Signs of the season Sometimes, Martha Stewart gets a bad rap. People snidely remark that they aren't Martha (as if that were a "good thing"), and we all know who they're talking about. No one is Martha, and that's okay. Or, they will despair they're unable to make things like those Martha and her band of merry men and women create so they don't try at all. Is that any way to be? Bear and I have been DVR-ing the Martha Stewart Show every morning, and we're really enjoying watching her as she and her guests make beautiful crafts and foods for Christmas. I must say the new live format isn't as much fun as the older shows, which were filmed at Turkey Hill Farm, but if you record them, you can zip through the boring parts. The Hallmark channel also broadcasts portions of the old shows. I miss the...

Last night, Bill and I went to dinner in Guthrie. For the first time in over twenty years of living outside our quaint little town, we attended the Victorian Stroll. Guthrie truly is a Victorian town, and fortunately time and "urban progress" didn't change its unique character. Because I didn't know we were stopping, I didn't bring my camera along, but here are some earlier pictures of Guthrie during an almost Christmas snowstorm. I was pleased to see more antique shops open than ever, and we found one in particular which was splendidly decorated for the holidays. Inside, were beautiful period furniture and more pottery chickens than I've ever seen in one place. There covered two cases, and one of the owners said he started collecting them when he was a boy because of his grandmother. Grandmothers and grandfathers are powerful people in children's lives aren't they? Bill bought a...

Gulf Fritillary "Do you like butterflies," asks Bear as we drive to see Entangled at the matinee. I could wonder why she was thinking of butterflies on the coldest day of the year so far, but nothing she asks surprises me anymore. We've lived together eleven years, and she doesn't talk as much as the others do, but when she does, it's always interesting. "What do you mean?" I ask, "Real butterflies, or . . . ." I start to say metaphorical, but unsure whether she'd know what I mean, I pause, and she interrupts my thoughts. "Real," she says, tilting her head, "What other kind are there?" Suddenly, I envision a Victorian butterfly display, all pinned down beauty, and I give a shudder. Swallowtails on Phlox paniculata "You don't like them?" She seems shocked, and of course, she would. I'm a gardener after all, and I write about butterflies...

For a moment, let's consider those who came before us. Who or what compelled you to place your first seed in the warm earth? Was it a parent or grandparent? Did you once visit a famous garden like Montrose in North Carolina or Stourhead in Wiltshire, England? Did you read one of Christopher Lloyd's many books like the amazing Chistopher Lloyd's Garden Flowers: Perennials, Bulbs, Grasses, Ferns, or how about his friend, Beth Chatto's, mind blowing Beth Chatto's Gravel Garden: Drought-Resistant Planting Through the Year. By the way, you know you've made it when your name is part of the book's title. Are you more politically minded? Are you concerned about an upcoming food crisis, or is the preservation of the environment (water or land) your first consideration? Perhaps, you grew up in a house where preserving food was just part of the landscape per se. Did you lose your...