What's Blooming Inside: In Praise of Heirloom Sweet Peas

It has been said many times over that a picture paints a thousand words.  However, as I contentedly find myself captivated by Lathyrus odoratus, that most delicious of summer's blooms, I ask myself how it could possibly be fair to share a mere picture with you.  Or, for that matter, few words.

Photo: Chronica Domus

The humble sweet pea happens to be my favorite summer flower.  It helps, of course, that summers in the San Francisco Bay Area rarely ever sizzle; sweet peas loathe excessive heat.  On most days, the thermometer hovers around the agreeable lower- to middle-70's range.  All of this, of course, makes me a fortunate girl as I am able to enjoy a bountiful flower haul throughout the entire summer season and into early autumn.

I adore sweet peas so much that I would like to propose a new holiday in their honor, National Sweet Pea Day.  On this day, the ephemeral and beguiling beauty of Lathyrus odoratus will be praised and celebrated throughout the land. Gardeners will clip the flowers from their tangled vines to bring indoors by the basketful.  And, for those fellow admirers who lack either a garden or a green thumb, a trip to a local florist or market to procure a bunch to bring home will be the order of the day.

If you derive as much pleasure from this old-fashioned garden staple as I do, you'll be satisfied in the knowledge that the pretty undulating blooms should be clipped with regularity.  I can think of no other plant that replenishes its flowers as swiftly as the sweet pea.  It is nothing short of horticultural magic!  Happily, one's garden shears are pressed into service on an almost daily basis during summer's flush.

Lathyrus odoratus Cupani's Original (circa 1699) basking in the June sun

Photo: Chronica Domus

The sweet pea vines as photographed on a foggy day back in late June ...

Photo: Chronica Domus

... and yesterday, mid-August, still going strong

Photo: Chronica Domus

Daily cutting encourages a profusion of blooms

Photo: Chronica Domus

Once indoors, sweet peas should be arranged in vessels and vases and the posies placed about the house. The simple act of doing so provides me with the greatest of pleasure.  It is a rite of summer I look forward to undertaking each and every year.

Ah heaven!... how I wish I could share the exquisite perfume wafting from these blooms with you

Photo: Chronica Domus  

Every room, no matter its size or decoration, will surely be enhanced by the delicate beauty and scent put forth by these posies.  At least, that is, if you select wisely and cultivate the old-fashioned heirloom varieties.  Some may argue that the daintier pink and white blooms of Painted Lady (circa  1730) for example, or those of Lathyrus odoratus America, a rich raspberry-red and white striped example dating back to 1896 are not as showy or as large as modern hybrids.  On that score, I am in agreement.  However, these are among the many older sweet pea strains I favor and believe to be far superior not only in their form and beauty, but in their scrumptious scent, an attribute so often lacking in modern sweet peas.  Why deny yourself one of nature's most luscious and exuberant scents I say!

As I meandered through the house this past Sunday afternoon, while snapping away with my camera to bring you the images you see below, it was as though I was being carried away upon a fruit and spice scented cloud.  Each room was saturated with that oh-so exquisitely delicious fragrance unique to older sweet peas.  I won't even pretend to do justice to the scent with mere words.  You'll just have to believe me when I tell you the agreeable air in those rooms could rival that of any fancy perfumery.  

A bedside posy to sweeten the air and delight the eye

Photo: Chronica Domus

A vase on the kitchen counter brimming with resplendent purple and violet sweet peas
Photo: Chronica Domus

A diminutive posy of pink and cream, and a lone striated Lathyrus odoratus America bloom, is placed upon a table in the corner of the drawing room ... 

Photo: Chronica Domus

... and its twin posy is perched atop the secretary bookcase to enliven an 

otherwise quiet corner

Photo: Chronica Domus

It is now midway through August and I've been clipping at the gangly sweet pea vines since late-June.  The blooms, I am pleased to report, exhibit no sign of dwindling just yet. Over the coming weeks I anticipate the good fortune of filling my vases with many more splendid stalks of Cupani's Original, America, Painted Lady, and other heirloom strains I planted in the spring.  

