as well, so that they can play their part in the cycle after all.

Meanwhile the morning glories are soaking. It’s a full moon tomorrow.

The earliest of the daffodils I planted in the fall have been blooming for 10 days and are still going strong.

Early Sensation is just that, and is brilliant on the rainy days we’ve been having, shining bright and hopeful.

Indoors the first of 3 Benefica Amaryllis I received as a gift opened fully today. Deepest, most satisfying red.

Spring.