The Lovely Lilac

When I was a child, each visit to my grandparents' house during the spring months involved at least a few hours playing in the long lilac hedge that grew on the eastern bank of her backyard. My brother and I would always end up amid the heady blooms and crawl up into the open spaces between the branches where we'd dream up imaginary worlds, new characters to inhabit and new stories to act out. Under the dangling purple blossoms, we'd lose ourselves in time and dreams.

In fact, lilacs hold a place of continued discussion - and some discord - in our family. My grandmother loved to grow them and had at least 15 trees in her backyard, plus one large one at the front. She would not, however, cut the blossoms for arrangements indoors, believing her mother's old superstition that having cut lilacs indoors brings bad luck. She never tempted fate and denied herself the beautiful display and sweet fragrance of cut lilacs on the living room coffee table. My father, a great lover of trees, resists the common lilacs the way he resists cologne. He finds their fragrance too heavy and dislikes their looks when they are not in bloom, which is most of the time: "Just a plain, weedy-looking tree," he concludes. While he may have a point about their Plain-Jane looks during most of the growing season, I cannot accept his assessment and I fully intend on having a lilac grove in my future yard.

Lilacs were first brought to North America by the Dutch and American settlers.

The lilac, a deciduous variety of shrub that can also grow to the height of a small tree, blooms throughout the spring, beginning in late April, throughout May and into the early days of June. The foliage of Syringa patula, the most common and most fragrant variety, turns a plum colour in fall. The beauty of lilacs is their hardiness and their easy care instructions. They are hardy from zones 2 to 7, meaning any lilac-lovers who have to suffer through long, cold winters will be rewarded by the arrival of those luscious blossoms come spring. (In fact, in order to bloom prolifically, the lilac requires several months of deep freeze, meaning those who live in tropical or sub-tropical regions have to go without these northern delights.) When the new season's sun begins to warm the earth, the lilac rejoices. They love full sun and rich, well-draining soil with neutral pH levels. The soil they grow in should be evenly moist and new seedlings will require deep watering for the first season of their lives in your garden.

Below are some photos of these virtuosities of spring.

Martha has a lilac named after her: Syringa vulgaris 'Martha Stewart' developed by Richard A. Fennichia. It is shown above in Martha's bouquet. It's distiguished by large clusters and its single-flower blossoms in bluish-pink tones.

In this bouquet, Martha's arranged a grouping of three different varieties to create a magenta spectrum.

Highland Park, above, in Rochester was developed by philanthropist Barry Ezwagner, who donated the 20-acre space to the county in 1888. Roughly ten years later the first lilacs began to bloom and the first annual Lilac Festival was held at the park, which is populated by dozens of fragrant lilac trees. Every year it attracts thousands of visitors, including one Martha Stewart. I imagine getting drunk on the perfume.... Martha planted an allee of lilac hedges leading to the tennis courts on her Bedford property. The varieties include both common and rare specimens, including several Korean examples.

The lavender shades of Martha's lilacs catch the brilliant springtime sun.

Colour, fragrance, foliage: not words traditionally associated with the bleakness of winter. But those attributes are easily attainable indoors. Many stores now are filled with forced-blooming flowers in pots, from hyacinths to crocus. I was seduced last week by a pot of hyacinth bulbs that were just starting to flower. Below you can see the welcome burst of colour and energy they bring to my living room. If only I could also convey the fragrance, which is beautifully intoxicating.

This is how the hyacinths looked last Friday. Below you can see the difference a week in bright light makes.

An added burst of colour to the living room.The fragrance of these multiple hyacinths fills the room with natural energy. A cyclamen grows in another corner of my living room. The delicate flowers hang like little baskets over the foliage.

The foliage of the cyclamen itself is stunning: a patterned leaf in light and dark shades of green.Crocuses are coming up in my living room too. Take that, Old Man Winter.

Eddie Ross: Former Senior Style Editor at Martha Stewart Living magazine, fourth top designer on the hit Bravo series Top Design (I can live with his design), avid flea marketer, overall fabulous New Yorker and, as it turns out, an incredible floral designer!

