Over the weekend, I was invited by Tourism Ireland to attend the kick-off dinner and private preview of the Philadelphia Flower Show. The Pennsylvania Horticultural Society heads up the event and festivities, and the show is the largest indoor flower show in the world. It is a wonderful touch of spring, particularly here in the Northeast where we have been pummeled with significant snowfall.

Countries from all over the world show off their best — Brazil, South Africa, Singapore and, of course, Ireland. Tourism Ireland had the area painstakingly planted and decorated with award-winning style. Each year there is a specific theme to the show; this year it was Passport to the World, very fitting for the readers of Global Traveler. In 1997, the theme was Ireland, which was the catalyst for stepping up Tourism Ireland’s involvement.

In attendance was Dara Calleary, minister of labour affairs, who linked the flower show to Ireland’s tourism industry. Tourism represents so much of Ireland’s job market that it is important to focus on anything like the flower show to drive travelers to Ireland. The flower show attracts the right type of individuals, who are interested in history and gardens, which are associated with Ireland, its castles and manor homes.

The Philadelphia Flower Show is deeply rooted in the 183-year history of the Pennsylvania Horticultural Society (PHS). Over the years, members brought their plants to show other members and, eventually, to share with the public. In the 1960s, PHS took over management of the show, also encouraging participation by amateurs, individuals and garden clubs.

With the help of hundreds of volunteers, the show raises significant funds to support PHS’s community greening programs and other civic initiatives in Philadelphia. Philadelphians have more gardens than other cities because the PHS encourages open spaces to be created and turned into places to plant. Additionally, the city hosts the largest in-city park, Fairmount Park, with 9,200 acres.

– Fran Gallagher, publisher and CEO

This last week I finally confronted the thick clusters of grass and weeds that have taken root in my newly planted flower beds and borders. I’ve been eyeing them for some time, observing how, shortly after we’d settled the last new plant and I’d dug in over 400 spring-blooming bulbs, tiny bits of green were appearing in the rich, dark soil. I knew that plenty of native seeds had mingled with the good dirt we’d brought in to compensate for the heavy clay of our property, but I had hoped that I’d be able to spread some pre-emergent herbicide on the bare spots to prevent the invasion that was lurking. But Ma Nature was far too quick for me, and I can’t hardly blame her for trying to fill the vacuum, since she also helps all those pretty plants I want to flourish to do so.

So, I let a few weeks pass. It was either too hot or too wet, or I had too many more urgent claims on my time (or so I told myself). Although I truly enjoy gardening, I will be the first to admit that dealing with a widespread attack of weeds is not the least bit fun. So I find a few excuses, like, “It’s hard to pull those when they’re so tiny; I’ll yank them when there’s more to grasp,” or “If we get a good frost tonight, it might just kill those weeds.” Yeah, right. I think most weeds have antifreeze in their genetic make-up, and at best the tops die back while the roots dig in with greater vengeance.

Finally, though, I couldn’t let them go any longer, and so, with trowel in hand, I got down and (literally) dirty with the unwelcome guests in my garden. There are two satisfying aspects to weeding, I have found. One is that it is one of those chores which, when finished, provides one with clear evidence of the effort expended. Where once the shrubs and perennials were surrounded by thickets of vegetation threatening to strangle them, there follows a smooth expanse of clear, dark soil framing those expensive plantings. The second is that one has plenty of time for introspection and/or plain old wool-gathering, as the process of separating the evil plants from the good ones doesn’t require a very large portion of one’s focus. And so, a few things which popped into my head as I did battle with the weeds:

Why is it that it takes such an enormous effort to get grass to grow in those bare spots in the lawn, and yet it grows so easily and lushly without any help from me where I don’t want it?

I don’t care what anyone says, some weeds are called that for more than the fact that they’re growing where we don’t want them to; some of them are just plain UGLY!

I read somewhere that dandelions are not native to this part of the world, but that they were brought in by settlers for their various useful properties. Like what?!!? Sure, I’ve heard of dandelion greens and dandelion wine, but give me lettuce and grapes and please, take the *!#%* dandelions!

After two or three hours of weed-pulling, there is no comfortable position for this body to take. Squatting, kneeling, bending over — it’s all gonna hurt!

I recall that just about a year ago, I wrote about putting my garden to bed, for the last time, at our former home in Central Washington. I still miss that place a lot, but I’m so thankful to have this new garden to nurture (weeds and all), especially when, at this time last year, we weren’t sure when our house there would sell. And, as with all my previous gardens, that one taught me a little more so that I could use that knowledge as I create this new one.

