Fleur-de-Eagle

“The eagle has landed.”

When that text comes across my phone screen, I know I’m in for a treat.

I open the front door, and there, on the mossy edge of the entrance planter, is a very special delivery.

I think it started back in 2018, after my first ankle surgery.  Chris had gone through a similar surgery six months before. She knew it would be a tough recovery. But every recovery is best with chicken soup—a container of which was sitting on the planter. 

Many of my Master Gardener friends made sure I didn’t have to cook dinner during those weeks, but Chris continued.  I know she has a soft spot in her heart for my mom. That was partly why these Eagle Landings continued. But the obvious reason is that Chris is a doer.  A giver.

In her real job, Chris helps manage a flood-and-fire restoration service when disaster strikes Central PA homes and businesses. I used to think she had a crockpot bubbling on her counter day in, day out.  Now I’m sure she has several.  She cooks for family. She cooks for friends.  She helps at her church community café.  One morning, a few years ago, my mom and I stopped at the Boalsburg Fire Hall for their Pancake Breakfast.  Guess who was there? Yep, Chris and Bob (in all fairness, I must give a shout out to her husband who does his share of giving).

Over the years Chris has delivered chicken casserole, cheesy-zucchini bites, breakfast strata, beef stew, vegetable soup, Trader Joe’s pastry ring, coffee cake breakfast box, and other meals I’ve forgotten.  When I thank her, Chris says dismissively, “Oh, it’s Souper Sunday” or “It’s National Use Zucchini When You Cook Day.”  And there have been Eagle drop-offs of tulip and daffodil bulbs, ornamental kale containers …

Then came Dec. 23. A giant, double-handled shopping bag was sitting on the planter.  ‘Tis the Season it said on one side, Deck the Halls on the other. Inside was a black tub filled with greenery and flowers, stems at least 2 feet long, popping out the top of the bag.  

The instructions were simple: Don’t leave out overnight.  Put in the garage or somewhere cool but not freezing.  We’ll Zoom tomorrow.  Make sure you have a pair of hand pruners within reach.

Christmas Eve came and Chris, another friend, Jo, and I met on Zoom. I was sitting in the atrium (tile floor for easy cleanup) ready to go. Jo, an interior designer, already snapped her green grid floral pillows together to form rounded discs and had started arranging.  I hadn’t even noticed the small bag of cup-shaped, round green plastic grids and had no idea what I was supposed to do with the things.  My head is always in the flowers.

“You love growing plants and cutting flowers to stick in a vase, but arranging? That has never been your forte,” says a little voice in the back of my head. “It’s Christmas Eve. No one is coming to the house.  What have you got to lose?” I silently coach myself.

Years ago, I heard and memorized the mantra for designing containers: Thrillers, spillers and fillers.  Same goes for free-form floral arrangements.

Chris sticks to the basics. She suggests I snap my two “halves” of the green grids together.

Looks like a green spaceship. 

The first rule is that no green foliage, needles, etc., should touch water. OK, makes sense.

We have 4” and 6” grids.  Chris told us the day before to find bowls/jars with 4” or 6” openings.

Next, select the greens—the Fillers—and stick them through the grid, some at a diagonal, some straight, etc., until you build a framework of a spray of greenery. We have pine and yew and cedar boughs, boxwood, rosemary, and sprays of silver dollar eucalyptus.  I trim off leaves and needles and stems, and poke each branch through the grid. 

“Oh, look at that.”

“A variety of textures, that’s good.”

“That’s the way.” 

“I like how the cedar droops naturally.”

“The eucalyptus smells so good.”

“What is this spiky green with leaves that are almost shaped like thorns?” (We never figured that out.)

Eventually the Fillers and the Spillers are arranged. 

“Where’d you get all of these greens?”

“Oh, around. In the yard. Foraging. Trader Joe’s.”