Every so often, Eddie will make a classic arrangement for the visitors of his blog, Eddieross.com, which I urge you to see, as gifts for their continued readership. (He puts me to shame!) I became so enamoured of his gorgeous flower arrangements over the last several months that I asked him if I could post them here on the blog. He happily obliged. Call it regifting, call it whatever you want, but I had to show off these visions of floral fabulousness on my blog. The series below seems to follow a beautifully linear, seasonal pattern, that is timeless and attractive. And let's face it, January is a viscious old month, making it all the more important to inject some colour and verve into our homes. Thank you, Eddie! You are a true talent.

Spring: There's nothing quite like a monochromatic grouping of classic roses in a cut-glass vase for a simple but dramatic effect. Eddie has arranged a bunch of this lavender variety perfectly!

Late Summer Arrangement: In a simple glass cylinder, Eddie used an exuberant mix of antique hydrangeas, roses, calla lilies, Scotch thistle and berries. Everything was inexpensive, but it's the colour palette—a soft, muted mix of burgundy, dark purple and peach—that makes the arrangement look so chic and expensive. Here's another one of Eddie's tricks of the trade: If you're using a mix of flowers, as he did here, all with stems of varying color and size, line the vase with a large variegated leaf. It makes for a look that's much prettier and more pulled together.

Late Summer Arrangement: The way these colors mix and play off one another—the punchy red, the muted green and the pale yellow—there's something very Hamptons 1940s beach casual about it. The glazed yellow McCoy vase was picked up at Sage Street. Thanksgiving Arrangement: The flowers themselves are inexpensive —a monochromatic mix of burnt orange roses, deco mums and astromerium from the deli around the corner from Eddie's apartment in New York —together with sickle pears from the super market and fall leaves from the sidewalk right outside his door. With the right color palette (seasonal and very subtle), a good mix of textures and an elegant vessel, found for $15 at a flea market, even the most inexpensive arrangement can look like a million bucks!
November Arrangements: Purpley mums in a gray-green pumpkin, which acts as a cache pot —it’s such an unexpected take on a classic fall arrangement.

For a more traditional take on pumpkin arrangements, stick to the orange kind. They're classic and straight-up pretty, especially paired with hypericum berries and dahlias in all the colors of the season. You know when you're watching a really beautiful sunset and it's those last few minutes just before the sun dips out of sight? The sky bursts into such vibrant colors—rich reds, yellows and oranges—just like these flowers!

Holiday Arrangement: In an antique milk glass compote, Eddie chose a sweet bouquet of white roses, Italian carnations and variegated boxwood, all from the local deli. For an even more elegant holiday feel, he added miniature glass globe ornaments in a frosted silvery gray. Please visit Eddieross.com for more flower arrangements, tips on entertaining, decorating and so much more.

Last year's amaryllis bulb was very, very kind to me. When I buy an amaryllis bulb and plant it, I do so with the intention of reusing the bulb the following year. A relatively unknown feature of the amaryllis is that the same bulb can be used perennially, provided you follow a few simple guidelines, which I'll explain below. Sometimes the reused bulbs cooperate and sometimes (often) they do not. This year, the bulb I had been keeping in storage for eight weeks, beginning in September, was very cooperative! Below are some photos I took yesterday of the towering plant, which is blooming just in time for Christmas.

The amaryllis is a Dutch variety called Minerva. It offers several large flowers with petals six to seven inches in length on a stem that can grow as high as 18 inches. Mine grew 14 inches this year.

A towering beauty! Amaryllis look so untouchable and powerful, and yet they're so resillient and hardy - not at all the fussy flower you think they would be. They require little water, lots of light and warmth, and coarse, well-draining soil.

Storing Amaryllis:

If you want to save your amaryllis bulbs and try to get them to bloom the following year, follow these instructions.

