Time Marches On and Instagram Beckons

Drenched narcissus Thalia in the front garden this morning
Photo: Chronica Domus

It's been an age since I posted anything on this blog so I thought I'd stop by (in case anyone is still reading) to say hello.  I suppose with the clocks going forward by an hour today, I am reminded that time marches on and this is my first post of 2019.  Egads!

The world of blogging is something I became familiar with when I wrote my first comment on a favorite blog many years ago.  Back then, I enjoyed doing the daily rounds of blogs and reading the interesting, enlightening, funny, and sometimes touching things other bloggers wrote about.  Bucking up the courage to begin my own blog in January 2014, I had no idea how rewarding the experience would become.  I've made many blogging friends over the past five years through the comments section of this blog, and have even had the privilege and pleasure of meeting several of them in real life.  Along with being a rewarding pastime blogging is, of course, a time consuming one.  Time, as you might already know, is a valuable commodity and over the past year or so, I've had a difficult time setting aside adequate amounts of it to dedicate to writing and photographing this blog.

So, today I'm here not to say "good bye" just yet, but to tell you all that the posts will continue, albeit at a slower than usual pace.  I'm not quite ready to throw in the towel!  Also, as I do enjoy the interaction that social media can provide, I've finally joined that merry bandwagon known as Instagram.  I know Instagram may be old news to some of you who have been posting for years, but to me it's an exciting new world waiting to be discovered.  I can no longer resist.  If you'd care to join me there, please do so.  Just search for chronicadomus and hopefully you'll find me there.

To use IG talk, #resistanceisfutile

CD

Norton Helps Prepare Some Easter Flowers

Although we won't be home for Easter Sunday this year, I am still compelled to add a few festive touches to the house to mark the holiday.  So, bright and early this morning, Norton and I trotted down to the garden to snip away at some of the narcissi I had planted in mid-February. Anticipating, with a bit of luck, that most of them would have bloomed for Easter, it turns out, most of them had.

Planted on February 19, narcissus Cragford, an award-winning heirloom, 

is ready for picking

Photo: Chronica Domus

Another heirloom variety that bloomed vigorously this year is the aptly named 

narcissus Cheerfulness 

Photo: Chronica Domus

It did not take long to fill my trug but I must admit, I did receive a little help from Norton.

Norton supervising in the cutting garden

Photo: Chronica Domus

As you can see below, the effort of picking a few narcissi was all a tad too much for dear Norton. Declaring he'd had quite enough of it all, he proceeded to plonk himself smack dab in the middle of the vegetable patch, exhausted it seems.

Gardening is so overrated!

Photo: Chronica Domus

Coming into the house via the back stairwell, Norton was obviously still very tired from his gardening escapades so I left him there, with the trug, while I nipped downstairs and around to the front garden to clip a few more blooms.

Norton takes a well-earned break

Photo: Chronica Domus

Narcissus Thalia, my favorite of the whites, has been reliably blooming and multiplying in 

my front garden for several years

Photo: Chronica Domus

Just a few Thalia to complete the morning's pickings

Photo: Chronica Domus

I had adequate blooms to make two cheery arrangements to place in the drawing room, with a handful left over for a third smaller arrangement that I placed in the kitchen.

Photo: Chronica Domus

Here they are in situ

Photo: Chronica Domus

And, what would Easter be without a few chocolate treats to nibble upon?  Here are some chocolate eggs corralled in a favorite English Regency era teapot stand painted in a pleasing shade of orange to match the centers of narcissus Cragford.

Please, help yourself to a chocolate egg or two

Photo: Chronica Domus

My collection of various bird eggs round out the decorations in the drawing room.  Eggs are, after all, symbols of rebirth and renewal at Easter time.  A glass vessel below holds quail, araucana chicken, and partridge eggs ...

Photo: Chronica Domus

... and another holds a turkey egg, the egg of a scrub jay, and more delicately-shaded araucana chicken eggs.

Photo: Chronica Domus

A simple but pleasing Easter arrangement in the drawing room

Photo: Chronica Domus

Oh, and I almost forgot the funnest, and smallest, decoration in the house, a charming vintage hen and her chicks.  They grace a porcelain stand on the kitchen counter.  Don't you think Mrs. Hen and her brood look quite at home surrounded by ... more eggs!

Happy Easter Everyone!

