Like Sleep

W. H. Auden via Poor William's Almanack

"Sincerity is like sleep. Normally, one should assume that, of course, one will be sincere, and not give the question a second thought. Most writers, however, suffer occasionally from bouts of insincerity as men do from bouts of insomnia. The remedy in both cases is quite simple: in the case of the latter, to change one's diet, in the case of the former, to change one's company."

W. H. Auden

February 21, 1907- September 29, 1973



Green Goddess

Ernesta Drinker Ballard has an answer for my every question. Last week I found a copy of Garden in Your House, her small volume on indoor gardening, at a local bookstore. I've fallen--head-over-heels--in love.

Although I descend from a long line of successful, amateur horticulturalists, somewhere along the way the family's DNA mutated. The proof is in the pudding. I'm the nightmare amateur. Every mistake to be made has been made. Over-watering is my credo.

Then along came Ernesta. And for the first time in my life, I now understand why one soaks absolutely all the soil in the pot if watering a potted plant. I discover my Kimberly Queen is rootbound. I repot. I stop watering some plants. I increase my watering of others. I move the Kimberly Queen to a different windowsill. I water. Then I wait. And, all the while, I keep reading. And learning.

My recovering nephrolepis obliterata (aka Kimberly Queen)

Don't be fooled though. I may speak as if Ernesta is my green goddess, a diety benefiting myself alone, but you should be aware that her influence is vaster. Once head of the Pennsylvania Horticultural Society and savior of the Philadelphia Flower Show, Ernesta's ambitions far exceeded the garden.  I've relished her influence every time I visit downtown Philadelphia. Thanks in part to Ernesta's political clout in Philadelphia, the historic Fairmount Water Works were restored.


Philadelphia Water Works

 So I am truly humbled that in small, windowsill ways Ernesta continues her saving and restorative work in my house. Her little volume on house gardens has changed life as my Kimberly Queen knows it. So, onward to page 36. We tackle leaf cuttings next.

Equinox

Autumn Leaves by John Everett Millais

It's unfortunate that September, during its not-quite-final week, must swallow the autumnal equinox. As I've previously stated, September is really summer's final fling.  Autumn deserves so little credit for the month's beauty and vigor.  Be that as it may, autumn will not be ignored; she inevitably rips through the gauzy summer haze with her frosty bite exactly when you least expect it.

Autumn often teases out melancholy. Like the German poet Rilke, we sometimes imagine ourselves "restlessly wander[ing], while the leaves blow" or, like the Irish Yeats, begin to contemplate how our lives parallel the "woodland paths...dry." 

Even Archibald MacLeish, one of my favorite Scottish American poets, dedicates sullen lines to autumn's killjoy presence:

It is the human season. On this sterile air

Do words outcarry breath: the sound goes on and on.

I hear a dead man's cry from autumn long since gone.

Wow. "Human season"--no label could be more damning. In "Winter Is Another Country," Archie spends an entire poem pleading with autumn to end:

If the fragrance, the odor of

Fallen apples, dust on the road,

...would end!

...I could endure...

If autumn ended and the cold light came.

 I also love his description of autumn in "The Woman on the Stair." 

Too cold too windy and too dark

The autumn dawn withholds the bees

And bold among the door-yard trees

The crow cries, the wild foxes bark.

But when I have to face the autumnal equinox each September, it is Archie's one-line "Autumn" that steals into my thoughts:

Sun smudge on the smoky water

I love that stubborn recognition of summer's mark--"sun smudge." 

But before you categorize me as a complete curmudgeon, let me qualify my reluctance to celebrate autumn. (I know there are autumn-lovers contemplating an all-American tarring at this point.) It's not that I haven't welcomed autumn with open arms before.

In the past, my motives for loving autumn were not so worthy as you might imagine. When I said that I loved autumn, what I really meant was that I loved that autumn foretold Thanksgiving hunts and wood-burning fires in the fireplace. And really--let's all be frank--that's a rather immature appreciation.  (It's a bit like declaring that you love mud because it means you get to wear your wellies.) Rather than being treated as a means to a more glorious end, autumn deserves to be appreciated on its own merits...and at a later date.

Far be it from me to tell the planet's axis and the American retail industry what to do, but why let those either factor hurry our final hours of summer revelry to an end? I propose a postponement of autumnal celebration. Yes, let's reschedule the unpacking of the sweaters and woolen socks. Let's remain aloof to the root vegetables and apple pies for a few days more.

How does October 1st look for you?