Late-afternoon summer light rakes across a sweet pea arrangement

Photo: Chronica Domus

Won't you please join me in planting a packet or two of these older types of sweet peas in your garden over the coming year?  I highly recommend an Old-Spice mix for heat resistance and, of course, for an abundant yield of colorful fragrant blooms.  You will then be ready to celebrate that much longed-for future holiday, National Sweet Pea Day.  Now, isn't that a day worthy of a celebration?

A Bird-Themed Silver Lustre Creamware Jug To Mark National Audubon Day

Photo: Chronica Domus

Today, April 26, is National Audubon Day.  It is the day that Franco-American ornithologist John James Audubon (b. April 26, 1785 d. January 27, 1851) is commemorated.  Audubon is best known for his color-plate publication The Birds of America (1827 - 1838).  The multi-volume tome is still considered to be one of the finest ornithological works ever published and contains 435 hand-colored plates of North American birds placed within their natural habitats. The illustrations are a feast for the eyes.  

I'm sure many of you are familiar with Audubon's work, here is

"Blue Crane or Heron" from the book The Birds of America (1827 - 1838)

Source

Early this morning, after replenishing the seed in the bird feeder which hangs from the pear tree in my garden, I thought I would mark the day by making a simple flower arrangement using an appropriately decorated vessel.  Of course, as you can guess, the vessel is bird-themed.

The creamware pitcher I used was made in England during the first quarter of the nineteenth century.  It is hand-painted using purple enamel (or would that be puce?), and silver lustre (or would that be silver resist?).  There is some debate in the ceramics world as to when exactly it was that the silver decoration, commonly referred to as silver lustre, was first utilized by the English potteries and ceramics factories.  In fact, it turns out that the metallic decoration is not derived from silver at all. While researching this post, I happily stumbled across an excellent and absorbing article published by Johnson Matthey Plc, found here.  It details how platinum came to be used to mimic the effect of silver on these early ceramic pieces.  And, although the label I found adhered to the base of my jug identifies it as having been manufactured between 1790 - 1800, the Johnson Matthey article states the first use of "silver" decoration began slightly later in 1805.  It was John Hancock of Hanley in Stoke-on-Trent who invented the lustrous decorative glaze while working at the Spode factory. 

The label on the underside of my jug reads "Leeds: Resist Lustre Period 1790 - 1800"

Photo: Chronica Domus

This type of decoration is known as silver lustre or more accurately as silver resist or steel resist lustre and is achieved by painting the design - in this case the foliage - with glue and a glycerin or honey mixture which is washed away after the jug has been dipped in the platinum lustre prior to firing

Photo: Chronica Domus

Another view of the silver resist and purple (or puce) enamel decoration

Photo: Chronica Domus

I purchased the jug from an antiques shop one day while visiting my husband's uncle and aunt.  The shop is but a short distance by car from their house.  I happened to spot the jug sitting in a locked glass case in the back of the shop.  The dealer who opened the case for me made it impossible to walk away empty handed.  "I've had this jug for ten years and I want it to go to a good home" he said.  "If you like it, I will sell it to you for half the sticker price".  What the dealer did not know was that I had every intention of buying his lavishly decorated jug as not only did I find the piece to be rather pretty, but it was also in excellent condition with not a crack, chip, or nibble to be found upon it.  Frankly, I was astonished it had languished behind glass for an entire decade.  The dealer's offer certainly sweetened the deal and I am thrilled to have added the pitcher to my ever-increasing ceramics collection.  Below is an almost identical one sold at auction six years ago.

Here's a mate to my jug, sold at auction in 2012 and described as a silver resist lustre 
Leeds "songbird on a fence" jug, circa 1810 - 1815

Source

Before I get too carried away with the details of the vessel's decoration, here it is in situ, in our drawing room.  It holds lusciously dense panicles of lilac, the color of which is almost indistinguishable to the painted song bird decoration.  

An arrangement of lilacs in celebration of National Audubon Day

Photo: Chronica Domus

Today, I encourage you all to venture outdoors and enjoy a little bird song, and to also appreciate the local variety of birds flying freely through the (hopefully) blue skies of your neighborhood.

