Archives for category: decoration

But then cliches are cliches because they touch on certain truths. The truth of this photograph being that it’s almost impossible to take a close up with the iPad’s miserably inadequate lens because iPad’s fovea is not the center of the screen but the top left, or bottom left, or top right, or bottom right, depending on which way you’re holding it.

Just as I took this photo the sun came out, so in a half-an-hour the line of droplets along the vein of the leaf will have been gone.

The rain:

I figured I’d better get at least the bushes into the ground ASAP, so I planted the Rosa Rugosa immediately; no rosebush can possibly be truly happy with its roots in sawdust wrapped in plastic. I used the same process I used for the trees, so if anything fails, it will not be for want of consistency: Hole big enough to fit all roots without bending them (how would you feel?), hole deep enough so the crown is level with “the ground,” seafood compost packed tightly round the roots, clay-y soil cap over the compost, and enough water. (I put the hose nozzle right into the soil and blast; when the soil moves, I know there’s enough water. And never too much. Because I don’t think there can be too much.)

And here is a close-up of one of the roses, showing some compost, the clay cap, and, above all, the thorns. These thorns, just like the raspberries’ thorns, form a living fence against invasive animals: Humans who want to walk in the garden, and the occasional deer who wanders across the street.

This set of chimes is more like a mobile of miniature garden tools. I thought I’d record them today, and see whether their sound and motion instrumented wind speed and direction.

But no, not really. The prevailing wind is from the north (to the left in the clip) but this afternoon it was gusty and shifty, as you can infer in the clip from the movement of the chimes.

You can see the wind tighten and release the tension in the mobile, just as it does the tension of the honeysuckle vines. And at the end, you hear some soft chiming.

What you really hear, though, is traffic: The rising and falling swish of passing cars. You don’t hear the wind at all, and you hear the chimes barely. But in “real” life, I don’t hear the traffic at all. Some autonomous subsystem blocks it out.

This is my picture of the “little library” that I presented on at Maine Soup. I’m of two minds about roses: Roses would be pretty and welcoming. Except at Japanese beetle time. I’m told, however, that a soil amendment of mussel shells will weaken their chitinous mandibles, causing them to starve. Not very Buddhist, but dammit, they’ll be eating my roses (and blighting the raspberry leaves, as they did last year).

The library itself needs to be a permanent, water- and weathertight structure, that can be decorated, either with paint or art. It should have a door that opens and closes, transparent to show the books. It needs to be classy and not funky, so others adopt the idea.

* * *

This is my second Paper sketch ever. I tried to sketch some squash mounds, but I can see I don’t yet have the visual vocabulary to draw, well, gardens. Practice!

Last summer I got this cast-iron ladybug at Parks, and hid it away under the hostas. I like hiding little animals in the front flowergarden, because it’s close to the sidewalk, so I imagine pedestrians, and especially children, making a game of spotting the animals in the light and shade. And sometimes, I move the animals around….

Anyhow, at some point last fall the ladybug disappeared from its rock. And I assumed that a pedestrian had taken it; perhaps a minor trophy for a frat-boy, or sheer and hopefully random ill-will.

Well, the ladybug was there all the time. I don’t know how it got knocked off its rock — perhaps the plows from that very early first snow? — but that’s what must have happened.

So the world is a little bit brighter than I thought it was; and my eyes are a little bit worse than I thought they were.