Well, we finally got our kitchen remodeled. It was a bit of an ordeal. For about a month we had to wash our dishes in the bathroom. Oh, and, of course, we didn’t have a stove. I lived mostly on birthday-cake-flavored Oreos. In July and …
Probably the closest I’ve ever felt to my dad was in the late ‘90s when he became interested in old garden roses. I was living in Atlanta at the time, trying to get my first yard going, and suddenly Dad was offering me these wonderful …
Last weekend I did a couple little projects to spruce up the north side of the yard. The projects were my favorite kind, the kind that mostly involve shopping.
First, I added a short path leading up to the little shelter we call the Vine House. The path is made of five round sandstone steppingstones that I found at Esposito’s. (“They’re hand-cut!” the cashier told me.) The path curves through the powder-puff plants with their ferny leaves and pink flowers.
Clay pots galore surround the Vine House, and I filled them with fresh pentas I got at Home Depot. The pentas were brilliant red, hot-pink, and majenta, and before I even got them all planted, a hummingbird came to visit.
Next, I turned my attention to the bed around the main house. Near the big Meyer lemon, there was an ugly weedy spot that had been bothering me for months. I stared at it for a while and finally I decided on the perfect replacement for the weeds: a bird bath, flanked by a couple of autumn ferns. I love autumn ferns. They’re so tough. Plus, with their bronze-y plumage, they kind of remind me of plump, fluffy, well-feathered chickens—or maybe turkeys.
So I went to Tallahassee Nurseries and picked out a cool bird bath whose pedestal and bowl were encrusted with three-dimensional concrete shells—clam shells, conchs, and chambered nautiluses, all the treasures of the sea. I came home with the bird bath and the two autumn ferns I’d been dreaming about and got everything arranged under the lemon. When it was all in place, I spent some time admiring my new additions. I floated petals in the bird bath and took tons of pictures.
I love ferns. I’ve always been drawn to them by their softness and quiet beauty. As children, my sister Kris and I spent many hours in the scrap of woods behind our house, gathering fern fronds. They were an essential part of our games. They …
Today I’m taking a vacation day from work, so I celebrated last night by making a new version of the vegan lemon coolers I cooked up a few weeks ago. These new coolers are a bit chubbier (I added more flour) and more sugary (I …
On Saturday night I made Vegan Lemon Coolers. It was so much fun. The kitchen smelled of lemon zest, and the windows were open so the house was full of frog songs. Rob was nearby, sweeping up piles of catnip and cat fur and legions of toy mice, and I was talking in a merry voice, saying things like “Darn, I put in too much baking powder” and “Darn, all my dough balls are coming out different sizes.” I’m a terrible baker.
Luckily, the coolers turned out tasty despite my lack of skill. They were so easy. I found the perfect recipe on Savory Experiments and veganized it.
Rob and I ate our cookies in the living room that night while watching Silicon Valley and Daredevil. Usually our cats hang out with us, but not this time. They were “camping” on the breezeway. See, in summer they like to sleep out there in the pie safe, turning the shelves into bunk beds. They sleep one cat per shelf, with little Carl on the top shelf. (Leftover cats sleep on the table.) They sigh and stretch in the warm air as moths and fireflies dance like dream creatures just outside the screens.
Vegan Lemon Coolers
Ingredients:
1/2 cup vegan butter 1 cup sugar 1/2 tsp vanilla 1 1/2 tsps Ener-G egg replacer 2 Tbls water 1 tsp lemon zest 1 Tbls lemon juice 1/2 tsp salt 1/4 tsp baking powder 1/8 tsp baking soda 1 1/2 cups flour 1 cup powdered sugar
Directions:
In a large bowl, add the butter and sugar and beat with an electric beater until light and fluffy. Add the vanilla.
Whisk the egg replacer and water together in a small bowl until frothy. Add the “egg” to the sugar, butter, and vanilla.
Add the lemon juice and lemon zest and mix again.
Whisk the salt, baking powder, baking soda, and flour together in a medium-sized bowl. Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and mix again until well blended.
Place the powdered sugar in a shallow bowl. Form the dough into 1-inch balls and roll in powdered sugar. Arrange the balls on a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper.
Recently we had to have all our porch and step railings replaced because they’d rotted. It took months to get them rebuilt and painted. Now that all the work’s done, I wanted to show you some “after” pictures and tell you a little about how …
One day a long time ago when I was still living in Atlanta, I was driving in the country on my way up to the mountains when I passed an old wooden house surrounded by dewy blue spiderworts (Tradescantia virginiana). The house was weathered and …
Chasmanthium latifolium is known by many common names—river oats, wood oats, Indian wood oats, wild oats, northern sea oats, upland sea oats, inland sea oats, flathead oats, upland oats, broadleaf uniola—but to me the most apt and evocative of all its names is spangle grass. This is a plant with a whole lot of flash.
In fall, it lights up a semi-shady spot with bright, coppery, oat-like seedheads that twinkle in the sunlight and flutter with every breeze. The seedheads also provide much-needed winter interest in the garden. After they’ve glittered their way through autumn, they persist—faded, ethereal, ghostlike—until spring.
A lot of grasses that really show off in fall and winter seem to like to take a backseat in summer. Well, spangle grass doesn’t do that. It’s eye-catching all year round. In the warm months its soft, bamboo-like leaves create a tropical effect. The leaves are lime-green in full sun and darker green in shade. Spangle grass is graceful and arching, loose and airy, and usually grows about thigh-high. Dangling pale green flowers appear in May or June.
Spangle grass occurs naturally in moist woodlands from Florida west to Arizona and north to Wisconsin and Pennsylvania. A common component of mature bottomland hardwood forests, it is often found growing in isolated patches along streams.
In the wild, spangle grass provides cover and nesting spots for everything from turkeys and quail to rabbits, voles, and mice. Turkeys, wood ducks, and many other birds feast on the abundant seeds.
In the garden, spangle grass can be used in mass plantings or as a specimen. A clump here or there makes a great accent, especially near a water feature. The grass also works well in tubs and other large containers. Pair it with black-eyed Susans or native asters for extra dazzle in fall. The soft texture of spangle grass provides a welcome contrast to stiffer, coarser plants. In my yard, I have it planted close to some old-fashioned roses, and the combination of formal rose blossoms and free-flowing seedheads is really surprising and pretty.
Spangle grass is easy to grow. Though it flourishes in sun and moist, fertile soil, it also does well in part shade and dry, poor soil. My spangle grass grows in a dim, parched, sandy place under some wild sumacs on the north side of the house, and it thrives there even though I almost totally neglect it. (I do cut back its old growth in early spring.)
Planting spangle grass in dry shade is a good way to prevent it from self-sowing—a thing it will do like crazy given half a chance. You’ll definitely want to discourage it. Another way to keep “babies” from popping up all over your yard is to gather the seedheads in fall (if you don’t mind depriving the birds). They’re stunning in bouquets and dried arrangements, and they won’t shatter.