John James Audubon 1785 - 1851

by John Syme

Source

Within a few minutes of stepping into my own garden this morning, I have already heard the squawking of a Scrub Jay, the gentle cooing of a Mourning Dove, and the buoyant chirping of a multitude of Sparrows.  What a joy and a privilege it is to experience such an agreeable nature-borne melody.  Do please tell me what birds you might happen to hear singing in your garden today.

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?

Of Aubergines and Coddiwomples

An Old Paris Porcelain reticulated fruit basket filled with aubergines makes an unusual 

autumn centerpiece

Photo: Chronica Domus

I do so enjoy a bit of fun with words and every now and then, I come across a real corker.  I can't quite remember where I first heard the word coddiwomple but when I did, I immediately shared it with my husband.  "Ah", he said, "that's a good one, and a bit like me when I'm looking for the trail on one of my backpacking expeditions".  How, we wondered, had we not previously known of this lovely word while living it on many occasions?

"To travel in a purposeful manner towards a vague destination" is, in essence, to coddiwomple.  I'm sure that you too have had occasion to coddiwomple without knowing you were actually doing so. I partook in a bit of it myself this past Saturday as I trolled the farmers' market for something suitable to fashion into a table centerpiece in preparation for our Sunday lunch guests.

I had already decided I would avoid the use of autumnal gourds and squashes.  I'll be saving those for our Thanksgiving table next week.  Flowers too were a no-go in light of the fact that nipping down to the city's excellent flower market was not on the books on this particularly over-scheduled day.  As such, I found myself wandering towards a vague destination in terms of what to do about my centerpiece dilemma.  Or, to sum things up rather tidily, I found myself coddiwompling.

After considerable dithering, I settled upon something rather unexpected; a delightful melange of jewel-sized aubergines in shades ranging from deepest purple to creamy white.  Corralled in a pretty Old Paris Porcelain reticulated fruit basket, the arrangement qualified as possibly the most unusual centerpiece that has ever graced our dining table.  It was, as it turned out, a wonderful ice-breaker too, with our guests exclaiming how marvelous it looked, and what fun to it was to use items more commonly confined to the kitchen.

The aubergines were a big - and unexpected - hit with our Sunday lunch guests

Photo: Chronica Domus

I always find it so rewarding to stumble across a previously unknown (at least to me) word in the English language.  And, when that word is as fun to utter as coddiwomple well, I just can't help myself from repeating it.  And often!

When was the last time you found yourself coddiwompling, and what unusual things have found their way onto your dining table as a centerpiece?  Do please let me know.

Betwixt The Seasons

There is something so endearing about this time of year here in Northern California.  The dregs of summer are barely holding on in the garden with the last few tomatoes clinging to the withering vines, and a final clutch of cheery summer nasturtiums offering themselves up for gathering just as autumn creeps upon us.

Summer's last nasturtiums gathered this morning and placed in an earthenware
vessel to brighten up the kitchen

Photo: Chronica Domus

Sweet White Currant tomatoes holding on for dear life

Photo: Chronica Domus

The subtle signs of autumn play 'peek-a-boo' with the foliage.  Look here!  The first wisteria leaflet splashed in warming shades of amber.

Aha, a turning leaf upon the climbing wisteria ...

Photo: Chronica Domus

... and here's another, signaling autumn's arrival

Photo: Chronica Domus

It's funny to celebrate the colors of these few turning leaves when I think back on childhood memories of knee-deep piles of them, blown across from the woodland, only to settle in the front garden. There were many October Saturday mornings spent raking seemingly endless piles of oak leaves into the wheelbarrow in the company of my two younger sisters and my father.  We made a game of it so that what would otherwise have been a wearisome task became a fun but exhausting rite of autumn.

Of course, that special golden light that rakes across our house in the afternoon is yet another undeniable signal that autumn is here.  The intensely saturated sunsets too have been nothing short of spectacular as of late.  I captured this one a few weeks ago on our travels home across the Bay.

Photo: Chronica Domus

And, although our daytime temperatures are mild at present, I am certain all of that will soon come to an end.  Last night was the first night I felt as though I needed a blanket to get me through the cooler night air.

How is it where you live?  Are you betwixt the seasons or did autumn arrive on cue with the calendar, in the latter part of September?  Please, do tell me.