How Many Ways Can You Wrap a Napkin?

Many cool and exciting ways according to students who entered today's Student Competition at the American Institute of Floral Designers' Symposium in Kansas City, MO.

Imagine showing up to a dinner party with these at your plate. Creative, functional and fun!

Jumping Through Hoops

117 talented floral designers stood in this room for 4 hours and hopefully completed 5 designs. The fate of their induction into the hollowed halls of the American Institute of Floral Designers rests on the evaluation that follows.

Everyone gets the same flowers, same supplies and the same amount of time. When time is called, you must back away from your table or be disqualified.

If you even think for one moment this is like throwing flowers on a table before dinner, think again.

I've gone through this twice. Suffice it to say, #3 is in my future. But it didn't happen this year.

It was a relief to show up to the reception and not have to worry whether a incision didn't hold and a stem moved downward changing the line of a design. Or did a flower, now missing from the center of the bridal bouquet fling across the floor when an evaluator manhandled the thing, checking "mechanics". When I say, "I feel your pain", I really do.

No, I took the year off. And I'm glad I did. It is awkward having to explain yet again that yes, I've taken it twice. Yes, I will take it again. Yes, I want to be a full fledged member in this group of amazing, talented people.

But I am calm and totally giddy to be here just another year. Who could ask for more.

A Metal Bra for My Watermelon Baby

She hangs as graceful as a watermelon can. Each day getting larger, heavier, voluptuous and irresistible to the touch.

I think I must have been 13 years old when last a watermelon grew at my feet. It was long, big and juicy pink when carved up during a family barbecue.

I'm vegetable gardening again. The transformation from flower garden to this has been slow. Interum plantings are keeping the momentum. Having a little fun, the plants were nestled at the base of a rebar armature. Who knew they'd take a liking to rusty steel, catapulting in weeks, giving rise to this unique opportunity.

Each day we worry her weight will tear the vine to the ground. Something must be done.

But now, invention must play a role in my baby's future. I will create a metal bra. It will initially look more like a giant spider's web, the inner core felted, leaving the watermelon's bottom in good hands. Attached to the rebar, it will support the developing fruit until ripening forces the pick.

So how would you support it?

Little Reminders

We are prone to walk by the overgrown lot on a daily basis. Mother Nature has taken over, a kaleidoscope has sprung up over the last few years. I had not really stopped until now.

A man used to live here. I never met him. A house, a man, a life of mystery. The neighbors didn't seem to know much about him.

Today, I wondered, "Did he walk to the mailbox, peer over to the right and secretly thank the friend who gave him those bulbs?" Left at the side porch in a cut up plastic milk jug, the crocosmia didn't look like much. Tiny and flat, did he wonder where to put them. And then every year mid-July on a hot, muggy, overcast day like today, he'd have his mail run highlighted by the saturated shine of the tiny flowers, bobbing ever so slightly as possible relief comes over the marsh in the distance.

A house, a man, a life of mystery, it is all gone now, burned to the ground one night while we all slept soundly. Yet today, enough for a quiet pause while I try to piece together a story from what remains.

Crinum Creates a Stir

My excitement for Crinum 'Cecil' has been peaking for months. Tall spikes filled with light pink flowers have been a daily visual since early May. Just when I sense the end is near, a new stalk pops into view.

The crinum is one of those plants, like cast iron plant, receiving no respect. Why is it gardeners can treat certain plants so badly? Is it the fact that they survive without any human hand fussing away as we do with so many other "garden worthy" selections? They remind me of the middle child, dropped in between. The excitement of the first will never be theirs and the newness of the last gets all the attention.

And why all the talking behind their backs? I hear gardeners in the south bad mouth them all the time. "The foliage is all over the place." "The flower stalks lay down in a bed during a heavy rain." "The old flowers look ugly hanging there."

Shame, shame, shame on all who could be drinking up the beauty before them but fail to open their eyes to get close enough.

These southern heirlooms are post cards for this place. Their robust habit says much about the resilience that defines home. The big fat flowers, remind me of Mrs. Plyler, a robust woman of my past, her bouffant hairdo, and my initiation into backwoods South Carolina. "Is everything so big here," I'd whisper quietly in my "northern draw".

I like the way the stalks, nearly full and open, begin their descent making friends with others nearby. Crinum season means my early morning walks continue, picking off the old flowers, making it new again. And to all who say the foliage alone is big and brash, overbearing and overwhelming, imagine the possibilities. A bed of low growing ornamental grass, berry clusters and a multicolored elephant ear transform. Varied textures, new shapes and unexpected color combinations give rise to something unexpected.

Mrs. Plyler scuttled down our dirt road in her beat up Pinto, her tall, skinny daughter in the passenger seat and their one eared dog hanging it's head out the window. And like the Crinum, she tells a story of where we are, one that will put a smile on my face for many seasons to come!

Paris Inspires Me

A Frenchman came to dinner. The rolls of brightly colored reed from my trip to Paris in January have been waiting in the closet patiently for just this occasion. Our table would be set in honor of his favorite city.

D'ou est-ce que l'inspiration vient? (Where does the inspiration come from?)

A few images bring the concept into view. The fun part was getting it to stay together.

The Ferris wheel and the early morning moon.

Ancient Terra cotta containers at Musee du Louvre.

Spiral staircase going up into the Arc de Triomphe.

Floral art by our Parisian designer and teacher, Marie-Francoise Deprez.

Spiral III,1968 by Gunter Uecker at the amazing Pompidou Centre.

The Garden Through Mia's Eyes

She already acts like the garden is her play toy. Bobbing in and out amongst this lush world, the furry fluff ball inspects every leaf and stick, lingering seconds.

This parenting thing is new to me. Sure, gardening alongside five older dogs these last six years has posed challenges. But they came with some sensibilities. We all modified our behaviors and set out to create a garden in an adult way, somewhat civilized. Cue up the baby talk.

Mia, the 10 week old Keeshond puppy, looks up lovingly before sniffing basil from a container conveniently located at eye level. It isn't a nip and savor type of experience. Head thrown side to side, entire branches are whipped to and fro. Does she appreciate the aroma, now wafting freely? Perhaps, but she's moved on. A head reemerges amongst chartreuse elephant ears. A nice textural juxtaposition, maybe not, as teeth marks dot the tender foliage.

Bird baths become Jacuzzis and creeping Jenny, a yellow mattress made for a princess. The trot tells it all. "I love my new garden." A new era begins today.

Who would have thought, a baby in our garden!