Wilson!

This morning it snowed, and didn't stop, as I listened to an episode of Radiolab that pointed me toward the work of Wilson Bentley, a VT farmboy photographer in the mid-19th century who documented hundreds upon hundreds of individual snowflakes. Like this one, and like these:

These tiny flowers are beyond my powers of instagramming. Especially because I haven't ventured out into them yet, preferring the ever-changing view below.

Notice how the snow is sticking to the bottom of that metal railing? Must be wet and somewhat warm then, right? I'm going out there right now.

"When a snowflake melted, that design was forever lost. Just that much beauty was gone, without leaving any record behind." -- Wilson Bentley

Nadir

Winter solstice henna application

On this solstice, with its rainbows and windstorms, power outtages and the long, dark, damp morning, I felt tucked quite literally into the deepest part of the earth. (I do live in a basement, but that isn't what I mean.) I woke before 6 am, in order to be awake for the actual solstice at 6:11, and couldn't help envisioning myself as a bulb of sorts, readying as placidly as possible for whatever comes next.

I've been thinking about the solstice of 2012 for over six years, ever since encountering Daniel Pinchbeck's 2012: The Return of Quetzalcoatl, in which he writes the following:

Perhaps undertaking the quest for prophetic knowledge, in itself, causes reality to shiver and shift, as new possibilities open like the petals of an extravagant, multidimensional flower.

 

As a species, we've long invested our powers of "prophetic knowledge" in plants. We trust that as we dig in compost or plant a seed or check the soil's moisture or watch the skies, we also guarantee the continuation of patterns we trust and rely upon. I know many of you will agree when I say that folks in the global North have generally divorced themselves from these patterns in recent history, and that many of our fears and our tragedies stem (yes, that is a pun) from the wound of that separation. That the patterns themselves have become less trustworthy is certainly salt in the wound, but I believe at base that we are an adaptable people.

 

. . . there's so much to write about this, but I'll rein it in and affirm my intention to remain attuned to Pinchbeck's "multidimensional flower" as it unfurls, and my excitement that so many individuals in my life are doing the same, in a multitude of ways.

Waiting for Wilder

After months of mailbox silence, I finally received my copy of Wilder Quarterly last week, and it's every bit as beautiful, as color-saturated, and as delightfully curated as I hoped it would be.

There's an article about the gardens of the original Catwoman, a poetic description of the famous moss gardens at Kokedera Temple in Kyoto, details about all the classic sweater types and a recipe for burnt oranges with rosemary. Not to mention the photos.

Wilder is not necessarily an exhaustive source of information, nor is it trying to sell you anything particular. It's not glossy, or matte, but somewhere in between. And it taught me just how geodes are made, which I think I've repeated to at least four people.

Plants of the House

On Wednesday I skipped out of the co-op in the middle of my shift and excitedly trailed Gayle through the aisles of Doran's, the wholesale florists' shop where we source our houseplants and cut blooms.

a perfect lady slipper with a big purple tongue

We inhaled a good deal of fresh chlorophyll and scooped up a big cart full of kalanchoe, ivy,  lady slippers, croton, little lemon cypress trees, ferns and a few wily bonzai, in addition to other things I've since forgotten. 

a lovely little kalanchoe

In this drab time of year, more temperate climates (like the one we seem to be moving toward) retain their green hues in mosses and grasses, but generally the outside world is gray//brown//beige during our Decembers.  Although everyone has killed at least one house-or-apartment-plant, they are really generally easy, and taking care of something so simple and beneficial certainly helps me feel more alive in wintertime.

one of these plants is currently receiving therapeutic care

If you're in need of some plants-of-the-house, let me know! I'll happily troll the aisles of Doran's for you, and I have a small stockpile of fancy pots as well. Email flowerscoutfarm@gmail.com with any inquiries or exclamations.

Scout & About

: : the first installation in a series in which I begin to scout for color the way a dog sniffs out . . . well, the way my dog sniffs out toast in the morning. With a voracious, hyper-active appetite, and lots and lots of crumbs.

 

This grainy portrait is none other than local friendliness enthusiast Raurri Jennings (two links there for your clicking), posing with a bouquet found in his own home during this week's Friendsgiving party. It contains some Gerbera daises, which are actually in the sunflower family, and a big sprig of cultivated goldenrod.

Goldenrod is a fantastic filler and, though you may have heard otherwise, will not make you sniffly or sneezy. Many people believe that they have an allergy, because goldenrod appears at the same time as its more subtle (and infinitely more evil) cousin, ragweed. So please, appreciate it without fear! G-rod doesn't get enough love.

Check back for more Scout & About in the near future. . .

Leftovers

So it's been Thanksgiving, one of the holidays that make up The Holidays, and here I am with a belly full of multiple plates of reheated harvest foods, happy for a number of reasons.

In the Flower Scout department, I'm glad to have had the opportunity to mess around with some vases and flora over the past few days.

It's nice to do some arranging, after a brief hiatus, and now that I'm back in town I find I'm eager to begin trolling the woods and streamsides of Troy for bushes and branches. Already I've stolen some bittersweet, the red berries pictured above, which frame the entrance to my new home at the CAC Woodside.

New home, old home: This coming-back is a chance to spend time in my childhood house (too much time?!), and also to return to a wonderful job in the produce department at the Honest Weight Food Coop, where on Wednesday Gayle hooked me up with the ingredients for this second bouquet, which includes two kinds of decorative "politically correct" (as she says) eucalyptus, mums, African Boxwood, and a gorgeous spiky grayish filler that I can't remember the name of.

I really don't like mums, but beggars can't be choosers in late November and these are actually kind of lovely ones. If you're in Troy//Albany//hereabouts and want to go search the forests for seasonal shapes and colors, email me at flowerscoutfarm@gmail.com, or comment on the Facebook page, or just call me if you have my digits. Let's get out there!

The Bulbs Abide

Yesterday I scored a lot of bulbs--a whole boatload of bulbs--at local gardening store, for half price. Half price! This is a great boon to Flower Scout's limited budget, and a sign that bulb-planting time is present/past tense. So today, in an effort to soak up sunlight and avoid the internet, which unfortunately cannot tell the future, I'm planting all of those bulbs in my parents' sandy front garden.

I've got some narcissus, tulips, giant grape hyacinths, two kinds of alliums, and an unbelievably beautiful fritillaria. And I've got a giant tub of ground cayenne, to keep the squirrels away.

I'm spacing them carefully with this trusty ruler, and I'm singing and digging and working to ward off nerves.

Please vote, everyone! 

Just think, by the time my fritillaria curl up out of the ground, we'll be in the future. We'll have seen some consequence of today's great decision-making, we'll have passed the historic solstice of 2012, will have braved winter storms and heretofore-unforeseen life-changing decisions, and all that while they'll be chilling out, patient and abiding, if the squirrels don't get them first,

which is a major reason why I heart farm.