1.) Once the plant stops blooming, cut off the long stem but allow the foliage to continue to grow throughout the winter and summer months. Amaryllis foliage is not the most attractive (long, plain leaves that sprout from the bulb) so I often put the potted bulb on the balcony in the summer, making sure it gets lots of sun. Keeping the leaves on the plant allows the bulb to store up much-needed energy prior to its dormant phase.

2.) Water the plant regularly, as you would a house plant - keeping in mind that amaryllis likes its soil on the drier end of the spectrum, but never bone dry. (When planting amaryllis, the soil should be well-draining with a healthy proportion of sand. Martha Stewart recommends a combination of well-rotted compost, coarse sand and vermiculite in a ratio of 3:3:2.)

3.) In September, cut off the leaves and place the pot in a cool, dark place for up to eight weeks. This is the plant's dormant stage. Do not water the plant at all during these eight weeks and allow it to rest. This mimics the African dry season.

4.) The first week of November, remove the bulb from its soil and place it in a fresh batch of soil mixture. Discard the old soil. Water it well. This will restimulate its growth. Place the bulb in bright sun. A south-facing window is ideal. The warmth of the sun will further provoke the bulb to begin to grow again.

5.) Water every week until the plant begins to bloom again. Once the blooms start, withhold water for a while. This will ensure constant blooming. When the soil is parched, water again.

If your amaryllis doesn't bloom a second time, do not despair. It seems to me that reused amaryllis are a bit temperamental and it takes the perfect conditions (which you can not always control) and a healthy dose of luck for the plants to bloom a second time. I've had several no-shows in the past. Often the bulb will only yield several leaves and an awkward looking stalk, if anything at all. But give it a try. Last year's blooms were bigger and brighter, but I was still very surprised and delighted by this year's results!

I’ve always been a fall guy. The crispness in the air, the layered fashions, the rustic colours of the leaves and the season’s deep, harvest flavours all enliven me in a way no other season does. But fall’s true jewels are the brave and hardy flowers that seem to defy the coming of frost with their brave blossoms. Asters and chrysanthemums are my two fall favourites and I’ve wasted little time filling my balcony (and even my bedroom) with potted mums. Below is a summary of chrysanthemum information I hope you’ll find useful and interesting. Most of it was garnered from the National Chrysanthemum Society of America, a site you ought to visit if you’re as much a mum enthusiast as I am: http://www.mums.org/

These ones are on my balcony at the moment. I love the warm rust colour. So very fall!

The chrysanthemum was first cultivated in China as a flowering herb and is described in writings as early as the 15th Century B.C. In fact, some of the earliest Chinese pottery depicted the chrysanthemum. As an herb in ancient China, it was believed to have the power of life. Legend has it that the boiled roots were used as a headache and flu remedy; young sprouts and petals were eaten in salads; and leaves were brewed for a festive drink. The ancient Chinese name for chrysanthemum is "Chu." The Chinese city of Chu-Hsien (which means Chrysanthemum City) was so named to honor the flower.

Around the 8th century A.D., the chrysanthemum appeared in Japan. So taken were the Japanese with this flower that they adopted a single flowered chrysanthemum as the crest and official seal of the Emperor. The chrysanthemum in the crest is a 16-floret variety called "Ichimonjiginu." Family seals for prominent Japanese families also contain some type of chrysanthemum called a Kikumon – "Kiku" means chrysanthemum and "Mon" means crest. In Japan, the Imperial Order of the Chrysanthemum is the highest Order of Chivalry. Japan also has a National Chrysanthemum Day, which is called the Festival of Happiness.

Recently at the New York Botanical Gardens, the largest kiku exposition in North America was held, with stunning examples of Japanese mums, trained to grow in unusual forms, including dramatic, cascading mums that all grow from a single stem, like these ones below.

Japanese examples of chrysanthemums at the New York City Botanical Gardens last year.

Since the chrysanthemum was first introduced into North America during colonial times, its popularity has grown such that mums now reign as undisputed "Queen of the Fall Flowers."
Chrysanthemums come in a wide variety of colors, including white, off-white, yellow, gold, bronze, red, burgundy, pink, lavender and purple. Mum plants can grow to be 2-3 feet high, depending on the cultivar and growing conditions. Chrysanthemums also come in many flower forms; that is, chrysanthemums are often grouped by the shape and arrangement of their petals. The most popular flower form is the "decorative," which is so packed with long, broad petals that you can hardly see its center.

