The Exhibition "Flowers Forever" in Munich

So happy to see you here! 

... I thought that I saw a collection of flower drawings - but no, it was something very different: 

"These collages were made by Fadwa Hussoun, an intelligence officer in the Libanese Army. Throughout the 1970s and 1980s, Lebanon's Deuxième Bureau, the army's Intelligence division, used to give code names to all local and international leaders. But someone had to come up with the code names. Fadwa Houston was assigned this task, and because she had studied botany in university, she decided to give the leaders the name of flowers. To remember which code name belonged to which person, she made the collages displayed here." (text Kunsthalle Munich)

 

"The Posy of March": Violets and Daisies

 

Last year I bound quite a lot of little bunches (that word might be better than "bouquet"?) on the days spent in Bavaria. When I walked through nature I picked a few wild flowers to bring a whiff of spring or summer inside. 

Here you see the first little posy of the year 2023: three fragrant violets and three daisies, together in a tiny Meissen porcelain vase. 

"Above all flouris in the mede 

Than I love most those flouris 

White and rede;

Soche that men call daisies 

In our towne"

writes Geoffrey Chaucer. 

Daisies - or Bellis perennis - are my first flower-memory from very early childhood: 

in times - though quite a time after the end of WWII - mothers were still advised to feed their children exactly all four hours, and let them cry "to strengthen their lungs", and my mother followed that advice strictly and put my pram outside on the meadow, or, when the weather grew warmer, put me on a cover on the grass. 

Daisies fascinated me - they smelled quite strange, but looked lovely. 

 

  

First Violets!

 

Can you imagine? I found the first violets when I walked up the hills! 

They were almost invisible (I helped one out from under the leaves) - real messagers of spring! 

These were dog violets (viola canine) - so they do not smell - but though I am very keen on the fragrance of flowers, this time I had nothing to nag but was just happy. 

Of course I didn't pick them - because though the weather is really cold I saw the first courageous bees - and they will need all the nectar they can find. 

I don't know whether they are still in fashion, but as pupils we had in Germany friendship books, we called them "Poesiealbum" - one wrote a more (or less) wise saying into it, and painted or pasted a glittering picture beside it. 

Very popular was this one: 

"Be like the little violet in the moss, modest, demure and pure/ and not like the proud rose/ which always wants to be adored!" 

(Well - I like roses :-)   

And I suspect that the anonymous poet didn't know much about botany: the violet is a very doggedly plant, with a high urge to to spread itself out. Yes, they occupied almost the whole world, both hemispheres. 

And I always think of C.G.Jung and his theory of "the Shadow", when I look at all those people striving for power or world domination - whose favourite flower was the modest violet: Napoleon, Kaiser Wilhelm, Winston Churchill. 

And many others.    

The Garden of a Princess, Prinses Wilhelmina

 

In her wonderful autobiography "Eeenzam Maar Niet Alleen" (which I would translate as "Lonely but Not Alone") Wilhelmina, Queen of the Netherlands, ruling from 1898 - 1948, describes the little garden she had as a child. (Rough translation by me - from Nederlands to English - a bit daring as both are not my mother tongue :-) 

"Also for my little garden - I had a small garden of my own - he ordered (Wilhelmina speaks of the Head-Gardener Kraaijenbrink) all flowering plants, among others a whole planting of miniature roses (Perle d'Or) along the path that led there. Father was interested also in the hothouses and glasshouses; he gave Mother many beautiful foreign plants of many sorts and origin. 

Mother made sure that I cared for flowers in father's room throughout the whole year. First pluck, then despatch, that was my task. He was always so glad with them! Of course mother got her due too."     

(The text in Nederland: "Ook voor mijn tuintje - ik had een eigen tuintje - bestelde hij (tuinbaas Kraaijenbrink) alle bloeiende planten, onder andere een hele beplanting van dwergroosjes (Perle d'Or) langs het pad daar doorhen. Ook de kassen en kasplanten hadden vaders belangstelling; hij schonk moeder vele mooie uitheemse planten van allerlei soort en herkomst. 