Photo: Chronica Domus

Norton and I wish you all a very Happy Easter!

Bloomin' Lovely!

Bringing flowering branches indoors is an annual and pleasurable rite of spring

Photo: Chronica Domus

I know that spring has not officially begun but I have felt its impending arrival keenly these past few weeks.  Refreshing downpours and even a rare pounding of hail has helped paint the Bay Area's open spaces green ...

Sonoma county's verdant farmland

Photo: Chronica Domus

Happy cows in pastures green
Photo: Chronica Domus

... and awakened its gardens from their winter slumber ...

Like clockwork, my garden's white wisteria is in full bloom by mid-March each year

Photo: Chronica Domus

Even the birdsong has intensified with the arrival of March's lengthening days.  Of course, with rain comes flowers and although the majority of my own spring flowering bulbs have yet to put on their show this season (I was a wee bit late with the bulb planting I'm afraid), that does not prevent me from enjoying the store purchased varieties.  My thoughtful husband presented me with several bunches of yellow daffodils a few weeks ago, just because he knows they are my favorite flowers.

A cheery gift from my husband

Photo: Chronica Domus

I always feel that bringing the outdoors inside helps usher in that feeling of renewal and helps to put a kick in one's step.  I'm sure you know exactly what I mean.  The plum tree in the garden is already in full burst but as I hesitate to hack away at its branches - springtime blossoms are summer's fruits remember - I instead seek out bundles of pre-cut branches to purchase from the San Francisco Flower Market.  This is what I brought home two weeks ago:

A lovely spring vision to behold!

Photo: Chronica Domus

I don't recall having seen such showy double blossoms before so I asked the vendor if he could identify them for me.  I was taken aback when he replied they were peach.  Yes, peach.  It appears I had been under the mistaken impression that peach blossom was exclusively pink.   As it turned out, the double blossom of this highly ornamental white flowering peach is particularly fetching and takes an age to unfurl from it's pompom-like buds. It is a joyous vision of spring to behold.  The branch arrangement lasted a full two weeks, right up until I replaced it on Saturday morning.

After a fortnight of enjoying the muted tones of the lovely peach, I was now in the mood for something a little more colorful.  These salmon-pink tulips fit the bill perfectly:

Mother Nature provides us with the most luminous color

Photo: Chronica Domus

The two dozen tulips happen to look marvelous alongside these quince branches:

Ornamental flowering quince is a particular favorite plant material of mine to bring
indoors each spring

Photo: Chronica Domus

Captured below in the cool light of Sunday morning, the kitchen was positively aglow with spring cheer.  No wonder those chirpy little birds just beyond my window are singing a little louder these days.

Photo: Chronica Domus

Flowering branches and tulips bring a welcome air of spring to the kitchen 

Photo: Chronica Domus

Is there something you particularly look forward to bringing indoors to place in your vase each spring?  Whatever it might be, I'm sure its bloomin' lovely.

Happy (almost) spring everyone!

Life's Little (Long) Weekend Pleasures

Nota bene: I was able to sneak the highly-fragrant posy you see below into the marital bedroom because my husband happened to be away on a business trip the day I snapped the photograph below; such a transgression would be unthinkable otherwise and near grounds for divorce - you can read why, here.

An engaging book and a bedside posy of home-grown narcissus Avalanche helps to ease one comfortably into a relaxing Sunday morning

Photo: Chronica Domus

Several days ago I received a nice comment from one of my loyal readers.  "CD, CD, wherefore art thou?  I miss you!".  Reading it made me realize that I have not been particularly punctual with my posts here at Chronica Domus lately.  Had it really been an entire month since I last published anything or, for that matter, have had the luxury of visiting my favorite blogs?  I am afraid it really has been.

Since the beginning of January, my days have held an almost elastic quality to them.  My real-world professional obligations have stretched too far into my waking hours which, sadly, has left little time to pursue the more pleasurable aspects of life, including the upkeep of this blog.  I won't even mention the alarming state of my garden.  Shudder.  As you can imagine, the long President's Day weekend could not have arrived soon enough.  Three entire days to revel in the little things in life that provide the greatest of pleasure.  I consider one of those pleasures to be sleep.

