Old Friends - Eski Dostlar

Spring is my favorite time of the year. Yes the garden is more spectacular in June, plants are developed, flowers are open and fragrances carry on the warm night air. But spring brings a different air of expectancy as well as trepidation because for me, it is a time of reunion with old friends that I haven't seen for months. How have they fared? Are they more robust than last year, is there more of it? Or are they weak and telling you that they would rather be somewhere else, or that you are neglecting some vital need?

Especially for new additions to the garden whose success is not a given, spring is when you learn if they made it or not. Last April I was back in Seattle and in addition to plants I bought at nurseries there, I also visited my old garden and rescued a few old favorites from oblivion. Now they continue to give joy in their new home.

Perhaps the thing that makes me happiest of all is when, after nervously scanning the ground for the emergence of something I'd particulary hoped would thrive, seeing no trace of it and coming to the conclusion that it has succumbed, it is just there one morning, leaving me wondering how I could have failed to trust it. This happened this morning with a couple of new additions; one of these was Arisaema-[probably]-consanguineum, which I had planted almost the moment I got home from Seattle. It went down within a week, and I was pretty sure it was a goner. Still, I was careful not to plant anything too close to its site (so I thought...now how did that Fritillaria imperialis get there?). I went out this morning and there it was, over an inch above the ground. It must have been there yesterday...but damned if I noticed it.

Another one I wasn't sure about was a tall bearded iris, "Salonique," that I'd gotten woefully out of season. Well...planted right in season actually, in September, but from a rhizome that had hit the shelves in the spring. It was on sale, what the hell I said. The other irises were several inches out of the ground, but not sign of Salonique. I was so sure it had become compost that I even bought another one when I saw it at Bauhaus the other day. And predictably, the day I went out to plant it, there she was, an inch or so out of the ground. Yes, I can hear you smirking, "Bearded iris?! You might as well wonder if the bindweed would come back." Dude, it was like, totally shriveled, okay?

A few are still AWOL. If Hosta “Sum and Substance” is still with us, it is not in any hurry to reveal itself, and the Cardiocrinum giganteum I planted in the same general area is still keeping me in suspense. But the one that remained in the pot is just now showing the tiniest bit of green so I have hopes for its brother as well.

I have pretty much given up on Geranium phaeum, though it survived in what seemed to be much worse conditions in my last garden, where it generally kept a few leaves up throughout the winter. Not a sign of it now. Ditto for the Geranium himalayense, and I loved that one! But I'll continue to avoid planting anything there until we're well into April.

The greatest disappointment is when a long-awaited treasure reappears, begins to grow, and then inexplicably disappears. This happened with my Symphytum caucasicum, or blue comfrey, which I'd gotten a piece of from my old neighbor and fellow hortisexual Skot O'Mahony, who had gotten his from me when I left Seattle. This well-behaved, non-running comfrey had always been a favorite of mine, and its sky-blue flowers were stunning against the dark red leaves of a barberry. Luckily I got enough of it to hedge my bets and plant it in two different places. The other piece is doing famously. And who knows, maybe the first one became snail fodder and will pop up again. Never trust a comfrey, I say.


İlkbahar, en sevdiğim mevsimdir. Haziranda bahçe daha gösterişli oluyor tabii, bitkiler daha gelişmiş oluyorlar, sıcak akşam havası da açan çiçeklerin kokuları her tarafa götürüyor. Fakat ilkbahar, daha farklı bir intizar, aynı zamanda bir heyecan da getiriyor. Çünkü benim için ilkbahar, aylar boyunca hiç görmediğim eski dostlarla yeniden kavuşma zamanıdır. Nasıl geçinmişler? Geçen seneden daha mı sağlam, çoğalmış mı? Yoksa zayıflayarak başka bir yerde olmayı tercih ettiklerini, yoksa hayati bir ihtiyaçlarını ihmal ettiğimi mi anlatıyorlar?