Moeder droeg er zorg voor dat ik het hele jaar door vaders kamer van bloemen voorzag. Eerst plukken en dan schikken, dat was mijn taak. Wat was hij er altijd blij mee! Natuurlijk kreeg moeder ook haar deel.") 

Did you have a garden bed of your own when you were a child? Did you like to help in the garden? 

 

Light in February

 

"If Candlemas Day be fair & bright /  Winter will have another fight / But if Candlemas Day be clouds & rain / Winter is gone & and will not come again"     quotes Edith Holden an old English saying. 

Well, well, well - these days we are almost drowning in rain! Yet I am not convinced that it was all we saw of winter, though I would be glad: the Schneekarte hangs on my peg (a card that shows which person has to do the snow shovelling - here in Bavaria we have no janitor, and I could not convince my flat neighbours to spend money on a person who will clear away the snow...) 

On the table of my balcony you see dwarf iris (they smell so lovely), first snow drops, muscari "Blue Magic" (which my computer stubbornly tries to change into "Mascara").  

In February we see that the days get longer and light comes back. The Celtic feast of Brigid celebrates the light - Brigid is the Goddess of Light, bright, radiant and sparkling.  

In a book I found the proposal to contemplate a typical February question: 

'What New wants to grow? What needs light, love and caring?' - good questions not only for the gardeners among us, I think. 

A Surprise: the Poisonous-Plant of the Year 2023

I will go outside on my balcony, shivering in the icy wind, and take a picture of a plant that everybody knows (though might not recognise it in this bad condition here :-) . 

After winter the plant looks ugly and unkempt - thus I decided that it will be best to throw it out. 

And THAT would be very wise. 

Because I am speaking of Germany's "Poisonous Plant of the Year 2023". 

It is - hoopla! - PARSLEY. Normal (but what is normal nowadays?) parsley, whether flat Italian parsley or curly-leaf parsley: both are poisonous. 

How come that we all still are alive then? you might ask yourself. 

And I may chirp: If you have children or grandchildren, you know that almost every plant on earth is poisonous: potatoes, lilies of the valley, yew tree, (but also box, did you know that)?  

When our son was very young, I always had the telephone number of the poison-emergency call-centre with me - because as an unexperienced young mother - but well-informed on plants - I feared that a small child might put everything into its mouth. 

I even became a murderer myself: I expurgated the laburnum that had settled on its own next to the entrance of my garden and showered the earth with hundreds of highly poisonous seeds - all parts of laburnum are very toxic. Twice in my life I became a whistle blower: I informed the garden authorities - once in Hildesheim, where the idiots had planted a wall of laburnum around a playground and who looked with admiration at the wall of a kindergarten that was flowered with highly poisonous nightshade - and second time four years ago in Berlin, where they had planted the very decorative ricin, the caster-oil plant around a huge sitting place with grass for the children and banquettes for the unsuspecting mothers.   

But parsley? 

I nebulously remembered that parsley in distant memory was used for pregnancy termination - and that Wise Women murmured that pregnant women should eat no parsley. And that's no old wives' tale: parsley can be poisonous - IF you eat it during or after the time it blossoms. 

(Another saying in Germany was: "Parsley helps the man to get up on his horse and the woman into the grave", hinting at the aphrodisiac and the poisonous agent - though that may have been said before Linné, when  parsley and celeriac in many old languages had the same name - even nowadays they still belong to the same plant family, the Umbelliferae. 

The street for whores was called "Petersiliengasse" ("lane of parsley"), writes plant expert Marianne Beuchert. In England the word "parsley bed" also has an erotic meaning. 

At the moment when parsley starts to flower it builds the poison apiol - the leaves, stem, blossoms and seeds of parsley THEN are poisonous, and  kidney and liver and uterus can be damaged, and the stomach cramps. 

But on the other hand we know that (young) parsley is delicious in soup, looks nicely on salad, and has many minerals and vitamins, is diuretic, and, and, and. 

So: if you have parsley in your garden or your balcony: don't be too proud if it survives winter. Throw it out. Sow or buy new parsley - though folks say: ""parsley seeds must go to the devil and back nine times before sprouting"  - and also: don't sow/put it into the same place as before. 