Countrification

Glenfeshie Lodge via Elle Decor

There is no feeling like this feeling. "Paging" through Elle Decor's online gallary this evening, I encountered a snapshot of the Glenfeshie Lodge, decorated by the talented Denton & Gardner team. Wham! With it I received enough validation and inspiration to keep me afloat for another year or so. Validation, because I recognize my own living room--its colors, its rug, its worn pink suede sofa--within this picture. Inspiration, because Denton & Gardner have pulled it together so expertly that I've hatched a dozen schemes for further beautification. Sigh. And I can't get enough of this Glenfeshie beauty.



 



Mary of Peck: Queen of Order & Chaos

Mary of Teck, Queen Consort of King George V (1867-1953)

"The [Second World War] presented [the last great] Master [of Fox-hounds] with another, most unusual problem. His wife, Mary Beaufort, was the niece of Queen Mary, who descended on him with an entourage of fifty servants, having chosen his stately home, Badminton, as a suitable place to sit out the war and avoid the dangers of the London air-raids. After the royal invasion had taken place, the Duke and Duchess were left with only two bedrooms at their disposal.

The royal biographer, James Pope Hennessy, described Queen Mary as being 'fundamentally very, very German; the two things she liked most were destruction and order.' The destructive side of her nature was to affect the lives of the Duke and Duchess of Beaufort, for they soon discovered that they were unable to go out for a day's hunting without receiving an unpleasant shock on their return. Queen Mary had a passion for felling trees, and when they came home tired and muddied it was to find to their distress that yet another beautiful tree on the Badminton estate had been axed at the Queen's command.

James Pope Hennessy describes one episode, which conjures up the problems that confronted Master [of Fox-Hounds] during the wartime sojourn of his royal relative.

On leaving for hunting one day, the Duchess said, 'Now Aunt Mary, remember that the shrubs outside the stable wall are not to be touched.' The next day Queen Mary led her round to the stables and every shrub was gone, revealing a naked wall which then had to be cemented and painted. Before the Duchess could say anything, Queen Mary, like a naughty child, said quickly, 'I'm glad you like my yesterday's work.'

The Germanic, order-loving side of the Queen also caused inconvenience for the Duke and Duchess. While they were out hunting, the Queen liked to collect all the agricultural implements that she found in the fields on the Badminton estate. She would arrange to have the farm equipment brought back to the stable-yard, not realising that it had been left out in the fields for sound agricultural reasons.

When impeccably run hunting stables were reduced to something closely resembling a junk yard by the daily whims of the Queen, a terrible burden was thrown on the gallant and ancient grooms who were battling to preserve pre-war hunting standards during a difficult period when all the younger men had been recruited into the armed forces."

-In the Pink by Caroline Blackwood

Garden Party

September is here. Many Americans see the month as a miserly riposte to their carefree summers.  This is a mistake. September is summer's final fling. It represents your last opportunity to wander into a garden party. It's one last excuse to don sun-faded shorts or a floral party frock and catch up with friends over a glass of lemonade.

And while we're on the subject of sun-faded wardrobes and garden parties, has anyone on this side of the pond paid attention to the Prince of Wales? This September the Prince's new Start project, a charity foundation dedicated to inspiring sustainable living, has placed the Clarence House Garden directly into the spotlight. Opened to the public through the 19th of September, Clarence House Garden reminds me of all the reasons why I love a British garden.

Photo: The Royal Collection

Photo: The Royal Collection

Steve Manning's topiary art adorns the Clarence House Garden.
Photo: DailyMail

Prince Charles has taken advantage of the press attention in more ways than one. This month the Prince and Vogue magazine have teamed up to promote hand-me-downs and upcycled clothing. The Prince has urged Vogue's readers consider the beneficial role that the fashion industry can play in creating a more sustainable lifestyle.

While I must admit to applauding the idea of hand-me-downs and upcycled clothing, the rubber-meets-the-road application looks quite different for HRH than it does for me. Not all of us have the sartorial attic reserves that old money (or an old title) can provide.  If one does not have the fortune to descend from a long line of sartorial opportunity or means, one cannot hope to one day brag about possessing a pair of "'totally indestructible' shoes made from leather salvaged from an 18th-century shipwreck" (HT: Aslet).  Heck, finding an unadulterated wool jacket is hard enough these days.

But let's not be too unfair. While Prince Charles may suggest wild applications, good marrow lies at the heart of his admonition.  As Clive Aslet of "Country Life" so dryly puts it:

There is a joy in parsimony. Excess makes us feel morally queasy. I suspect that this is the Prince's real point. Wearing natural materials won't help the planet: the Aral Sea has dried up because so much water has been abstracted to grow cotton. But they're reassuringly expensive, and so more likely to be treated with reverence than the man-made equivalent.

I suppose I will be getting into the spirit of the thing this weekend after all, albiet in a far less dramatic fashion than the Prince; I've scheduled a trip to the cobbler's shop to resole my pair of much loved and well-worn Brazilian (alas, no shipwrecked salvage here) leather boots.