Walnut Olive Miso Magic Sauce - While, in my book, this will forever be the original magic sauce, this chunky walnut olive miso creation is worthy of the name as well. It works its mag...
Friday, December 12, 2008
So much to say . . . aaah, so much I am not legally permitted to say.
But this must be said: it's over.
Working for Martha Stewart over the past 3 years has been the most serendipitous trajectory of my young career. I remember the many hours spent in the student room of the School of Professional Horticulture searching, searching for 6-month internships. I had one set up with the Royal Botanic Garden in Scotland, but then my School's Director slipped me a piece of paper. Martha's head gardener was looking for an intern, and I had been recommended.
So began my time at Martha Stewart's garden-estate in Bedford, NY. Ambitious, energetic, conscientious, and willing to raise my standards beyond her bar, I spent April through September absorbing it all. Greenhouse plant collections, organic vegetable growing, propagation, woody plant collections; it was a veritable botanic garden in the making, and the perfect setting for me to stretch my skills after being cooped up in school.
Eventually I was asked by MS herself to continue working for her beyond the timeframe of my internship. Dry humor intact, I told her I would consider it. Who would have suggested that in the next 3 years I would be featured on 8 television gardening segments, many Sirius 112 radio interviews, the Martha blog, and styling props and floral arrangements for MSL photos shoots?
The experiences and lessons learned have been invaluable, and memorable. Best of all are the relationships I have founded on boundless laughter, endless humor, and tireless hard work. My love and thanks to Andrew, John, Jodi, Kim, and George. And Laura, for her cappuccino's.
And what now? I am blessed to have lots of support, blazing ambition, buoyant energy, and white-hot optimism. Kinda like having rocket fuel coursing your veins. My company, Living Colors Landscape and Gardens, has officially launched and is orbiting an atmosphere near you. All I can do is honor my roots, my education, and my experiences and pass that on to the public with services that are horticulturally correct, that support organics and biology, and are über creative.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Well, our weather is wacky, for sure.
Just as I finished the last of my bulb-planting, and slipped under the deep-freeze in a roll-tuck-007 move, I hear its gonna be lovely and warm, and isn't spring is eternal.
Um, thanks. Now this screws up not only me, but my bulbs as well. Overly optimistic leaves push up through the cold-cracked soil, the party in their pants will go from a wild spring burst to a brown and frost-bitten disappointed false start.
It's ugly, but not entirely devastating. Don't mind me, it's my Scandinavian genes that are screaming for more sunlight. That's what's responsible for the general malaise in my "voice".
Really though, bulbs are tough jewels. Think diamonds. Can scratch glass and still shine. Bulbs are similar. I have planted Narcissus in the depths of December, and they forgave me willingly.
I finishing my frenetic planting last Saturday and pondered the kind of obvious euphemism of 'buried treasure'. I thought of how dogs, and squirrels bury their most treasured items underground. We do too: the people we love the most, most of them, we lay gingerly under soil. Just interesting, that's all.
I used to get very impatient with bulbs. Planting, not knowing exactly how or where they will mix with their neighbors. Ya just wanna clean up the garden and go back inside where the tea kettle is warm. But now, it's different. I love setting these dense promises into the dark, burying them alive. They vibrate with excitement for me, keeping me in suspense, just can't wait to meet the individuals inside.
And then of course, the physical geophytes themselves are just fascinating. Their shapes, colors, their clothes, their smells! Oooohh, the scent of Fritillaria is enough to make my eyelids shut with the deepest inhale I can muster. Haha, I remember a couple Fritillaria maxima rolling around my truck (Hey, Feleppa, can you confirm the status of my vehicle?), and it smelled like a combo of pounds of dank trees and a road-killed skunk. I prefer the smell of skunk.
I have so much anticipation for my bulb combo's this spring. I can't wait to see what happens!