January - named from Roman Janus

 

This beautiful painting is from "The Country Diary Of An Edwardian Lady" by Edith Holden - I have the facsimile reproduction from her diary written in 1906. 

I adore it - and think it is a good way to start my "nature-travel" through the year 2023. 

Outside snow is falling in little flakes. Nature sleeps, the puddles are covered with ice. This one looks like a beautiful shawl or veil. 

The few bulb plants I impatiently bought hang listless and limp over the rim of their flowerpots on the balcony table - but we both know that they are tough and at the first kiss of the sun will rise their little heads again. 

The title above is a quote from Edith's diary: "... Janus, who is represented with two faces looking in opposite directions, - as retrospective to the past, and prospective to the coming year."  

  

Poisonous Mushrooms

 

I always liked Shirley Conran's advice: 

       "Life is too short to stuff a mushroom". 

Same as "Keep it simple", but more graphic. 

This year was a very good one for mushrooms. Yet I didn't collect them in 2022 - my family was too anxious, though they could be assured that I will be cautious: I only collect chanterelles (found lots of them in Austria), bay bolete, and, if I am very lucky: porcini. 

On my cellphone I installed an App that helps to decide whether a mushroom is "good" or not - but I only do use it to get the upper hand in that mycelium of dizzy mushroom names - NOT to collect any for the pan. I join in with Pu Bear: "You never can tell with bees mushrooms." 

Next year I plan to take a course at an expert of mushrooms - here in Bavaria - maybe then they will be reassured? 

Query: Is it true that a "toadstool" is always a poisonous mushroom? 

 

 

Sage - or: "The Master's not the Master...

 

Some days ago on a stroll through Bavarian meadows I saw a patch of very bright blue. I'd never seen this plant before: 

meadow sage - Salvia pratensis. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salvia_pratensis

Most of us will have used Sage, Salvia officinalis in our kitchens. 

The wonderful and very easy recipe of Saltim Bocca alla Romana is made with that - a  thin slice of Parma ham on a thin veal escalope and a leaf of sage on it - but see yourself at Jamie Oliver -  https://www.jamieoliver.com/recipes/beef-recipes/saltimbocca-alla-romana/  

You can be sure it does just what the translation of Saltim Bocca means: it jumps into the mouth. And is very quick to prepare. And when you see the inflationary prices for veal escalope, you might need a big slug of marsala, which you need for the recipe too. 

Folks have many names for sage: in Great Britain it is also called "Christ's eye" - you find the pink flowers of clary sage, Salvia sclarea often on paintings of Saint John, symbol for Divine salvation. 

Salvia officinalis is used as medical plant. In a compilation of medical mnemonics from the year 1300 you find the interesting question: 

"Cur moriatur homo, cui Salvia crescit in horto? Why should man die if Salvia grows in the garden?" The sobering answer: "because there grows no herb against death".  

In the very well-informed book of Marianne Beuchert, "Symbolik der Pflanzen" (sadly no English edition) I found an interesting part of English folk belief: 

"If the sagetree flowers and grows, / The master's not the Master and he knows." 

               "Want a few more Saltim bocca, darling?"    - :-) 

Sunflowers, Tomatoes, Potatoes... (new version)

 

What do you think when you see a sunflower? 

Normally I am as pleased as Punch when I see their friendly faces. 

But at the moment I am highly irritated because of the attack of the climate activists, who threw tomatoe soup at Vincent van Gogh's painting "Sunflowers". Van Gogh painted them in 1888, in pleasant anticipation of Paul Gaugin's visit, who then was his friend (the visit ended in disaster - think of the ear). 

In the German weekly "Die Zeit" Elisabeth Raether wrote that the group "Just Stop Oil" was founded in April 2022 and got donations of 1,1 million Dollar by the US Climate Emergency Fund, which was founded by Aileen Getty, granddaughter of J.P.Getty, the Oil-Tycoon. 

"The end justifies the means" says a proverb - yet I do not agree. 