It’s absolutely amazing to me how a few tiny little leaves or a short blade or two of grass can have such an extensive, branching network of roots below ground. It doesn’t seem to take long at all for those roots to burrow deep and get those unassuming topside bits established. Hmmm, might be a nice metaphor for any of us getting established in a new place. Focus on digging in, getting your support network developed, finding nourishment in your new surroundings (no sense longing for what’s no longer there or where you no longer are). It might take a season or two, but before long you’ve become a part of a new garden — and hopefully not a weed, but a productive species providing a bit of beauty to your corner of the world.

– Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader

Back in June I was treated to a wonderful afternoon with my daughter Sarah at the Morton Arboretum, located in Lisle, Ill., one of Chicago’s western suburb villages. In exchange for enduring having both daughters living far from our home in Oregon, my husband and I have enjoyed at least a couple of trips to Chicago each of the last few years. Each time we get to explore new places and try out new restaurants; and Sarah, knowing my love of the outdoors and gardening, made an excellent choice in introducing me to this 1,700-acre treasure. We drove to it easily on a very warm and humid afternoon, located as it is just north of Interstate 88 and straddling Illinois 53.

The arboretum was founded by Joy Morton, who founded the Morton Salt company in Chicago in 1885. His father had been Grover Cleveland’s secretary of agriculture and originator of Arbor Day, so Morton’s interest in trees and such came naturally. Starting from his family’s Thornhill Estate in 1922 when he was 65, Joy oversaw its development until his death in 1934, when the arboretum encompassed just over 700 acres. After that his family and a board of directors continued to grow the area to its present size.

It is an impressive complex of roads, trails, special gardens and groves. A fairly recent renovation has added an attractive visitors center with restaurant, gift shop and meeting and educational facilities. We weren’t too surprised to see that there were at least two wedding parties on the grounds that day, for one couldn’t ask for a more beautiful setting for an outdoor wedding, with lakes and formal plantings backed by gentle hills covered with mostly hardwood forests. 

Because of the heat, we decided to hop the tram for a half-hour guided tour of the highlights of the place, and then afterwards we picked a few short trails to wander on our own. There seems to be something for everybody here: a 5-acre Children’s Garden which lets the kids climb, splash and play while adults find their way through the formal boxwood maze, get gardening advice from experts at the plant clinic or just enjoy the grounds. A glance at the events schedule showed that all through the summer months there are outdoor concerts to suit any taste, theatrical performances and “flicks in the forest,” seminars and exhibits, in addition to guided hikes and nature walks and all kinds of flora- and fauna-related activities.

Our brief visit to the arboretum made me wish for more time there and a chance to come back in other seasons. By late June we had missed the exuberant blossoms of the spring, and we were of course too early for the vibrant colors of fall. I was also curious to see the 100-acre tall-grass prairie and a few more of the specialty gardens. Guess that just means I’ll have to plan future trips to Chicago to coincide with the seasons and schedule time to get out to the Arboretum again!

If you have a chance to visit Chicago (or are lucky enough to live in the area), I could easily recommend time spent here, especially if you are ready for a little time outside of the city and in the open.

–Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader

Knowing how limited our time in Barcelona was, we decided we’d need to focus in on one aspect of the city for the day. We all agreed that we were shopped out, so we didn’t feel compelled to spend time in any more stores or shopping districts. Fairly quickly we agreed that we ought to zero in on something that was unique to this lovely city, and from there it was easy to choose to visit some of the Modernista architecture which is so emblematic of Barcelona. Barb had been doing some reading, so we followed her lead as we struck out, deciding to visit Sagrada Familia first, and then proceed from there to other, primarily Antoni Gaudi-designed sites.

I was determined to venture into the Metro, and Julie gamely joined me while Barb and Ann shared a cab. Having used subway systems in Chicago, London, New York and Germany, I found that Barcelona’s was fairly easy to negotiate. Signs and route maps, when not in English (and most were), were simple to decipher, and the system seems to provide routes to every corner of the greater metropolitan area. We bought a one-day pass for two zones from a vending machine, confirmed the line we wanted and the stop for Sagrada Familia, and arrived at the station across the street from the church not long after Barb and Ann had departed their taxi on the same corner.

I had seen plenty of pictures of this amazing church before, but none of them had adequately communicated the size and mass of this yet-unfinished structure. Its multiple towers stretch high into the sky, accompanied now by immense construction cranes being used to continue Gaudi’s great final project. We never ventured inside the gates, crowded as they were on this Sunday afternoon with visitors, but limited ourselves to circling the massive building and trying to take in just a fraction of the details of its unique facades. I added it to my mental list of places I will need to re-visit on my someday return trip here: I think one would need at least half a day to even begin to delve into this treasure.