These ones are in my bedroom. I love it when the morning sun hits them through the window.

Growing chrysanthemums in the garden requires getting a few things right; they're fussier to grow than many other plants.

In the North, it all begins with buying cultivars that are hardy mums in your area. Potted chrysanthemum flowers are sold by the millions at nurseries in fall, because they've become a staple for outdoor fall decorating. The chrysanthemum is the third highest-selling potted flower in North America, after geraniums and poinsettia, coming in at $68.9 million in sales in 2004. These are not necessarily cultivars meant to be grown locally. Most of the ones you see in nurseries and grocery stores this time of year are shipped in from greenhouses. Also, because these chrysanthemum flowers are bought specifically for autumnal displays, many people often fail to plant them early enough to allow the chrysanthemums to become established in the garden: they should be planted at least 6 weeks before a killing frost, and even that may not be soon enough.

Many people, however, do have great success planting potted mums in the ground, as shown in the two photos below of my mom's front garden. My parents have a little row of mums in their front garden that comes up year after year. My mother adds to it each year with another potted mum.

Still, it's wiser to buy mail-order mums (single-stemmed rooted cuttings) from a catalog and plant them in spring, rather than planting potted mums you've purchased in fall. In a good catalog, you have all the relevant information in front of you. Also, spring planting gives the plants longer to become established.

While chrysanthemum flowers hold up against light frosts, be mindful that hard frosts will damage the blooms.

So, add some fall flavour to the front steps, the balcony, or even indoors, and enjoy some cool-weather colour with chrysanthemums.

With an estimated 12,000 species on the planet and a history that predates the Dinosaurs, ferns may just be the luckiest plants alive. Having survived over 360-million years of evolution, they are still among the most beautiful and resilient foliage plants. They are found in every continent, except Antarctica, and vary greatly in size - from the gigantic tree ferns of New Zealand (Cyatheales) to the tiniest of rock ferns (Polypodium virginianum) found in dryer, cooler climates like Northern Canada.

I like them outdoors as well as indoors. I distinctly remember asking for a Boston fern for my tenth birthday. I was inspired by the fern that belonged to my friend Ryan's mother, which hung on a large planter in her living room. It was enormous, filling an entire corner of the room with its numerous fronds. Much to Ryan's surprise, I would spend at least a few minutes with that fern, admiring it and asking his mom how she grew it. It was my uncle who stepped up to the plate and got me my fern for my tenth birthday. I had it for a few months, but it very quickly died. (Plants and ten-year-olds don't often mix.)

Since living on my own, however, I have always had a fern, and I probably always will. They're just the classic houseplant and I'm a sucker for their elegance.

At the family cottage all kinds of ferns grow in the woodlands. I'm an admirer of these wild, Ontario species, too - especially the maidenhair.

THE LIFE OF A FERN: The unusual spawning methods of ferns hint at their resilience. Fern fronds fan out from a root structure that germinates from spores shed by fertile adult plants. Tiny pods called sporangia form under the leaves, sometimes in clusters called sori. These pods contain the spores that will allow the fern to reproduce. The spores will fall to the soil below and, given sufficient levels of moisture, will form into something called a gametophyte – a fern’s embryonic stage. The gametophyte will then fertilize itself and develop into an adult plant.

One of the reasons ferns are so successful and occupy such diverse regions of the globe is their ability to reproduce in multiple ways. The gametophyte – or embryonic fern – does not necessarily need to fertilize itself to grow into a fully grown fern. A process called apogamy sometimes allows the gametophyte to grow in drier areas where a lack of moister prevents fertilization. Ferns can also spread from their root structures (rhizomes) or from the tips of any stems that happen to be touching moist and energy-rich soil.