In Berlin we have climate protesters who stick themselves on the big motorway Avus - very annoying for the car drivers who have to wait till the police carries off all protesters - but here at least can understand the meaning of the action: cars are heavy polluters. 

But why throw tomato soup on a piece of art? 

The National Gallery at Trafalgar Square in London is visited each year by millions of visitors (I am one of them and LOVE this museum). 

No painting, writes Raether, is insured - because nobody can pay the policy, which would be 1 % of the appraisal value of the paintings. 

Two female members of "Just Stop Oil" threw tomato soup at the painting - it was protected by glass, but one can be very happy that the soup did not soak between frame and glass. 

Comment of an activist: 

"Mostly I was bothered that the soup wasn't vegan". 

and another:

"Yes, even if that painting would not have been protected by glass, we would have thought the action to be appropriate. Where is the shock when real sunflowers are destroyed!" said, so Raether, one of the group. 

Of course the attackers got much attention. But much turndown too. 

Do they really think that because of their action one tree less will be logged in the rainforest? One person more learn about the climate catastrophe? Or change their way of living? Sympathise with them? 

Rain forest is irreplaceable, nature and climate too. And I am really concerned, and try to change what I can change. 

But art is irreplaceable too. 

To think that - to achieve the "good cause" - everything is allowed is a mistake. And history showed that sometimes "a good cause" might spiral up -  I think of Frankfurt in 1968 ("Burn, warehouse, burn!") where the argumentation - burning humans in a warehouse should give you the feeling of the napalm-burning people in Vietnam - came up.

The German followers of 'Just Stop Oil',  "Die letzte Generation - The Last Generation", now threw mashed potatoes at the painting "Cornrick"  by Claude Monet in the museum Barberini in Potsdam and said:    

"People starve, people freeze, people die. We are in a climate catastrophe. And all you are afraid of are tomatoe soup or mashed potatoes on a painting."     

PS: And beside my anger about trying to destroy works of art it is also THAT self-righteous statement above which makes me angry too: 

                       They KNOW what WE feel or do? 

Cherries - and a Touching Madonna

In Berlin sometimes I dip into a museum and look at only one or two paintings. It is like having an "espresso", a "little mouthful" as Pu Bear would say - just a glimpse at Beauty, and the eyes, the heart and the soul are happy. 

I notice "little things" - and that is one reason why I love this painting so much (you find it in Berlin's "Gemäldegalerie):  

"The Madonna and Child Enthroned" (1525) by Quinten Matsijs, a Dutch painter, (né 1465 in Leuven/ died 1530 in Antwerpen) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quentin_Matsys 

Butter, cherries, and a roll - these mouthwatering details you see it in this  painting.  

What fascinates me is the "imperfect" surrounding: this Madonna is so real - so human, she is not the unapproachable "Holy Virgin", but a tender young woman who cuddles her child. As most mothers she has a lot to do, household chores are not the most important on her To-Do-list. 

You see, if you look very hard, something on the floor, in front of her right foot: 

                                        some cherry pits!  

On planting bulbs - a quote from "The Provincial Lady" by E.M.Delafield

 

November 7th. -- Plant the indoor bulbs. Just as I am in the middle of them, Lady Boxe calls. I say, untruthfully, how nice to see her, and beg her to sit down while I just finish the bulbs. Lady B. makes determined attempt to sit down in armchair where I have already placed two bulb-bowls and the bag of charcoal, is headed off just in time, and takes the sofa. 

    Do you know, she asks, how very late it is for indoor bulbs? September, really, or even October, is the time. Do I know that the only reliable firm for hyacinths is somebody from Haarlem? Cannot catch the name of the firm, which is Dutch, but reply Yes, I do know, but think it my duty to buy Empire products. Feel at the time, and still think, that this is an excellent reply. Unfortunately Vicky comes into the drawing-room later and says: "O Mumie, are those the bulbs we got at Woolworths?" 

Lady B. stays to tea. (Mem.: Bread-and-butter too thick. Speak to Ethel.) We talk some more about bulbs, the Dutch School of Paintings, our Vicar's wife, sciatica, and All Quiet on the Western Front. 

(Query: Is it possible to cultivate the art of conversation when living in the country all year round?) 