I don't know about you but a few extra hours of sleep on a weekend morning has become a luxurious indulgance the older I get.   If I can make it to 8 a.m. in the comfort of my bed, I just know it's going to be a good day.  It pains me to admit that, try as I might, I am not a natural early riser.  I admire those of you that are up and about enjoying the crepuscular light of dawn, catching sight of colorful skies painted by the first shafts of light.  That said, on most weekday mornings I do tumble out of bed before dawn, heavy-eyed and yawning.  This is done not out of choice, mind you, but to fulfill my familial and workday obligations.  I am also charged with serving breakfast to Norton and the hungry clowder of neighborhood ferals.  They have certainly trained me well.  As I hurriedly dart about, I barely notice when daylight eventually does break.  In another life, I would be found snoozing well into the morning which is why I do so enjoy the luxury of a slower start to a weekend morning.  Those precious few restorative hours of slumber truly rejuvenate my body and soul.  Only then am I able to focus on a full weekend of running errands, visiting the farmers' market, gardening, social obligations, and general good old-fashioned fun.  

Sunday mornings are also when I am able to loll about in bed, enjoying a good read. I have only just cracked open a book that I purchased two years ago when I visited the charming collegiate city of Cambridge, England.  Titled Below Stairs In The Great Country Houses, Adeline Hartcup's fascinating book recalls with delicious detail several real-life accounts of how many of Britain's most famous country houses were run.  If you are a fellow devotee of the much-missed television series Downton Abbey, you too will enjoy reading about the strict hierarchy adhered to - and the minefield of social blunders to be avoided - by the many characters that lurked both above and below stairs.

How about you, which of life's little (long) weekend pleasures give you the most satisfaction?

More Pink Flamingo Than Prince of Orange

Hooray for Prince of Orange the first sweet pea bloom of the season,
but wait ...it's not orange!

Photo: Chronica Domus 

It's that glorious time of year in my garden, a time to rejoice and celebrate the first of the season's sweet pea blooms.  As has become my habit in the last few years, I was again enticed into growing my sweet peas purely from the delicious descriptions printed on the attractively illustrated seed packets. Well, that and the fact that I rather fancied delving into the world of orange sweet peas, a color I had not previously attempted to grow.  Two varieties fit the bill, Prince of Orange and Henry Eckford. The Prince promised "pure, clear orange flowers of excellent substance", while Mr. Eckford assured "spectacular bright orange flowers".  I could not wait to get planting!

Heirloom varieties of sweet peas in zesty shades of orange beckoned 

to be taken home and planted in my garden

Photo: Chronica Domus

I sowed half a dozen of each variety on April 29 and patiently awaited their germination.  Sweet peas, as you may know, can take an age to get started so I make it a point to soak the seeds overnight in hopes of softening their rock-hard shells.  Right before I sow them into the moist, compost rich soil, I chip away a little of their coating in an effort to aid them along.  Even with this additional step, the seeds can take up to two excruciatingly long weeks to germinate. As William Langland reminds us in his poem, "Piers Plowman" patience is, indeed, a virtue.  I do try though.

Three months have now passed and I'm not exactly sure what happened to Mr. Eckford.  All I have to show for my efforts is a lone plant.  Perhaps the gentleman is a little shy?

Lathyrus odoratus Henry Eckford was first bred by the man himself in 1906

Photo: Chronica Domus

The few blooms I have been able to gather thus far possess such peculiarly stunted stems that arranging them in a vase is next to impossible.  Ah well, as I'm not one to give up easily I will try planting Henry Eckford again either later in the autumn or early next spring.

What in the world has happened to Henry Eckford's stems?
Photo: Chronica Domus

And, as for the Prince, imagine my surprise upon seeing his true colors come to light.

Looks more pink flamingo than Prince of Orange to me!

Photo: Chronica Domus

With barely a scintilla of orange to behold, my dream of gathering orange-hued sweet peas this summer has, alas, been dashed.  Admittedly, despite the unanticipated color, I am really quite chuffed to have pink flamingos taking flight in my vase.  The blooms are exceptionally pretty, no matter their rosy hue.

Might the Prince's orange reveal itself if I squint I wonder?

Photo: Chronica Domus

As a gardener, albeit an amateur one at best, I am constantly humbled by the act of nurturing the tiniest seed.  Regardless of how meticulously one plots and plans ahead, and despite the coddling and cosseting, Mother Nature always has the last word.  Either that or, as I suspect might be the case here, there was a mix-up at the packet-filling end of things.