My favourite Maidenhair fern, which grows at the entrance to our cottage laneway. Each stem carries several fronds, which branch out like little helicopter propellers.

Ferns are niche plants, meaning they grow only in particular habitats. Damp patches of mulched earth under filtered sunlight are the ideal growing conditions for ferns. The soil must be loamy and moist, protected from dehydrating factors like direct sunlight and wind. Ferns commonly grow near fresh water (creeks, riverbanks, lakeshores) or in highly humid areas, such as under a forest canopy where they are sheltered from dryness and too much light.

Of the 150 kinds of ferns that grow in Ontario, the most common ones surrounding our cottage include the Marginal Shield Fern (Dryopteris marginalis) which is a relatively large plant with silvery leaves and very pronounced sori on the undersides and the rock fern (Polypodium virginiadum) which is defined by its tiny fronds and cramped living quarters on the rippled shoulders of large rocks.

A beautiful Ostrich fern frond, down near the lake. They are the most common ferns around the cottage and easily propogate themselves.

As mentioned, my personal favorite is the maidenhair fern (Adiantum pedatum) which looks like a cluster of helicopter propellers or verdant fireworks emerging from shadowy spaces in the open forest. Oak ferns (Gymnocarpium dryopteris) are another unwavering staple of the forest floor, almost floating like parasols hung from tall stems above a mulch of fallen leaves and moss. Fiddlehead ferns or Ostrich ferns (Matteuccia struthiopteris) are perhaps the most common in Ontario gardens but are actually rarer in woodland locations. These ferns prefer more sun than others and their soil slightly less moist.

Since the growth around the cottage has very few flowering plants, I opt to arrange fern fronds instead, clipping a few stems to make a green statement. I'm always possessed by the spirit of Martha every time I arrange any sort of flower or greenery. If it's not good enough for a room in Lily Pond or Skylands, it's not good enough for our little cabin. In the photo above I used my Maidenhair and put a long Marginal Shield fern frond in as a sort of "feather in the cap" finale. If all you've got is ferns or greenery outdoors, beautiful arrangements are still a viable option.

Indoors, I also love the Boston fern. It can grow very large and they're relatively easy to care for. The three keys to remember when caring for ferns indoors are bright light, porous soil and even moisture. They do not like direct sunlight. They can tolerate a few hours of morning or afternoon sun, but that's about it. The rest of the time, they like bright, indirect light. They would be ideal in an East or West window. The soil should be a mixture of peat and soil with a layer of small stones or pottery shards at the bottom of the pot to ensure good drainage. The soil should always be evenly moist. Never let the soil dry up between waterings, but don't over-water it either. I usually water twice a week and mist the leaves. Feed sparingly every six months. If you're going to repot, it's best to do it in the fall. I plan to repot mine next month, as it's growing too big for its current container...lucky survivor that it is.

My Boston fern resides outdoors all summer in a semi-shady spot on the balcony. I love it when the breeze catches some of its foliage and it makes that whispery hiss. I just feel instantly relaxed.

In September I replanted the fern in a bigger pot and brought it indoors. The container was salvaged from a 1969 office building slated for demolition. Since my apartment building was built in the same era, I thought it brought a nifty retro-modern element - not to mention plenty of room for the fern to grow.

They bob playfully on summer breezes, illuminate landscapes with polka-dot allure and consistently remind me of blue-haired old ladies with perms. They are hydrangeas – one of the oldest and most cherished stalwarts of the traditional garden. I adore them.

They are out in force now. Having begun their sunny blooms in mid-July, they will last almost until the end of August, gussying up the gardens of their fans with their glorious orbs of flowers. The virtues of the hydrangeas are too numerous to count: they do well in sunny spots and partial shade; they thrive in warm planting zones and cool ones, depending on the variety; they look stunning in flower arrangements as fresh flowers and can be easily dried for dried-flower arrangements.

I suppose the only real downside to the hydrangea is that it is without any scent. It seems to me a cluster of blooms like that really ought to be as fragrant as they are showy. But, alas, they are fragrance free.