Britta says: I LOVE the hilarious books by E.M.Delafield - read them often - and just in time: November is coming near, and I have planted a few bulbs of snowdrops - "a few" means: 7 - hahaha, that is the number of snowdrops that were in the bag. 

Well - I garden on the balcony, and only in one box I planted perennials, and there I put the little bulbs in between. Am curious whether they manage... 

In The Times of Sustainability...

 

...when I saw that rusty chair which you might spot when you squint, I asked myself: "Which idiot put that chair into the carrier of a high-voltage power line?" and then a flash of inspiration shot through my brain.

 

You see the wind turbines far on the hills: Germany -  crammed with theorists dominating pragmatists, though we have great engineers  - has to learn to produce its own sustainable electricity. 

As Government is against our already installed nuclear power plants (the Honest Fritz shivers when he thinks of coming winter, though Government  - really, no joke!- has equipped him with good advice: "Shower less and shorter" and "Use a washcloth" and "Turn down the heating") - we have (and should have long ago, I agree on that, thrusting aside the thought of many, many killed birds) to install more wind turbines. 

So: "recycling" and "sustainability" are the right password of the present and the future. 

(Though I would keep the nuclear power plants for a wile). 

"Sustainabilty" you call it in Plain Old English - in Germany they call it "Nachhaltigkeit" - first used 1713 in a publication on forestry - but there as "nachhaltige Nutzung" = ongoing use" - which makes sense. As a German philologist, I am not happy with the substantive. 

And I thought: why shall I throw that new blog of mine "...und eine kleine Blume muss man auch haben" - which is part of a quote of Hans Christian Andersen: 

"Just living is not enough, said the butterfly, one must have sunshine, freedom and a little flower"  

onto the compost heap, only because I made a mistake in thinking about my aim and my readers? 

You are my readers - and you speak English - thus I will take the little blog-seedling and water it diligently, protect it agains sun and wind, maybe build a little wind shelter as The Little Prince did for his rose. 

Meaning: I will write in my own rambling English words, make my own blunders - and do not leave the field to Google translations - all that I will do in the name of sustainability. 

Come to think of it: I do it in the name of FUN - because I LOVE plants! 

 

Der Burggarten der Kaiserburg Nürnberg, der Bürgermeistergarten und der gemeine Buchsbaumzünsler

 

Gestern habe ich es endlich geschafft, einen kleinen Ausflug nach Nürnberg zu machen und dabei nicht nur die Kaiserburg, sondern auch den Burggarten anzuschauen. 

Mein Navy und ich spielten mal wieder: "Wer hält wohl länger durch?" - 

- als ich genug hatte vom "links abbiegen!", "nach dreihundert Metern viermal im Kreis gehen!" "zurück gehen, hahaha!"  und mich das obige Strassenschild ebenfalls auslachte, hatte ich genug von Google Map und fragte einen Einheimischen nach dem Weg - von da ab ging's bergauf. 

Vorbei an dem "Weingärtle", nun ja - viele Flaschen wird das nicht ergeben, und dann lag er da, der Burggarten: ein fast runder Platz, mit mehreren großen, buchsbaumeingefaßten Rosenbeeten, von Bäumen überschattet. (Ohne zu prahlen: auf meinem großen Südbalkon blühen zur Zeit mehr Rosen als hier.) 

Aber ich hatte ein hochinteressantes Gespräch mit einem jungen Gärtner, der gerade die vielen Buchsbaumfassungen beschnitt. 

"Ihr Buchsbaum sieht prächtig aus - so gesund! Sie haben offenbar keine Probleme mit dem Buchsbaum-Zünsler oder der Pilzkrankheit Cylindrocladium buxicola?" (Hier sprachen Kenner unter sich :-)  

Bei dem Pilz handelt sich um eine sehr aggressive Art, der seit 2004 in Deutschland heimisch wurde und die Buchsbäume wie vertrocknet aussehen lässt - ich habe in England Gartenbesitzer weinen sehen. 