Have you ever grown anything from seed with unexpected results?


Nota bene: I am neither paid nor do I receive recompense in exchange for applauding products or services within my blog.  I do so because I enjoy them.  If you are a kindred spirit, you too enjoy recommending nice things to fellow good eggs.

Memories of Cow Parsley, Or Would That Be Queen Anne's Lace?

Cow Parsley or Queen Anne's Lace, that is the question?

Photo: Chronica Domus

On a recent jaunt to the San Francisco Flower Market, I noticed one of the vendors was selling billowy bunches of what I thought to be Cow Parsley or, to use its botanical name, Anthriscus sylvestris.  Before eagerly snapping up two bunches and making my way home, I asked the vendor what the plant is called.  "Queen Anne's Lace" was the response.  I was momentarily taken aback as I could have sworn this was Cow Parsley.  Nevertheless, I was happy to be taking home my bunches, whatever they may be called.

Photo: Chronica Domus

It's funny but I had not thought about Cow Parseley for decades.  My memories of it were formed back when I was a young girl living in England. Our house bordered the Kentish countryside and during those carefree days of school summer holidays, I would often be found perched atop my bicycle, gently peddling down the windy country lanes that surrounded our house. One of the most pleasurable visions of those bicycle rides was of the masses of fluffy Cow Parsley.  It grew with abandon, much like a weed, and lined every lane for miles.  Those trailing ribbons of Cow Parsley were truly a sight to behold and one, I believe, as quintessentially British as strawberries and cream are during the month of June.

As I cut and arranged the Queen Anne's Lace in an old earthenware crock, I began to wonder if this was indeed Queen Anne's Lace, or not. Does Cow Parsley even grow in California?

Photo: Chronica Domus

A quick on-line search confirmed that I was not alone in my horticultural beffuddlement.  It appears that  Daucus carota, Queen Anne's Lace, is often confused with Cow Parsley.  Both, it turns out, are related to carrot, among other plants, which likely explains my dubiety.  I've also learned that Cow Parsley is a native plant of Europe, whereas Queen Anne's Lace grows easily to the point of naturalizing here in North America.

Photo: Chronica Domus

Who knew the simple act of purchasing a few bundles of a rather familiar-looking plant would lead me down the rabbit warren of nostalgia, seeking knowledge on a plant I've not thought about in an age?

Tell me, do you recall the last time you were transported to your youth and what it was that placed you there?

A Basket For Easter

Photo: Chronica Domus

The tradition of making Easter baskets is something I wholeheartedly adopted when I moved to The United States. In England, the most popular symbol of Easter is the egg; real ones or chocolate, all are enthusiastically devoured on the day.

I spent this afternoon gathering up all the confectionery goodies I had purchased over the past month to nestle in Patience's Easter basket, which she will receive tomorrow, early on Easter morning.  As in years past, I am inspired by nature, in particular Spring's bright palette of greens and blues.

Natural elements such as old-fashioned Forget-Me-Not flowers from the garden and vivid green moss form the basis of this year's Easter basket

Photo: Chronica Domus

Deciding which ribbons to tie upon the handle of the wicker basket is all part of the fun

Photo: Chronica Domus

Two blue chocolate rabbits keep their foil-wrapped companion company.  All three appear to be very much at home in their temporary surroundings which resemble a miniature woodland thanks to the Forget-Me-Nots and mossy bed they rest upon.

Chocolate and foil-wrapped rabbits, bags of jelly beans, and sugar-coated chocolate eggs nestle within Patience's Easter basket

Photo: Chronica Domus

The finished basket will be presented to our daughter early on Easter morning

Photo: Chronica Domus

I do hope Patience is as beguiled by her charming Easter basket as I am.  I have a good hunch she will be.

Do the junior members of your family enjoy receiving Easter baskets and if so, what is it that you fill them with?

I wish you all a very Happy Easter.

Relics Reimagined: A Black Basalt Pastille Burner

Photo: Chronica Domus

We are in the midst of daffodil season here in the garden, the most glorious time of the horticultural year.  At least I consider it so, for I regard the humble daffodil to be my favorite flower above all others, followed closely by summer's sweet pea.

Last evening, after a long day of blustery winds, I noticed that a clump of narcissus Albatross was in peril of being toppled over.