Then come the Thrillers. There are bunches of baby’s breath (also a filler if you want to get picky), carnations, Star-of-Bethlehem (on Christmas Eve, of course), and giant protea buds.  Wow, this is really fun! 

As we work, Chris explains that the beauty of this bouquet pillow cage is that it rests on top of the container, with lower stems in the water.  When it’s time to refill the vase with cold water, you simply lift the bouquet in one hand, refill the vase with water, and place the bouquet back on top. 

In preparation for her daughter’s wedding, Chris watched a video with Holly Chapple, creator of these floral pillow or puff cages.  They come in 4”, 6”, 8” and 10” sizes, along with other floral design supplies (just Google and have your credit card ready).  The beauty of these cages is that wedding designers can pack up their expensive vases after a wedding or event, but allow participants to take a bouquet in a cage home so they can keep enjoying the arrangement by easily plopping it in their own vase.

We chat and arrange and create several bouquets. Jo shows us how hers looks on her dining room table. Exquisite, as always.  Leftover stems and trimmings slip into a bud vase or two, not wanting to waste any of the green in December. We are having so much fun!  There is even talk of this becoming our “side gig” someday.

Well, maybe.  I already have a side gig lined up for February and March … and that’s a whole other story.  Laurie Lynch

Flower Messages:  Baby’s breath (everlasting love), white carnation (sweet and lovely), Star-of-Bethlehem (purity) and protea (courage). If you’re looking for a book to read this winter, find a copy of The Language of Flowers by Vanessa Diffenbaugh.

Written on Slate: “Moss is selected to be the emblem of maternal love, because, like that love, it glads the heart when the winter of adversity overtakes us, and when summer friends have deserted us.”  Henrietta Dumont, The Floral Offering

Fleur-de-2Fisted

We’ve all heard of a two-fisted drinker. 

Well, this winter I’ve been a two-fisted reader. 

In one hand, Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times.  In the second, See You in the Piazza: New Places to Discover in Italy.  Or it might be better to say that while hunkering down this winter I was caught I the middle of dueling May(es). 

It’s been a study of contrasts. The first for centering and introspection; the second, for escape and delight. Both are necessary for a woman (or man) of a certain age (or any age, really.)

Katherine May had some life-altering events to deal with and let reflection, adventure, and literature lead her through her winter.  Frances Mayes (you may have read some of her other books, Under the Tuscan Sun andBella Tuscany) decided to leave the familiarity of her adopted Tuscan village and explore lesser known stops in Italy, starting in the north and drinking, eating, and exploring her way south to Sicily.

May leads the reader through an exploration of winter, from September to March, a few months shy of the typical hibernation of a dormouse—one of three native mammals to hibernate in the United Kingdom.  (Bats and hedgehogs are the others.)  She takes the reader on travels to Iceland, Stonehenge, Norway, and even chills out with a plunge into the Whitstable New Year Sea Swim.  Off she goes, to Narnia, Green Knowe and Moominland.

She writes about wolves—and the lessons we can draw from them. “In the depths of winter, we are all wolfish,” she writes. We are always hungry.  “A little craving might be a rallying cry for survival.”  Rather than trying to finalize our comfort and security, perhaps it is better to accept endless, unpredictable change, she suggests.

For me, one of the most fascinating sections of Wintering was Mays’ discourse on the “terrible threes”.  No, she’s not writing about toddlers.  Instead, it is an affliction I know all too well.

“The dark insomniac hours when my mind declares itself, fully fired, in the middle of the night,” writes May. “It always happens at 3 a.m.: a long way past late, but too early to surrender and start the day.”

Been there, done that. Night after night after night.

May makes sense of this phenomenon by researching the work of historian A. Roger Ekirch, who studied diaries and letters of people living before the Industrial Revolution.  They wrote of a normal night being divided into “first or dead sleep” and “second or morning sleep”.  In between, there was an hour or so of wakefulness, known as “the watch” when “Families rose to urinate, smoke tobacco, and even visit close neighbors. Many others made love, prayed and … reflected on their dreams, a significant source of solace and self-awareness.”  