One of the best sources I’ve found on the web about caring for hydrangeas is called, quite simply “Hydrangeas! Hydrangeas!” at http://www.hydrangeashydrangeas.com/. There you will find tips on pruning, planting, fertilizing, cutting, drying and arranging hydrangeas, as well as a comprehensive description of all the various types of hydrangeas that exist, their planting zones, their special care instructions and galleries of their long-lasting blooms. If you’re a hydrangea lover, as I am, I urge you to visit the site and get the details on your favourite varieties.

I was surprised, actually, to learn just how many different varieties of hydrangeas exist, from mopheads to the larger oakleaf, all the way to climbing varieties. You can even change the colour of your hydrangea blooms by altering the acidity of the soil, although it is apparently not easy. It is much easier to change the colour from pink to blue than it is from blue to pink, I’ve read, and even with soil amendments there is no guarantee the plant will respond. (White hydrangeas, by the way, will always be white. Don’t expect miracles!)

Below are some photographs I’ve taken of some of the hydrangeas in my neighbourhood. Most of them are white “Annabelle” varieties, the most common hydrangea. Below these are images of the more elaborate, rarer varieties, which are so beautiful.


Above, is the typical "annabelle" hydrangea, planted in a long row next to some flowering hostas. Below is the more sturdy, tree-like "oakleaf" hydrangea, which has long, cone-like floral stems. This one stands about nine feet tall.

When I visited Margaret Roach's garden in 2005, her garden shed was nearly obscured by a climbing hydrangea. She's since told me that the painters who recently revamped the buildings on her property tore them all up! She wasn't too pleased.

Below are photos from the Hydrangeas! Hydrangeas! website - some of the more colourful varieites. Martha grows huge numbers of the frillibet and nikko blue varieites shown here at her Lily Pond Lane house in the Hamptons.

I just love the variegated blossoms on this "harlequin" variety, as well as the dark reddish foliage. The "amethyst" beside it is also lovely.
These ones below are part of the "lacecap" hydrangea family. I'm not crazy about them, but they're certainly unique.

I love ivy. I always have. Something about the way its tendrils wind and curve around anything they touch. There is something loving about that 'reaching out' and 'embracing' in its nature, something about its foraging and striving to expand that seduces me. And ivy leaves are so elegant and beautiful - especially the variegated types. Ivy indoors was adored by the Victorians, who popularized it as a houseplant. It's been portrayed in art and used in numerous decorative ways, inside and outside. As a foliage plant, it is one of the most popular and beautiful. Pots of ivy are often hung from the ceiling so that their tendrils dangle down, but I prefer them grounded on shelves.

I grow standard versions of ivy (hedera helix) and variegated 'Gold Child' hedera helix. I mix them up in pots and planters and mass them together on one shelf to create a cascading effect. The texture looks wonderful. I also intersperse the planters with ornaments, like black Wedgwood jasperware, antique silver containters and decorative orbs.


Ivy does best in bright, indirect light. The plants do not like full sun and can tolerate low light. The key is keeping the soil consistently and evenly moist. They can stand a misting now and then, too. They like the room temperature to be on the cooler side of the spectrum, so keep them away from heaters in the winter. Placing them on shelves, or suspended from the ceiling, is ideal.

A mass planting of ivy on one of the shelves in the living room.

A black and white decorative orb with tendril designs is tucked in among the foliage.

Black Wedgwood jasperware and an antique silver container make a little vignette next to larger planted pots. The plant pot on the right is one that I made in ceramics class and finished in a 'mother of pearl' glaze, which gives it some shimmer.

This is my favourite ivy plant. It's the "Gold Child' variegated type. It's healthy and large and grows exactly as I want it to. The ballister in the corner of the room, by the way, is from my grandfather's first home. It was saved before the house was torn down in the '60s. It has been preserved and passed down, generationally. I painted it in a soft cream tone.

I also grow ivy in my bedroom. I purchased a plain wicker basket at Michael's and painted it a dark charcoal, to match the shelves, lined it with plastic and planted the ivy in it.