Leaving the church behind, we crossed the street into a lovely, quiet park block shaded by purple-flowered jacaranda trees under which families with babies in strollers enjoyed their day off and couples walked hand in hand. The immediate sense of peacefulness which decended on us was a welcome contrast to the noise and crowds surrounding the landmark across the way. From there we decided to stroll onwards; it appeared from our maps that it wouldn’t be too great a distance for us to reach other iconic Gaudi projects: Casa Battlo and Casa Mila (also known as La Pedrera — “the quarry”). Bad news (for our feet): it was a longer walk than we initially thought. Good news: there were plenty of unexpected architectural treasures along the way which we enjoyed at least as much as those we had purposely sought out.

Towards mid-afternoon, Julie, Ann and I grabbed a cab to deliver us to Park Guell while Barb struck off on her own. The park, another Gaudi-designed project, was created on the site of a barren, rocky hillside and completed in 1914. We spent much of the rest of the afternoon exploring the paths and stairways which offered wonderful views south over the city. All sorts of trees, shrubs and flower beds make this a wonderful oasis, and Gaudi’s fanciful colonnades, benches and other structures provide one with delightful surprises throughout.

Late in the day our party regrouped at our hotel and decided to quickly tour the Museu Picasso in the Gothic Quarter before searching out a tapas bar for a late supper. The museum is located in adjoining medieval stone palaces and contains a permanent collection of a number of works primarily from Picasso’s early career, plus some wonderful pottery he did much later (colorful and delightful pieces!). We arrived only about an hour before closing and found that the entrance fee was waived–great! (By this point in our nearly two-week sojourn, we were doling out our euros carefully and trying to figure out if we could avoid visiting an ATM one more time.) From there we meandered down narrow streets and alleys of this very old part of Barcelona and rather randomly chose a tapas restaurant based partly on the menu board and partly on the looks of the place. At 8 p.m., we had our choice of nearly every table in the place, but before our first dishes arrived, nearly every one was full. We really enjoyed everything we ordered and shared; I only wish I could tell you what we had, but the evening is a bit of a blur. With our wake-up calls set for 3:30 a.m., we did not make too late a night of it, though I know we all wished we could have extended our stay in this lovely, vibrant city much longer.

–Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader  

This Saturday I spent much of the day enjoying one of my favorite pasttimes: plant shopping. Some women thrill over new shoes, clothes or jewelry. Me, I grow giddy over a beautiful new variety of day lily, an exotic-looking sedum or a stunning clematis. My past gardens, being well-established before they fell under my care, kept my urge to buy every new blooming beauty in check, as there was a limited amount of open space into which I could squeeze another plant. And for the past year, as we sold our former home and camped out in an apartment while we sought a new one, my gardening was limited to a few containers near our front door. I smothered the urge to peruse nursery catalogs and stroll through the enticing offerings at the booths at our farmers’ markets, knowing it would only lead to frustration in acknowledging I would have nowhere to plant any of the dozens of possibilities set before me.

Now, though, at long last, I am presented with a delightful problem: a new house with a completely clean slate in the backyard and minimal (and rather unimaginative) landscaping in the front. Thank goodness the lot isn’t overly large, or my budget would be overwhelmed long before I filled every nook, cranny and bare patch of earth. No, as Goldilocks would say, my new canvas is just right, and for the last three months I’ve been watching where and for how long the sun visits different parts of the property, checking for boggy spots and areas with good drainage or lots of wind exposure. Then I’ve created lists in my head of what kind of plant should go where, lists of what shrubs and trees and perennials I MUST have and which I will be sure to never intentionally allow on my land again. I’ve told myself that I should hold off making any major plant purchases until the end of August or early September, when the days will grow shorter and cooler and transplants will tolerate their introduction to their new home in my garden much better.

This weekend, though, I just couldn’t hold out any longer; several local nurseries trumpeted sales and big discounts, and temperatures went from three-digit highs to cloudy low 70s. On top of that (best of all), Harry agreed to accompany me. Perhaps he was concerned that he’d have to rein me in if it looked like I was getting a little too enthusiastic in my purchases, but I choose to believe that he’s also excited about sprucing up our plot of land. He certainly got into the spirit of the excursion, finding some really unique African irises and a ridiculously discounted crabapple tree. At one point, in fact, it was I who did the reining in as he zipped ahead of me, pointing out first one specimen and then another, asking whether we needed two or three of this and what did I think of that? Thumbing through my Sunset Western Garden Book, trying to choose one varietal over another, I finally had to beg him to slow down (love that man!).

Yes, it was an utterly satisfying time, planning our new Eden and enjoying finding lovely and interesting new plants — and great bargains — together. Now, how do I get him to share in the hole-digging, planting and watering business?!

–Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader