The art of home is a tidy title with an unpretentious posture. And yet it’s idealistic and evocative, ample and ambitious. Frankly, its restrained and self contained first impression is a little misleading. Maybe even a little ambiguous. What do I even mean? I’m not offering a catchy epithet for design and decor. Nor architecture. And yet, it certainly may include some or all of these. When I describe the art of home, I’m conjuring several things at once.
In conjoining art and creativity with home-ness, I’m alluding to my own personal outlook on an intrinsic relationship between the two as well as an aspirational goal. Home isn’t science. Or, home isn’t only science (or even mostly science.) Sure, there’s science and math and all manner of practical, detail and data driven inputs in transforming a house into a home. But there’s much more. There’s a profoundly personal, subjective, intimate relationship at play in the act of homemaking. And, in the best of circumstances, essential circumstances in my opinion, home becomes a sanctuary for creating, an oasis for art.
All of this binds art-ing and homing. The art of home is a look at the homeness of art and the art of homing. It is an attempt to discern what allows one’s domestic sanctuary to transcend mere utility (a garage to cache one’s car, a grill to sear one’s supper, a nest within which to sleep, a shower with which to wash away the sleep and sweat), to transcend the housing function and become a place of growth and nurturing, an incubation space, a revitalizing space, a dreaming and dream-fulfilling space,…
In the photograph at the top of this post you can see the icehouse, mid-rehabilitation, tucked in beside the carriage barn, both frosted in snow like fairy tales illustrations or gingerbread confections. After a decade and a half my slowly percolating art of home has matured from a pipe dream into a concept into a clutch of sketches into construction plans into a creative collaborative of many. And for a few short weeks I’m privileged to participate daily, to engage in a real and hands-on way after participating from afar, participating virtually. It’s a peculiar but exciting transition. An ongoing transition.
The Art of Home: Poem Excerpt
I’ve been excavating through layers of creativity compressed into, and coexisting within, my notion of homeness. While shaping a house into a home is in and of itself a creative art — indeed a nearly universal creative art, even among those quick to volunteer that they are not artistic, not creative — I’m deeply curious about my awn associations with home as a cradle and catalyst of art. I’m trying to tease apart these different layers of art in a still embryonic poem, so I’ll include only a section about gardening, a creative pursuit that I inherited from my mother decades ago.
...composing a garden,
my own personal patch,
from selecting seeds —
corn, radishes pumpkins,
tomatoes, and sunflowers —
to turning the soil,
working compost
into last summer's
stems and stalks,
into clay clodded dirt,
into July-August hopes.
Watering and weeding,
thinning, scarecrowing,
suckering, and staking...
Composing a garden is but one of the many instances that the art of home means something to me. Cooking. Writing. Telling stories. Pruning the orchard. Entertaining guests. Landscaping. Drawing. Adapting old buildings into new lifestyle enabling and enriching spaces.
The Art of Home: Documentary
At the heart of Rosslyn Redux is a quest to discern and describe what I’m learning about the art of home. But there is still more question than answer. I’m still untangling my thoughts, still reaching for some sort of clarity that might improve my ability to communicate concisely what I have found so captivating, and why it has obsessed me for so long.
But I’m not there there. My journey is ongoing. So I will, for now, offer another perspective on the art of home, a captivating documentary that obliquely sheds light upon our Santa Fe / Essex home duality.
Two indigenous artists create new works reflecting on their tribal homelands, the Wind River Indian Reservation. Ken Williams (Arapaho) is a Santa Fe art celebrity and Sarah Ortegon (Shoshone) is an up-and-coming actress in Denver. Both artists travel to Wind River Reservation to reconnect with their ancestors and present their art work to a somewhat isolated community. (Source: The Art of Home: A Wind River Story,PBS)
Intertwined with Sarah Ortegon’s and Ken Williams’s extended meditation on the relationships between art, creative expression, identity, home, culture, family, and belonging are the perspectives of other Native Americans including George Abeyta who touches on home as a place of strength.
“Your home, it’s a place of your family. It’s a place of warmth and comfort and strength and happiness. It’s the place where were you look forward to going because that’s your stronghold. That’s your place of prayer.” — George Abeyta
In the context of beadwork Abeyta is examining it feels seamless and comfortable the way we moves from beading motifs to home as a bastion of strength, as a stronghold. Also a space where family, warmth, comfort, happiness, and even prayer coexist. Perhaps even where they are rooted, where they thrive. The subject of his reflection, a beaded ornament akin to a necktie, is an intricate work of art, and as such it functions as a vehicle or a vessel to showcase and honor these fundamental elements. This notion of home, and more specifically the art of home, as a sort of sacred space for strength and belonging, for identity and connectedness, for family and for happiness resurfaces throughout this documentary. I encourage you to make time (just under an hour) to appreciate it from beginning-to-end.
Holistic Orcharding: June pears (Source: Geo Davis)
I’m excited to report that we may finally be able to enjoy Rosslyn peaches, nectarines, and even a few pears and apples this summer. For the first time since we began planting an orchard, several trees have matured enough to set fruit.
Fruitful Orchard
Holistic Orcharding: Mulberry fruit ripening in June (Source: Geo Davis)
Holistic Orcharding: Mulberry fruit ripening in June (Source: Geo Davis)
Those bright red mulberry will darken as they soak up sun and begin to sweeten. They’re still pretty mealy (though the birds don’t seem to mind at all!)
The photograph at the top of this post shows a couple of small pears. A couple of pear trees set a pear or two last summer, but they dropped (or were eaten by critters) before I ever tasted them. Most of the pear tress are still fruitless, but a couple small green and red fruit are looking promising.
Holistic Orcharding: Young peaches in June (Source: Geo Davis)
For the first, our peach trees are setting fruit. Heavy winds and rains have resulted in steady fruit drop, but I’m guardedly optimistic that we may actually be able to sink out teeth into a few fuzzy, nectar-sweet peaches soon.
The peaches are the most fruitful of all the trees at this point. In fact, a couple of trees are so laden that I’ll probably begin thinning fruit as they grow larger, culling the runts and least healthy fruit and leaving the best.
The photo below on the left offers a wider perspective on a fruitful peach, and the photo on the right shows a young and almost equally fruitful nectarine tree.
Holistic Orcharding: Young peaches in June (Source: Geo Davis)
Holistic Orcharding: Young nectarines in June (Source: Geo Davis)
The three nectarine trees are 3-4 years younger than the peaches, so I’m curious why two of them are already setting fruit. The third nectarine tree has never been very healthy. Dwarfish and sparsely branched, leafed, I’ll try for one more summer to help it along. If it doesn’t begin to catch up, I’ll consider replacing it next year.
Like the apricot that I replaced this year…
Holistic Orcharding: Transplanted apricot tree (Source: Geo Davis)
We’ve struggled with apricots. Few of our apricot trees are thriving, and one died last year. We replaced it this spring with the Goldicot Apricot above, the only variety that seems to be adapting well. I can report good new growth so far on the transplant, but another apricot has died. Both are lowest (and wettest) on the hill, so I plan to address the drainage this fall. Perhaps the heavy clay soil and high spring water table is simply to much for the apricots to withstand.
Deer-full Orchard
Unfortunately it’s not all good news in the orchard. We remain committed to our 100% holistic orcharding (thanks, Michael Phillips!) mission, but we’re still playing defense with Cedar Apple Rust and other pesky challenges. I’ll update on that soon enough, but there’s another frustrating pest that provoked my frustration yesterday.
Holistic Orcharding: Apple tree browsed by deer (Source: Geo Davis)
Can you see the munched leaves and branches?
Holistic Orcharding: Apple tree browsed by deer (Source: Geo Davis)
Holistic Orcharding: Apple tree browsed by deer (Source: Geo Davis)
Ive you look just below center of this photograph you’ll see where a large branch has been snapped right off. It was laying on the ground below. Also plenty of smaller branches and leaves chewed.
The two apple trees which were targeted by the deer were planted last spring. They’d both established relatively well, but they were short enough to offer an easy snack. We keep the trees caged during the fall-through-spring, but we had just recently removed the cages to begin pruning and spreading limbs (see red spreader in image above?), so the trees were easy targets.
And there’s worse news.
Holistic Orcharding: Young persimmon tree browsed by deer (Source: Geo Davis)
That’s a young persimmon tree that we just planted a couple of weeks ago. It was a replacement for a persimmon that arrived dead from the nursery last year (another drama for another day…)
Not only did the deer browse the persimmon, but it ate both leads, presenting a serious hurdle for this transplant. Not a good situation. I’ll pamper this youngster in the hopes that one of these blunted leads will send up another lead, or—more likely, but far from guaranteed—a fresh new lead will bud and head skyward. Fingers crossed.
We’re grateful to our Amish community for assistance nurturing Rosslyn’s organic vegetable, fruit, and flower gardens; our holistic orchard and vineyard; and sixty acres of landscape. While there’s much to admire about the dedicated women who have planted and weeded, pruned and suckered, nurtured and harvested for us, I’m especially grateful for their petroleum-free, exhaust free locomotion!
You suspect I jest? I do. Often. But not in this case. I’m actually quite fascinated with their efficiency of 21st century horse-and-buggy travelers.
And not only when our dedicated Amish gardeners arrive and depart, but on most every morning’s bike ride between the Adirondack foothills and Lake Champlain. I often share quiet, winding backroads with these courteous drivers. And last night, returning from Westport at an advanced hour, we witnessed three buggies moving along at a startlingly quick clip despite having no headlights. Only a single, diminutive lantern bounced within each buggy scarcely illuminating the driver, so certainly offering no navigational assistance.
Amish Assistance Arrives (Source: Rosslyn Redux)
As muscly pickup trucks and stealthy EVs wind through our rural communities, the Amish manage admirably to accomplish whatever locomotion they need without combustion engines or power grid tethers. There’s plenty to be learned from them, and not only for their dedicated industry.
This is a new opportunity for us. One nearby Amish family has been trafficking between our properties, learning quickly what each garden, each plant, each property needs. Since early spring the two to three sisters will arrive in the morning via ultra quiet conveyance. Although it took Carley a little while to become accustomed to the horse-drawn buggy, she’s no longer startled when the staccato sound of horse hooves and the curious crunching noise of carriage wheels on crushed stone awaken her from her postprandial snooze. She perks up, saunters into the screen porch, and observes. The bonneted young women wave, and I return their greeting. Carley watches until the horse and buggy disappear from view.
I’ll close with a short video I shot early in the morning last summer as another Amish buggy for a moment rolled in front of the rising sun.
Searching for Poetry Amidst Architectural Salvage (Photo: Geo Davis)
Searching for poetry, questing for questions that need no answers to matter and guide and enrich.
This might be my epitaph. Some day. But not yet. I hope.
Today, the vernal equinox, I awoke at 4:00 AM, eager to start cooking a wild boar roast I had thawed. Actually it wasn’t the roast that caffeinated me prior to my first cuppa MUD\WTR, that zero-to-sixtied my green gray matter within seconds.
If the human brain were a computer, it would be the greenest computer on Earth.
You with me? Caveat emptor: it’s going to be that kind of post!
It wasn’t anticipation of the pulled wild boar that I enjoyed for lunch (and soon will enjoy for dinner) that prevented me from falling back asleep. (I love variety, but if it ain’t broke… And if you’ve cooked 5.4lbs of wild boar shoulder, then share, eat, share, eat, share,…)
It was one of those light-switch-on awakenings. Sound asleep one moment, wide awake the next. 100% alert, cylinders thumping away, and focus dialed in. Monday morning’s are often like that for me. And with an ambitious punch list for the icehouse rehab, I needed to hit the ground running. Or jumpstart the week by roasting a wild boar shoulder?
Both.
But, after talking through exterior trim and clapboard siding with two contractors, explaining how to prune watersprouts (aka “growth shoots) out of our mature American Linden to another contractor, and various other midmorning miscellanea, I headed into the carriage barn for some, ahem, research.
I’m still sorting through architectural salvage and surplus building materials, endeavoring to make final decisions for the icehouse. Woulda-coulda-shoulda tackled this many months ago, and I tried, but the process continues to evolve. In some cases, it’s continues to elude me. So my endeavor continues.
Today I ruled out a couple of ideas I’ve been developing, visions for upcycling deconstructed cabinetry from Sherwood Inn days. The visions have faded, but all is not lost. In the shadowy space they’ve left behind, I stumbled upon something else.
A poem.
Searching for Poetry Amidst Architectural Salvage (Photo: Geo Davis)
Searching for Poetry
Wabi-sabi wandering,
wabi-sabi wondering —
reimagining relics,
architectural salvage,
weather worn detritus,
offcuts, rusty remainders,
time textured tatters,
pre-mosaic fragments,
and dust mote mirages —
so much pulling apart,
so much pushing aside,
searching for poetry.
Today I concluded that the vision I’d been pursuing — a vision of upcycling deconstructed cabinetry and paneling from the Sherwood Inn’s colonial taproom — had been little more than mirage. However as this mirage vanished, I happened upon a glimmer of clarity, fleeting but encouraging, around an even bigger mystery that I’ve been chasing. Also mirage-like, also elusive, also a problem that persistence might hopefully tame, also a quest for questions that illuminate and instruct even when their answers evanesce.
This glimmer of clarity (try to imagine a spark that just might benefit from attention, a flickering flame that invites kindling with promises of a roaring bonfire) materialized briefly where moments before a mirage had danced and vanished. And what did I see? Companionship. Kinship. Similarity. Affinity. Between poetry and architectural rehabilitation and adaptive reuse. A glimmer and gone. I exaggerate, but the picture is at once protean, subtle, and elusive.
Nevertheless, I will continue to strive, risk, and experiment. I will continue essaying to illustrate the intimate overlap between poetry and construction — especially between composing lyric essay and adaptive reuse of existing buildings and building materials — until my wandering and wondering renders an oasis. Or admits a mirage.
An ancient and neglected apple tree. Actually some sort of crab apple tree with fruit the size of golf balls. Large golf balls that were tart but delicious. Griffin loved to scarf them up when they carpeted the lawn in autumn.
Doug Decker cleans up ancient crab apple tree after hail storm hits Rosslyn on May, 16, 2012.
For six years I pruned and nourished the crab apple tree back to health. Aside from a largely rotten trunk. Nevertheless, each spring the fruit tree filled with blooms which by summer’s end had become much fruit.
More pruning. Another spring; even more apple blossoms. The hope of fruit.
Yesterday, May 16, 2012 the skies blackened too early for night and then the clouds erupted in a short but angry tantrum of driving rain, mothball-sized hail and driving wind. When the hail and rain stopped and the fog cleared, the crooked fruit tree had fallen, snapped off at her stem.
Warming temperatures, rainy-sunny-rainy days, lush green grass, spring dandelions, daffodils, hyacinths, and tulips…
What’s next?
Mosquitos.
[pullquote]We’re incredibly fortunate in Essex to have very few mosquitos… But from time-to-time the noisome bloodsuckers nevertheless find us.[/pullquote]
We’re incredibly fortunate in Essex to have very few mosquitos. Perhaps it’s the omnipresent breeze wafting across Lake Champlain. But from time-to-time the noisome bloodsuckers nevertheless find us. And when they do, it’s pretty tempting to pull out the mosquito repellent and spray, spray, spray. Noxious chemicals replace obnoxious pests.
Did you know that some plants naturally repel mosquitos? Today’s gardening tip offers a clever, attractive, and—in many cases—tasty way to eliminate (or at least reduce) dangerous poisons.
One of the best ways to stave off the whiny insects is to eliminate stagnant water. Mosquitoes can lay their eggs in even the shallowest puddles, so prevent water from collecting and you’ll dramatically curb your mosquito population.
Now it’s time to add the following naturally mosquito repellent plants to your garden and landscaping.
Citronella Grass
Citronella Grass
Known for its distinct smell, citronella grass is the most commonly used natural ingredient in mosquito repellants. (Source: Garden Design)
Perhaps the most popular naturally mosquito repellent plant, citronella grass might not be what you’re looking for.
First of all, it is the oil present in this lemony plant that deters mosquitos. Once extracted it is added to natural “bug dope” and patio candles to organically deter the pesky blood-letters. But, unless you intend to actually crush up citronella grass leaves and rub them on your skin, you’re not likely to see any notable improvement in your mosquito conditions simply by growing a citronella grass.
Second, citronella grass is native to zones 10, 11, and 12. So, northern readers, unless you’re happy to plant citronella grass as an annual, you’re probably better to choose alternative naturally mosquito repellent plants for your garden.
In addition to its mosquito repelling properties, the plant is also used to treat lice and other parasites, like intestinal worms. (Source: Gardening Know How)
Basil
Basil
Basil is another pungent plant that can serve you well as a natural mosquito repellent.
Basil emits its aroma without crushing the leaves, so you can grow basil in pots and put them in your backyard to control mosquitoes. To keep the mosquitoes away from your body, rub a handful of crushed basil leaves on your skin. (Source: NatureHacks)
What kitchen garden isn’t improved with a couple of basil varieties? It’s the perfect summer addition to your salads, gazpacho, and cold pasta dishes.
Any variety of basil can repel mosquitoes but it is advisable to use lemon basil, cinnamon basil, and Peruvian basil since they have the strongest fragrances. (Source: NatureHacks)
Garlic
Garlic
And while I’m thinking of summer salads, gazpacho, and pasta dishes, there’s another obvious mosquito repellent plant to mention, garlic.
Garlic actually repels mosquitoes, but not from garlic breath. If you have a high allicin (garlic’s active anti-microbial ingredient) blood count, mosquitoes will refuse to engage with your blood… In order to release garlic’s healing properties, it should be crushed and then eaten. (Source: NaturalNews.com)
Sounds interesting. According to conventional wisdom, the garlic bulb—once crushed and ingested—makes our blood toxic (or at least unpalatable) to mosquitos. Perfect! Except, the supporting science is pretty thin.
Garlic, perhaps because of its strong odor, has long been said to be that magic food. But studies so far have found that claim to be little more than wishful thinking. Eating it may repel other humans, but apparently not mosquitoes.
One study illustrating this was published in 2005 by a group of researchers at the University of Connecticut Health Center. The scientists asked groups of subjects to consume large amounts of garlic on some days and a placebo on others and exposed them to mosquitoes on each day. The number of mosquitoes that fed on them and the number of bites they suffered did not seem to differ under the two conditions.
[…]
Eating garlic has not been shown to either attract or ward off mosquitoes. (Source:The New York Times)
So, should you plant garlic? Of course. It’s delicious, and it all sorts of additional healthy benefits. And perhaps one day we’ll learn that it is the ultimate mozzy buster too.
Peppermint
Peppermint
Another oft touted organic mosquito repellent is peppermint. This delightful smelling (and tasting) garden regular is apparently repugnant to mosquitos.
Oil of Mentha piperita L. (Peppermint oil), a widely used essential oil, was evaluated for larvicidal activity against different mosquito species… The oil showed strong repellent action against adult mosquitoes when applied on human skin. (Source: Bioresource Technology)
It’s worth noting that simply growing peppermint in your garden won’t eliminate your mosquitos. Similar to the citronella grass and, well, just about everything else in this list, peppermint leaves must be crushed and rubbed on the skin.
And while you’re at it, you might consider muddling a few peppermint leaves in your drink!
Additionally, if you do get a bug bite you will find that peppermint oil is effective at relieving itches. (Source: Mosquito Magnet)
Lavender
Lavender
Growing lavender is fun and has many uses including as a mosquito repellent and it’s a lot more pleasant to smell than some of the other options. If you don’t want to grow it you can purchase lavender soaps, essential oils, and lotions to use as mosquito repellent.
Have you ever noticed that insects or even rabbits and other animals have never decimated your lavender plant? It is because of their lovely fragrance, which comes from its essential oils that are found on the leaves of the plant. It is even argued that lavender oil hinders a mosquito’s ability to smell! This plant is very tough and drought-resistant once established, and only needs full sun and good drainage. And while it can endure many climates, it thrives in warmer areas. (Source: Garden Design)
If you do want to make your own simple lavender concoction to repel mosquitoes for use on your skin get some tips below.
To make a chemical-free mosquito solution, just mix lavender essential oil in water and apply directly on your skin. To control mosquitoes, keep the lavender plant pots around seating areas on your patio, backyard and garden. You can ensure yourself of blissful evenings. (Source: NatureHacks)
Rosemary
Rosemary
You can boil a cup of dried rosemary in a quart of filtered water for 20 minutes, and then strain into another quart of filtered water. Pour into individual spray bottles, to use when going outside where mosquitoes might be. Be sure to store unused portion in the fridge.
Another great mosquito repellent is rosemary. Both the New York Botanical Garden and PlantShed recommended this plant. Rosemary is an herb that many of us are very familiar with and their woody scent is exactly what keeps mosquitoes as well as cabbage moths and carrot flies away. They do best in hot and dry climates and thrive in containers, which may be ideal for areas with winters. They can also be pruned into all sorts of shapes and sizes and make great borders or decorations. While the pests stay away you can enjoy the herb’s scent and also use it to season your cooking. (Source: Garden Design)
Speaking of cooking, when barbecuing add some sprigs of rosemary to the grill and the wafting scent will keep mosquitoes out of the yard while you cook!
In addition, rosemary is another plant that can also be used as the main ingredient in a repellent you can create to use on your skin.
To control mosquitoes in warmer months, place rosemary plant pots in the yard. To make a skin-friendly rosemary mosquito repellant, mix 4 drops of rosemary essential oil and ¼ cup of olive oil and store it in a cool & dry place. Apply as needed on your skin. (Source: NatureHacks)
Lemon Balm
Lemon Balm
This also smells a lot better than citronella or garlic and works well too. All you have to do is take the leaves and crush them and rub them on your body where skin will be exposed.
Lemon balm also keeps the mosquitoes at bay as its leaves contain citronella compounds in large amounts. The citronella plant is popularly used in commercial mosquito repellants and there is up to 38% citronella content in some varieties of lemon balm. You can grow lemon balm in your garden and allow them to proliferate, leaving less room for mosquitoes to thrive. To keep mosquitoes at bay, you can also rub crushed lemon balm leaves on your skin. (Source: NatureHacks)
Although the scent of this plant is pleasant and helps keep those irritating mosquitoes away it can take over your garden.
Lemon balm happily thrives in sun or partial shade, and should be kept in moist, well-drained soil. Keep in mind though that, like other mints, lemon balm is invasive, and it will spread and take over your garden like a weed if you let it. For that reason, it’s best to keep it contained in a pot. (Source: The Gerson Institute)
Catnip
Catnip
There are some studies that show that catnip oil is better at repelling mosquitoes than harsh chemical insect repellents. If this is true, you should try it. You can buy it already made catnip oil repellent or make your own catnip mosquito repellent. It works on other types of pests too.
Catnip (catmint) can be found thriving almost anywhere. It is from the mint family and grows abundantly both as a commercial plant and as a weed. It is very easy to take care of and may even start to invade other areas of your garden. However, if you are willing to forgo this plant’s insidious nature, they are amazing mosquito repellants and another recommendation from the BBG. In a study at Iowa State University, catmint was found to be ten times more effective than DEET, the chemical used in most insect repellants. (Source: Garden Design)
You may also attract some cats who will enjoy the catnip treat and release the natural aroma of the catnip for you if you grow the plant near your home in area you would like to repel mosquitoes.
Besides being an eccentric choice for cat lovers due to its ability to put our feline pets in a euphoric state, catnip has the ability to repel mosquitoes as a member of the mint family. Simply grow catnip near the backyard or patio of your house. Cats love the aroma of catnip put catnip leaves around your household for them to crush and eat, thereby releasing its fragrance to ward off mosquitoes. You can also crush fresh leaves then rub it all around your skin. (Source: NatureHacks)
Marigolds
Marigolds
Most people who grow vegetables tend to plant marigolds within, and for good reason. These magical flowers help banish many types of insects including mosquitoes. Of course, the smell is usually not that pleasant to humans either, but they’re not hard to look at or grow.
Marigolds, an easy-to-grow annual flower, emit a smell that deters mosquitoes. Grow them in pots and place them near your patio or entrance to your home to keep bugs out. Marigolds are also a popular addition to borders and vegetable gardens. According to NYBG, not only can they keep away mosquitoes, but they also dissuade aphids, thrips, whiteflies, Mexican bean beetles, squash bugs, and tomato hornworms. (Source: Garden Design)
How do marigolds deter insects? They actually have a compound used in many commercial repellents.
Marigolds contain Pyrethrum, a compound used in many insect repellents. A “screened cage method” study examined the repellent action of essential oils derived from Marigolds and Myrtle compared to DEET and found that it demonstrated the protection time of 50% essential oils of marigold and myrtle were respectively 2.15 and 4.36 hours, compared to 6.23 hours for DEET 25%.(Source: Natural Living Ideas)
Geranium
Geranium (Credit: Mokkie)
Plant scented citronella geraniums to help control mosquitoes in pots to put around your patio and in areas that you and your guests might want to sit without being bothered by mosquitoes. You can also crush the leaves and add to lotions to help the repellent work even better.
Scented geraniums seem to be a popular mosquito repelling plant. Recommended by PlantShed, BBG, and NYBG, the favored scent seems to be lemon scented, which is reminiscent of citronella grass. They are beautiful blooms with a strong fragrance that keep several types of pests away. These fast growing plants like warm, sunny, and dry climates, but if you are in a cold climate area, they can be grown in planters with constant pruning. (Source: Garden Design)
Other sources claim the scented geraniums are ineffective as a repellent or only effective when crushed to release their scent.
What do you think of any of the plants listed here? Do you already grow any? What are your experiences with their mosquito-repellent properties?
It’s apple season in the Adirondacks, in my view, the quintessence of the North Country autumn harvest. Grab a crunchy treat and sink your teeth into its sweet-tart bliss. Aaahhh…
Apple Concoctions
An apple (or three) a day keeps the concocter away? Perhaps. Unless, of course, you enjoy experimenting with the nearly infinite concoctions born of the forbidden fruit. The aromas of autumn profit amply from the influence of apples, so I’ll offer a few suggestions to stimulate your imagination. Cinnamon-y applesauce, apple crumble, apple butter, cider, apple pie, apple streusel, apple vinegar, apple fritters, apple chutney, applejack, apple upside down cake (aka tarte Tatin), apple brandy, apple-raisin muffins or pancakes,… It’s easy to get carried away.
Apple Abundance (Source: Geo: Davis)
Apple Family Tree
While apple picking, harvesting, pressing, concocting, and fermenting rightfully share center stage, apple season is at once an invitation to reflect on the diversity of apple varieties in particular, and the many somewhat surprising cousins in their broader family tree.
Did you know that domesticated orchard apples are in the genus Malus which is in the family Rosaceae? Yes, the same taxonomic family that includes rosebushes also includes one of our favorite autumn harvest fruits, the apple. Also pears, quince, peaches, plums, apricots, cherries, raspberries, blackberries, and strawberries. And that’s just some of the edible Rosaceae.
And if apple season offers an annual invitation to celebrate the broader family tree, it’s also a nice celebrate the Malus varieties we cultivate in Rosslyn’s holistic orchard:
Belle de Boskoop
Duchess of Oldenberg
Enterprise
Freedom
Gala
Kidd’s Orange
Liberty
Pixie Crunch
Rubinette
And in addition to the twenty apple trees in our orchard, we have another dozen or so trees scattered along the borders of our back meadows that I’ve gradually pruned and pampered back into production. So far I’ve been unable to identify the varieties, but there are some tasty fruit among them. In keeping with our abundance approach to gardening, we mostly harvest the trees in our orchard and leave the outliers to the deer, raccoons, bears, coyotes, wild turkeys, and probably a bunch of other apple motivated wild neighbors.
I’ve been reflecting a lot on vessels. Crockery, boats, homes, books, relationships, memories. And conditions. Conditions of vessels, the contents they’re asked to contain, and those of us who rely upon them, who contemplate them.
Broken & Unbroken (Photo: Geo Davis)
The vessel above, a burly bowl, reminds me of another, gifted to us by Pam, crafted from a burl collected by her late husband, turned into this delicate work of art by Ron Bauer. Like this one, that handsome sculptural addition to our morning room would appear better suited to straining, than containing. And yet this one, one of the few art and artifacts we retained from our time at the Lapine House, cradles a fractured sculpture. The small, fragile figure once sat on a windowsill in our kitchen.
Haiku
Broken & Unbroken
Discovered damaged, the fragments reassembled in a burly bowl.
Vessel
A tree burl is a boon born out of damage. A luxury born out of injury.
A burl is a strange-looking collection of tree cells, which are called callus tissue. Normally, callus tissue is formed by a tree in response to an environmental injury such as a pruning cut, disease, or insect damage. In forest settings, callus often arises from storm damage that has eroded away or deposited more soil around the tree’s trunk. (Source: Organic Plant Care)
A broken branch becomes a bulging burl destined to become a bowl. A vessel conjured into existence as a celebration of possibility, purity of form, beauty. Not for serving soup. Not for watering our Carley, our Labrador Retriever.
A damaged effigy shaped out of soft stone by will, whimsy, and chisel has — not altogether unlike the tree-turned-art — been injured, been offered an opportunity to become something different, something new. Currently cradled by a vessel with enough voids and gaps to appear useless, incapable of containing very much at all, and yet robust and relevant. Not just beautiful. Practical. A crucible.
Sometimes we call her the air traffic controller — calibrating schedules, inventorying and coordinating and unmuddling messes, managing myriad micros and macros, and multitasking Monday, Tuesday, heck, every day — also installing docks, feeding ducks and songbirds, soliciting bids and perhaps painting clapboard or pruning persimmons, brush hogging meadows, and welcoming travel guests. In short she is all this — air traffic controller, conductor, ringleader, emcee and referee — but also cheerleader, advocate, confidant, colleague, and dear-dear friend.
Primer, Painter, Polymath
Not my first Pamuela Murphy post, and certainly not my last. Susan and I recount our good fortune daily to share in this work, this journey, this life with a woman of such character and integrity, such persistence and problem solving, such strength and kindness. This preliminary piece of poetry is still germinating, still unfurling its precocious fingers and reaching toward the sunlight, toward springtime’s sweet awakening, the promise of a delicate bloom. With luck a clutch of blossoms soon…
So many photos and field notes and punch lists, marked up plans, pruned and grafted scopes of work. This is the ephemera of construction and the detritus of rehabilitation. A midden of sketches and diagrams, souvenirs of collaborative problem solving, artifacts of alterations and adjustments,… this is the tangled and layered chorus we seek to distill and remix into an oasis. Some days the process almost approaches autopilot. Others it approach mes a multi vehicle pileup.
Field Notes (Credit: Geo Davis)
Although I’m as goal oriented as the next guy, as eager to complete the project as I was the day I started, I’m inordinately fascinated with the in-between. I romance the journey. I thrill in the process. The interstices lure me as much as the origin and destination.
And so it is with this icehouse rehab. The journey. The myriad micro narratives tucked into each chapter.
Currently we’re wobbling a little as we adapt to two members of our team succumbing to COVID, as we ramp up testing and masking (and wondering if anyone else is destined to become sick.) The icehouse is such a small, enclosed work environment, so it’s easy to worry that the contagion may have embraced others still testing negative. But angst breeds angst, not relief or good fortune. So I try, we all try to focus on matters we *can* control. Tony finishes beech flooring in the loft — sanding and cleaning and sealing and repeating — investing his energy and passion in perfecting the small but sensational perch where soon I will be able to install myself at my black walnut desk to write and revise and read. Supi and Justin began trimming in the coving, working the poplar lumber that was grown, harvested, milled, seasoned, dimensioned, and finished at Rosslyn. Hyperlocal carpentry. Leaning into tangible tasks, transforming sketches, plans, field notes, and punch lists into results is an analgesic of sorts.
Tomorrow we will all test again. If fortune spares us, we will all be able to stay on task, charting a path forward, advancing through timelines and upon objectives. The wind will subside, the temperature will rise, the snow will melt, and the mud will gradually replace the ice. Perhaps the opossum will return to eat the cracked corn intended for the mallards, the daffodils will recover from the blizzard and begin to push their green fuses higher, and the high tunnel will warm to 103° again (almost tripling the temperature outside). If time permits, Susan and I may cross country ski through Rosslyn’s fields and forests after finalizing the order for new deck furniture. My brave bride might even take a polar plunge into 35° Lake Champlain. By choice. For pleasure. I will almost definitely not take a polar plunge into Lake Champlain.
Field notes will accrue, punch lists will get checked off, and another chapter will be sculpted out of bits of wood, stories, laughter, memories made, and incremental headway. I am anticipating a good day!
Lately I’ve been reflecting on all the trees I wish I’d planted in the fall of 2006 and the spring of 2007. We’ve been adding new trees for a year now — a half dozen or so each spring and fall — and yet I can’t help but imagine what might be today if I’d started earlier. Fruit trees ten or twelve feet tall would still be blooming. We would have been harvesting apples and pears and plums and apricots and peaches for a couple of seasons by now.
In fact, we have harvested some apples and pears during the last two years, but they didn’t come from newly planted trees. I’ve been restoring a couple dozen gnarly, long neglected apple trees (and two pear trees) scattered throughout the meadows behind our barns. Whittling a third of their old growth away each season, I’ve begun to nurse the old trees back to health, and several have begun to produce palatable fruit.
I’ve wiled away many beautiful hours lopping and sawing from the top of a ladder or winding my way through the limbs like a monkey. I’ve loved every minute of it and not just for the promise of future fruit.
It’s a funny thing, an orchard. So many functions wrapped up in one little plot of land, one little grid of fruit trees. Obviously one of the most important is also the most self evident: an orchard is a neighborhood “market”, if you will. A fresh fruit grocery less than a minute from the kitchen. An organic grocery where I can be 100% confident that no pesticide and no unwholesome ripening techniques have sullied the fresh fruit.
Doug carrying orchard ladder
And then there are the flowers. Gardeners, landscapers, poets and painters have romanced the seasonal blossoms of fruit trees for hundreds of years. I am no exception despite my utilitarian, upcountry ways. An orchard is a geometric bouquet of blooms, an annual riot against leafless canopies and gray, drizzly spring days. And even when blossoms flutter earthward and the boughs fill with thick plumes of adolescent foliage, there remains a subtle nobility in the orchard’s orderly procession.
During hot summer days the orchard becomes contemplative, concentrating on nurturing promises into bounty. The fruit trees reach deep into the cool earth for water and high into the sky for sunshine. They brace their increasingly heavy load against winds and thunderstorms.
And then it’s time for the harvest. Whether a crisp apple plucked during a mid-day walk with Griffin or a pear sauce cooked down with vanilla, cloves and a jigger of maple syrup, I’ve already begun to enjoy the fruits of my labors. This August through October should offer up an even more robust crop of apples and pears. And someday soon I hope to acquire a cider press and invite friends and neighbors for a weekend of fruit gathering and cidering. A potluck. Music in the meadows. And by then, with luck, the apricots and peaches and plums will have begun to produce as well. What fruity feasting we’ll do!
Old Apple Tree; New Chapter (Photo credit: virtualDavis)
During the winter months another often overlooked function of the orchard reveals itself. In order to maintain healthy fruit trees while improving their physical architecture and productivity it’s necessary to prune the trees during the period of winter dormancy. This is a chore, and the bigger the orchard grows, the bigger the chore. But unlike most chores, pruning an orchard is far more than a line item on a To Do list.
There’s a creative element, shaping and guiding the trees’ growth habit year after year. And there is a serotonin inducing pick-me-up triggered by dedicating yourself to an activity during the winter doldrums which will increase summer abundance. An investment in future harvests.
But for me, the single greatest reward of fruit tree orcharding occurs during the off-season. My bride is an avid and dedicated practitioner of yoga. Not I. For me it’s fruit tree pruning. I don’t think it’s a reach to suggest that pruning fruit trees in the late winter and early spring is my yoga. It’s my mindfulness meditation.
And then there’s grafting… But that alchemist’s hobby for another day, another post.
Now I’m off to sleep to dream of the orchards we might have had today if we could have initiated our orchard yoga sooner!