Özellikle bahçeye yeni getirilen ve başarıları varsayılamadığı bazı bitkilerin köşeyi dönüp dönmediği, ilkbaharda belli oluyor. Geçen Nisanda Seattle’dayken, fidanlıklardan aldığım bitkiler yanı sıra eski bahçeme gidip birkaç eski gözdeler de yokluktan kurtardım. Şimdi yeni evinde her ilkbaharda yeniden çıkışlarıyla haz vermeye devam ediyorlar.

Belki beni en çok sevindiren şey, heyecanla her gün yaşadığına dair bir iz için toprağı sürekli taradığım ama görmeyince kışa yenik düşmüş sonucuna geldiğim bir şeyin bir sabah “nasıl şüphelenebildin” sormuşçasına pat diye ortaya çıkışıdır. Bu sabah tam böyle bir şey oldu. Seattle’dan hemen hemen geldiğim anda ektiğim Arisaema-[muhtemelen]-consanguineum, birkaç gün dayanıp ortadan kaybolunca, her halde gitmiş diye farzettim. Yine de umutlar besleyerek onun yerine başka bir şey eklememek için özen gösteriyordu. (Öyle zannediyordum hiç olmasa…tam yanında çıkan o büyük ters lale nereden gelmiş acaba?) Bu sabah çıkınca 3 santime kadar çıktığını gördüm. Dün de orada olmalıydı, farkına varmamam nasıl mümkündü ki?

Şüphelendiğim bir bitki daha ise, çok zamansız ektiğim “Salonique” adlı bir uzun susen cinsiydi. Aslında doğru ay olan Ekimde ekmiştim de, ektiğim kök Eminönü’ne ilkbahar gelmişti, iyice buruşmuş haldeydi. Olsun, indirimli zaten demiştim… Diğer susenler iyice gelişmişken Salonique kayıptı. Artık gübreye dönüştüğünden o kadar emindim ki, Bauhaus’ta aynı cinsi görünce bir tane aldım. Ve tam tahmin edileceği gibi, ekmeye çıktığım gün, kim çıkmıştı? Salonique tabii. (Evet, hepinizin şimdi sırıtarak “Susen mi? Adam, ısırganın da yine çıkıp çıkmayacağından endişelenmiş her halde” diye güldüğünüzden eminim…)

Birkaç bitki hala firar… Hosta “Sum and Substance” hala aramızdaysa, kendini elde etmeye hiç acele etmiyor. Aynı bölgede ektiğim Cardiocrinum giganteum (dev zambak) da beni hala şüphede tutuyor fakat saksıya ektiğim ikincisi ancak ufacık bir yeşillik göstermeye başladı, o yüzden kardeşi için de umutluyum.
Eski bahçemde çok daha kötü koşullar altında fışkıran Geranium phaeum için artik umudumu kesmek üzereyim çünkü genelde kış boyunca birkaç yeşil yaprak çıkarıyor fakat şimdi herhangi bir izi yok. Çok sevdiğim Geranium himalayense de öyle. Yine de Nisan ayına iyice girmeden oralarda hiç bir şey ekmeyeceğim.

Kuşkusuz en büyük hayalkırıklığı, aylarca beklediğim bir gözdenin yeniden çıkıp büyümeye başlaması, sonra izah edilmez biçimde ortadan kaybolmasıdır. Orijinalini benden alan, benim gibi bitki sevdalısı olan eski komşumdan bir parçası aldığım Symphytum caucasicum (mavi eşekkulağı) tam öyle oldu. Gök mavisi çiçekleri, kırmızı yapraklı diken üzümünün önünde harika bir görüntü veren bu çok uslu, hızlı yayılmayan eşekkulağı, yıllardır en sevdiğim bitkilerdendi. Çok şükür ki iki yerde ekip tedbir alabilmemi sağlayan bir miktarını almıştım. Diğer parçası turp gibi. Hem de kim bilir, belki ilki salyangozlara yem olmuş da yeniden çıkar. Bir eşekkulağına hiç güvenmeyin bence...