Im Burggarten haben sie "nur" den Buchsbaumzünsler, Cydalima perspectalis, einen ostasiatischen Kleinschmetterling, nicht einmal häßlich, aber extrem gefräßig. Bis vor kurzem hatte er keine natürlichen Feinde, denn die Raupe frißt sich vorsichtshalber mit den Giftstoffen des Buchsbaums voll, je giftiger die Blätter, desto leckerer. Aber Blaumeise, Spatz und Buchfinken wollten nun auch nicht immer nur Nürnberger Bratwurst mit Sauerkraut essen, sondern holten sich zur Abwechslung  rasch mal ein Räupchen-Sushi beim Asiaten.  

Die Gärtner im Burggarten machen es so: sie gehen jede Woche mit Hochdruckstrahlern an den langen Hecken vorbei, unter die sie Folie gelegt haben, und pusten das Viehzeug runter. Und haben großen Erfolg durch ihre Mühe.  

Ich ging nach dieser spannenden und langen Unterhaltung noch ein Stück weiter zum Bürgermeister-Garten - auch in den Burgmauern, und wurde nicht nur mit einem wunderschönen Weitblick über die Stadt belohnt: 

sondern auch durch viele schön geplante Herbstblumen 

 unter und um einen Baumkreis, 

eingefasst in Buchsbaum: 

Zu ausführlichen Information über die Gärten und ihre spannende Geschichte empfehle ich https://www.schloesser.bayern.de/deutsch/garten/objekte/nbg_burg.htm 

PS: I really admire the quick Google translation into English - but do have my doubts about the part about the battle of the gardeners against the box tree moth. They simply use a high-pressure water blaster and a foil where the caterpillars fall upon and can be destroyed without any poison. 

Ginkgo biloba.

 

Heute morgen mache ich das Licht auf meinem Schreibtisch an. Es ist eine wunderschöne dänische Lampe mit einem gefalteten Papierschirm. 

Und dann liegt da auf dem Schreibtisch ein gepresstes Blatt von einem Ginkgo (Ginkgo biloba) - hier habe ich es unter die Lampe gelegt. 

Ob dieses Blatt wirklich aus zusammengewachsenen Nadeln besteht, darüber streiten sich die Geister. Der Baum wurde zur Jahrtausendwende zum "Baum des Jahrtausends" gewählt, stammt aus China und wurde 1730 von niederländischen Seefahrern als Zierbaum nach Europa gebracht. (Diese 3 Hinweise habe ich von Wikipedia https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ginkgo )

Ich beobachte seit Jahrzehnten, dass Vorgartenbesitzer ahnungslos diesen Baum - möglichst sogar zwei, denn sie sind "zweihäusig getrenntgeschlechtlich = diözisch" - auf das Handtuch aus Erde vor ihr Häuschen pflanzen. Das sieht auch schön aus: hellgrüne Blätter im Frühjahr, die sich mit der Zeit verdunkeln, und im Herbst in riesigen Massen abgeworfen  werden - dann sind sie gelb wie das oben auf dem Foto, und man kann sie in einem dicken Buch pressen. 

Falls nach etwa 25 Jahren Früchte gebildet werden, hat man nach ranziger Butter stinkende Kugeln auf dem Gehweg liegen - dazu kommt es aber meist nicht, weil der Vorgarten recht schnell zu klein wird für diese Riesen: sie können zwischen 40 - 60 Meter hoch werden, und etwa 5 Meter breit.... :-) 

Ich sammle im Herbst immer ein paar schöne Blätter. Sie schützen die Bücher: 

Blätter, Holz und Wurzeln sind für fast alle Insekten mehr oder weniger toxisch. So werden in Japan und China Blätter des Ginkgobaums als Lesezeichen verwendet, um Bücher vor Silberfischen und Insektenlarven zu schützen.  

Und es freut mich, wenn ich ein Buch öffne und manchmal fällt dann ein wunderschönes gepresstes Lesezeichen heraus. In Japan hat man sogar mit Tinte Gedichte darauf geschrieben, so weit bin ich noch nicht :-) 

Und vielleicht hat der dänische Designer auch an ein Ginkgo-Blatt gedacht, als er seinen Lampenschirm faltete?