It was rather a challenge to photograph these daffodils as they whipped about in the wind

Photo: Chronica Domus

Curious Norton proved himself  to be a further challenge, albeit a pleasant one

Photo: Chronica Domus

Narcissus Albatross in full bloom or would that be in full flight?

Photo: Chronica Domus

Having endured losses to winds in years past, I thought it prudent to gather up the flowers already in bloom and enjoy those indoors.  There are plenty still remaining, in bud, to be savored in the weeks ahead as garden ornament.

Into the garden trug go a dozen blooming Albatross daffodils

Photo: Chronica Domus

Seeking a suitable container in which to display these dainty heirlooms, I looked no further than my mantelshelf where an early nineteenth century black basalt Wedgwood pastille burner takes pride of place.  Removing its lid, I placed a small circular metal flower frog within it before adding water.

My chosen flower container for the heirloom daffodils, an early nineteenth century Wedgwood black basalt pastille burner

Photo: Chronica Domus

Then came the flowers.

Photo: Chronica Domus

As I stepped back to admire my handy work, I was reminded why it wasn't always such a bright idea to repurpose certain objects as flower receptacles.  A slow dribble of water from three previously unnoticed tiny holes in the base of its bowl rendered this particular vessel wholly unsuitable as a vase. I suspect the trio of holes were intended to provide oxygen to the aromatic pastille while lit.  A further hole in the lid allowed a wisp of white smoke to escape and saturate the air with its perfume.

Ah well, I thought the basalt burner made for a very pretty little vase, if only for a brief moment.  I hope you think so too.

If you are interested in learning more about pastille burners, the air fresheners of yesteryear, I would encourage you to read the excellent post written by the author of The Regency Redingote, which can be found here.

What's Blooming Inside: Drifts of Snowy Daffodils

Photo: Chronica Domus

I have written about my favorite flower, the humble daffodil, extensively in the past and cannot help but rejoice in its understated yet elegant beauty each spring.  I am not talking about the overly-hybridized modern daffodil, mind you.  No, not at all!  I am, in fact, referring to those lesser-known, older varieties which I champion whenever opportunity arises.

When in bloom narcissus Thalia is like a spring snow drift

Photo: Chronica Domus

There has been a succession of daffodils blooming in the garden since late December.  As each variety fades, another awaits patiently in the wings to take center stage. Presently, my favorite of the snowy-whites, narcissus Thalia, is putting on a blinding display.

Thalia is a heritage daffodil, having been registered in Holland in 1916, and thus an appropriate addition to the garden of our house which was built in 1925. Her nodding star-shaped blooms are simply breathtaking in their elegance.  Her color is a true white, not cream or ivory. She is as pure (white) as the driven snow.  I consider Thalia to be inherently demure within the world of flowers.  In fact, if her name were not Thalia, I would have named her Audrey, as in Hepburn.

Pure as the driven snow

Audrey Hepburn in 'The Nun's Story'

Source

Thalia's exquisite scent is equally delicate and does not overwhelm the olfactory sense.  Do please give consideration to these older strains of daffodil when planting your own spring garden for I just know that you too will be rewarded tenfold for your efforts. Just to prove it, you'll be delighted to learn that Thalia possesses a generous spirit. She happily obliges in spreading her snowy-white wings, naturalizing to great effect within a few short years.

I can think of no more pleasurable experience than cultivating one's own flowers and reveling in the satisfying and humbling act of gathering a small handful to bring indoors.  Just look how Thalia enlivens a corner of the drawing room.

A pretty posy of narcissus Thalia sits atop a table in the drawing room

Photo: Chronica Domus

The flowering branches I purchased a few weeks ago for our dinner party are still going strong and impart an air of spring to the dining room

Photo: Chronica Domus

And, although I did not grow the mixed yellow bunches of daffodils seen in the photograph below, gathered in English earthenware milk jugs and resting on the kitchen counter, I was fortunate to have captured their ephemeral beauty saturated in early morning light, the golden hour.  The blooms were a much appreciated gift from my thoughtful husband who knows me too well.  I'm simply mad for daffs!

Golden daffodils fittingly bathed in golden morning light

Photo: Chronica Domus

Tell me, do you grow your own daffodils or buy them by the armload at this most glorious time of year?

The Daffodils

William Wordsworth 

1770 - 1850

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the Milky Way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of the bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A Poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed-and gazed-but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.