The Last Hurrah

Well, as summer winds down into autumn, I suppose I should post a picture of my upper flower garden as it is at the end of its first year. It's been another year of surprises, pleasures and disappointments as usual, but considering the rush job that it was and the stress to all the plants involved, it could have been a lot worse. Some plants, notable a beautiful sage I grew from seed brought from the island of Samos, went into exuberant growth in the spring only to succumb once the weather got hot. My attempt to start my favorite Pacific coast iris here seems to have predictably failed, though there seems to be something rather iris-like popping up where I don't remember planting any iris...still I'll let it go a while before I get my hopes up. Hosta "Sum and Substance" looks like crap, having fed several generations of fat, happy snails, but is hanging in there. The Cardiocrinums I brought are down but fine. Well, at least one of them is. And the Sarcococca confusa, or sweet box that I brought 2 years ago has flower buds on it. Other successes include two very nice Symphytums, a Buddleia japonica, several Sempervivums, Euphorbia "Emberglow," Salvia guaranitica "Black and Blue," and Verbena bonariense, which I may or may not be sorry I planted!

Autumn was always a mixed time for me as a youngster growing up in Iowa. The warm dry days and crisp cold nights gave us beautiful fall color. But I always greeted it with mixed feelings; the brilliant maples, blooming chrysanthemums and sweet scent of fallen sycamore leaves also meant the torture of having to force my feet, which had spread out over a summer spent 99% barefoot, into tight leather shoes, the "Back to School" sales (it always seemed those ads were devised for no purpose other than to rub it in), and seemingly endless months of icy winter. And I thought chrysathemums smelled awful anyway. I used to hate marigolds, but as the weather started getting nippy and they started to go ratty, I could get a little weepy even for them.

I'm not completely over this. Even though, as the following post will attest, moving to the west coast of the US and then to Istanbul has forced a bit of change to my attitudes, I still tend to see the coming of fall in terms of what favorite plants are putting out their last blooms, will soon ome to an end, or what last hopes will soon be snuffed out by an early frost. Like this bottle gourd. I bought the seeds in spring. Late spring. Okay, May. And then came home and planted them, as the weather was already starting to get pretty warm. If I'd planted them a little earlier, the roots would have gotten better established before the heat kicked in. And as they say in Greece, "If my grandma had b_ _ _ _, she'd be my grandpa." So the plants started putting out gourds way too late, and now the lower leaves have dried off; I'm hoping for just one ripe gourd before either frost or rot does the vine in. I guess I can always stir-fry it.

Many of our favorite annuals are actually tropical plants, so for them, fall is like a bad joke. I what they would think, if they could think, about the sudden change in the weather just as they're at their peak growth:"What the hell? I didn't evolve for this!" Luckily most of them manage to produce seed early enough to ensure a new generation, if I'm diligent enough to collect it. Even as curmudgeonly I can be about fall, I have to admit that for some, the seed pods are half the fun. One is Dolichos lablab, which incidently combines, in my opinion, one of the most beautiful words of botanical Latin with one of the silliest sounding. It's also known as hyacinth bean for its beautiful hot pink, fragrant flowers. But the pods are just as interesting; purple, shiny with an almost metallic glint. They'll soon fade to a most inelegant gray and shrivel to let me know the seed is ripe.

I suppose the quintessential fruit of fall in Turkey is the pomegranate, or nar in Turkish. It was an exotic fruit for me when I was growing up, and my mother still remembers being thrilled as a five year-old girl in Greece, when she lived in a house with pomegranates growing right outside her bedroom window. I'm cheating a bit as this isn't actually my pomegranate tree, it's down below in Sevil's garden. Our pomegranate flowers but generally doesn't set fruit and when it does, the fruit is inedible. I just keep it around for esthetic value. Though it would have more esthetic value if it was covered with beautiful fruit! Other fruits of autumn here include hurma (Japanese persimmon), muşmula (medlar), ayva (quince) and hünnap (Jujube). But pomegrantes are definitely queen this time of year; there are many different varieties, some with pale pink seeds and a sweet flavor, and others with deep red kernels and a delicious tartness. To taste the best ones you need to go to Antakya down south (or have friends from there), where they grow pomegranates that weigh nearly a kilo, some with kernels as large as large corn. Not only do they eat them, they boil the juice of the sour ones into a thick syrup, nar ekşisi, which is used in a variety of dishes. Ours isn't all that special, but I suppose it works as a segue into the next installment!