Copyright 2009 Maria von Brincken. To use photos or text please contact maria@mariavonbrincken.com
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I planted the ligularia (L. dentata ‘Othello’) because of its wonderful heart leaf shape and purplish greenish coloration (more purple in spring–more green in summer). It gives contrast and texture midst the hostas. I’d seen it in flower in other gardens, but never watched the flower unfolding.
See the pod-like shape in the lower part of the photo? That encases the bud (and maybe technically is part of it ). Anyway, it opens to reveal the tight round bud. See it with the yellow peaking out? Then, the first of the flowers opens. If you look closely you’ll see other flowers underneath. I’ll have to watch to see if all open and come forward together to make a huge yellow mass or if each waits til the one opens and goes by before taking it’s place on center stage.
This kind of revelation doesn’t happen causally. From a distance you perceive color and form, but it’s up close that you find this kind of magic. I discovered this remarkable flowering while I was dead-heading a near-by hosta. Since then I’ve been visiting daily to see what happens next. Small entertainment, but something special and magical just entered my life.
 Astilbe, Hosta, Iris The back garden path all-but-disappears by mid-summer. This is not a mistake, but intended. By the sixth month it becomes a path of lush abundance. Not unlike the journey in many Japanese gardens where you are forced because of the unevenness of the stone path to look at down your feet and thus encounter something not seen when looking forward. When designing this narrow area I wanted an abundant look in summer, a winter pattern of stepping stones, and a way to ‘tip toe thru the tulips’ so to speak. Thus on a practical lever I could access the plants for dead-heading and weeding, and on an experiential level I could journey thru lush abundance and notice details not evident from the overall view of the garden. The path presents an unique opportunity to appreciate the richness of texture and form in layer upon layer.
The “Daylily Garden”, so named because of the predominant genus, contains other plants, too. The “others” serve as compliments in form, texture, or color and carry the garden’s succession of bloom, texture, and form combinations into other months. Even though there are daylilies (hemerocallis) planted in this garden that bloom in August or September–most color this part of the garden in the seventh month.
The wonderful or not-so-wonderful aspect of daylilies is that they need constant dead-heading and scape removal as they “go bye”. Wonderful because it forces me into the garden early morning (too hot later in the day for me) wherein I end up marveling at the sheer beauty and variety of color and flower shape in their amazing individual details. Gives me the opportunity to inhale the sweet fragrance of the Daphne blooming not too far away and move in symphony with the bird calls and the sound the tree leaves make.
In other words, the task of cleaning the daylilies brings me into the “presence” of the garden. And those moments end up being ones to savor and remember as I enjoy the garden later in the day and appreciate the shifting light on the colorful forms.
 Gaillardia, Hemerocallis, Veronica With a bit of water the garden flourishes in this high heat and humidity, even while I wilt. This happy combination joyously greets me as I return and sends me off with a smile.
 Hostas and Daphne The back garden’s on a lower level–great to see from my office and the shady refuge of the lower patio–but not visible directly from the first floor. However, I’ve learned deck rail viewing. Nice mornings I enjoy coffee on the deck and view the gardens from above. I love the tapestry created by the plantings. I also have a great view down from my third floor window to the daylily garden–wonderful to view with each day’s rising. When I designed the garden, I knew that I would see it from above but the same principles of drifts and masses, form, repetition, texture that work on the ground plain work from above as well. Even in this heat wave I can enjoy the garden.
 Symphony in texture and color Driving north yesterday, listening to NPR interview a magician, my attention stopped at his words “a day without wonder is a terrible day”. Yes! I often refer to the ‘magic’ of the garden and being open to its’ wonder’. Each day as the garden lives its’ life of photosynthesizing and reproduction, we have the opportunity to wonder. I hope you set aside different times of day to wander about and use our human capacity for wonder. At this time of year, so much fills that category of experience in my garden. A couple of many images reveal the astonishing feat of a garden–a day filled with wonder.
A warm summer twilight lured me to the lower gardens to witness astonishing shadows, highlights,and color nuances. Watching the shifting patterns of light and dark reveling in leaves, flowers, textures, forms, and colors became a joyous Solstice eve celebration. No photos but a memory of enjoyed garden moments. Today is the summer solstice and the longest day of the year. Think I’ll return to the garden again tonight unless the predicted thunderstorms keep me inside. Below is the pick of the week from the garden. Lately so many lovely garden moments I’m thinking of posting more frequently. We ‘ll see.
 Pink Astilbes  abundance of the garden comes inside--pink Fairy Rose
 - Spring Anemone Steals the Show
Plant Anemone canadensis when you want to carpet a large area. Too vigorous for a small spot in a border. Here it works to echo the shape of the long narrow walk as it directs your attention to the garden below with its beckoning color and texture.
Meanwhile, I’m challenged to dead-head the garden. The bearded iris have gone by and need a quick snip. Finally, managed to find the time to buy summer annuals for the containers and I’m flumuxed by violent thunder showers. As I watch the weather report, I’m not the only gardener flumuxed by the weather. So I will enjoy the views out my windows–the New Dawn Rose- budding and opening on the trellis designed to screen my neighbor’s house–delights me. When it’s safe to venture outside, I’ll snap a photo. Meanwhile, the birds sing.
 Flowering Clematis with Early Morning Light Birdsong, streaming sunlight, happy plants greet me most mornings. For most of May, the white climbing clematis vine (is it alba or grandiflora?) treats me to its lovely floral display. With or without flowers, the vines connect my deck to my garden and the woodland view beyond. Below deck, it’s wonderful as well. I enjoy it from my office and the lower patio. The photo below is taken from a side path.
 Vertical Gardening Frames and Adds
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