It was a time when people went to sleep early, at first darkness, to save on candles.  Street lights didn’t exist. It sounds a lot like 101 Timber Lane in December and January.  As the sun sets, I might light a candle or two just to add an interior glow to the end of the day before I head back to a bath and bed.  Even though we have lights, I turn most of them off, power down my phone and computer, and settle in with just a bedside lamp for an hour or so of reading.  No wonder I’m up to experience the Terrible Threes.

“Here is another truth about wintering: you’ll find wisdom in your winter, and once it’s over, it’s your responsibility to pass it on,” writes May.

Meanwhile, who the heck cares about wisdom when you’ve got Italy?  But actually, Frances Mayes imparts such varied wisdom—historical, architectural, cultural—about the immense soul of a country not much larger than the state of Arizona.

“Pasta is the national anthem.”

“The music of many corks popping.”

“Aromas of pastry and bread exhale from open doorways.” 

Aren’t your senses just itching to escape as soon as this pandemic is over to enjoy the wisdom of travel?

If Italy is your desired destination, Buy This Book.  In the meantime, here are a few Frances Mayes’ vintage travel tips: 

–Look for a restaurant with a little bed symbol.  That means you can have a nice dinner, plenty of prosecco or vino, and not have to drive. You simply walk up the stairs to your room.

–If you suffer from Stendhal Syndrome (becoming overwhelmed by too much beauty), take a break and drink a cold glass of water.

–At a restaurant, if you are not sure about what to order, ask the waiter what he recommends. 

–Gold slippers.  One of Frances’ packing secrets.  Golden slippers signal glamour, she writes, and transform casual into dressy.

–And, take a not-so-subtle hint from “Franny’s” husband Ed.  He has a simple rule he wants carved on his tombstone: No checked luggage.

Cin cin!  Laurie Lynch

Written on Slate: “In the midst of winter, I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.” –Albert Camus

Fleur-de-ComfortFood

One of the consequences of living alone and not entertaining during a pandemic is that groceries last a lot longer.

The pomegranate seeds normally sprinkled on salads for a dozen family members gathered around the table on Christmas Eve were still sitting in a Tupperware box in January.  I had some on my salad on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.  Then, I made the discovery that they are great for topping a morning bowl of oatmeal—crunchy, juicy, sweet little morsels that pair well with chopped walnuts and a splash of milk.  As of a few days ago I was still mining that Christmas pomegranate.

And who could forget the chocolates?  It’s amazing how many days a box of Asher’s Assorted Chocolates will last with little ole me.  Every year two fellows from work, Joe and his son Luke, give each of the ladies in the office a box of Asher’s chocolates.  One Christmas the chocolates never made it into my mouth—Sandy III’s long snout found them under the tree, unwrapped the box, and, the rest is history.

Asher’s has been making chocolates since 1892.  The company started in the Philadelphia area five generations ago but they also have a plant in Lewistown, just over the Seven Mountains from State College.  I consider that local.  A pound box holds seven rows of four chocolates, each different, in white paper cups.  This holiday the box made it through Christmas Eve, Christmas, Boxing Day, New Year’s Eve, New Year’s Day, the full 12 Days of Christmas. It also taught me you can change old ways: I saved the best for last.

What a new year it has been.  A fellow I know went for a dental cleaning in Brussels.  He had a new dentist who asked him about his personal dental care—brushing, using a Waterpik.  The dentist then said, “You’re American, no?”  The fellow nodded in the affirmative. 

The dentist then warned him that he would have to floss in addition to using the Waterpik.  “You never know when you’ll get a chunk of hamburger stuck under your implant in between your other teeth that might be too big for your Waterpik to get out.” 

Given the current state of our nation, a little humor, even Belgian humor, is comfort food. Laurie Lynch