Gardens by Kelly Productions

Today, while cleaning my office (which seems like a constant, never-ending job), I came across two partial boxes of my first book, The Iowa Gardener’s Travel Guide, which many of you remember being promoted first on this site when it released in December 2008.  In an effort to make a little more space in my closet and to get these copies in the hands of folks who can put them to use (even if some of the entries are out-of-date), I’m offering them to you for 50% off cover price–$10.00 (sales tax included for Iowa residents).  Add $5.00 for shipping, and they’re yours.

So how do you buy a copy?  Email me with the following information: 

1. How many copies you’d like

2. If you’d like them autographed

3. Your shipping address

I’ll reply and provide you with the email address to use via PayPal.  If you’d prefer to pay by check, that works too.

If you’re interested in buying more than five copies (they do make great gifts), please email me for details.  Hurry–nab ‘em up!

An overcast sky and a duet album by Charlie Haden and Pat Metheny has me in a reflective mood today.  I think it’s prudent to pause at the close of a year, on the doorstep of another, and take stock of the road traveled and the journey ahead.  I’m not the kind of person that makes resolutions; I prefer not to think of January 1 as some new slate or canvas on which to start afresh.  It’s merely another opportunity, albeit with some celebration to mark the passage of time towards your goals and ambitions in life–a rest stop complete with fellowship, libations, and expressions of love and friendship.

2011 has been a phenomenal year in my life, even if the adventure at times frayed my nerves, tried my patience, and sullied my temperament.  Professionally, I finished my second book and graduated with my M.S. in horticulture from Iowa State University.  I gave 18 invited lectures this year from California to Virginia (love me some frequent flyer miles).  I flirted with three different job opportunities, though ultimately none of them panned out, and at that probably for the better.  The experience of interviewing and “going through that process” as they say in the world of job hunting was more than worth it.

Personally, I grew a lot into the person I’ve always wanted to be.  I met some phenomenal people this year that have forever changed my life.  As my professional life slowed down a little bit this fall, I made an effort to spend more time with my  inner circle of friends, reach out to colleagues I don’t talk to as much as I should, and invested time and energy in getting to know and love someone really fantastic.

On the flip side of all of this personal growth was my garden, largely left to itself after June 1 when my summer spun away in a skein of line graphs, thesis chapters, and book photography.  I missed it, a lot.  I’ve never spent so much time away from it in my life, and frankly, it bothered me.  My garden is a large part of my identity–my passion coming alive in the forms of living things.  I’ve always said that gardens are expressions of their creators, and mine this year certainly mirrored me–tousled, full, and still resilient.  Though I was away from it often, it carried on, and was there to greet me when I needed to separate myself from the rest of the world.  There’s nothing more therapeutic than an ambling walk through the garden with little stops to pull weeds, snap pictures, deadhead, and prune.

I guess we write the stories about ourselves that we want to write, though I’m probably a little hyper-objective for my own good some days.  But what 2011 reminded me of is that no matter how well I may architect a vision of myself or my work, the magic of serendipity always keeps any of my best laid plans unfinished.  That I embrace now.

So what’s ahead?  I’ve got another book to write, as you’ve probably read.  I’ve got nine lectures booked already, but expect to add several more.  The iris book (link above) comes out in early May, and you’ll hear much, much more about that in the months ahead.  I’m so excited to share it with you!  I’m plotting my next career move and considering whether I want to pursue my long-held ambition of a PhD or jump ahead to another business plan that’s formulated in the last six month.  In one sense, 2012 is a canvas with so many possibilities, to paraphrase Sondheim.

So it’s onwards and upwards from here.  Blaze on wayfarers into the bright beyond.

Yesterday, I spent the afternoon wandering the October quiet aisles of Cox’s Plant Farm near Clayton, Indiana.  I came across some lovely, handsome, and well-grown chrysanthemums, which coming from a ‘non-mum’ fan means a lot, and stole away with some ultra-cheap Crocosmia for breeding work.  Against the overcast sky, their flowers blazed.  And that’s what I love about fall–the fires of the landscape that kindle my inner pyro, even if only imaginatively.  As I flew back to Des Moines last night, I thought I’d share some fire with you.

Take care raking leaves and relishing the smells of hot cider!

Fall: on Fire

Fall:  on fire

Brush alight,

leaves inflamed,

unlike night.

Against simmering sun

defiantly blaze,

Fall hues

refusing glaze.

Of cold Winter,

colorless days,

bleached remains,

dimming rays.

Burning through hours–

The last

The bright

Soon past.

Fall on fire,

never burn,

take care,

Flames turn.

10/17/2011

I really do have more to share with you (a LOT more to share) than just a silly happy birthday wish for an otherwise dormant blog.  But the nursery (Rainbow Iris Farm) has kept me hopping lately, especially as I’ve donned the ambitions of dividing existing collections, adding new beds, and trying to squeeze in a few new things to look at in the coming seasons.  All work scurried to completion on the unfortunate eve of frost, likely not more than a month away.

What’s worse, in my traveler’s mania, I left ‘that bag’ containing the camera in Ames, a good 2.5 hours from my garden.  Drats.  So many swatches of gleaming color to share and no Canon Rebel Xti with which to do it.  Grumbling…

Yes, I still have to post journals from South Dakota trip.  I hate breaking promises, but I trust you understand my gravitation to gardening duties.  Computer time increases in the months when snow flies–the thought of which is rather unpleasant I have to admit.

Keep in touch, and when I get a minute this fall, I will write more!

August weather in Iowa is rarely described with adjectives like ‘mild’ or ‘cool’.  But this August, we’re blessed, after suffering through three weeks of 95-degree heat.  To our friends in warmer climes still suffering, my condolences.  This last week has made for famous gardening weather.  I’m still behind on all the things I’ve promised–how typical–though I surely promise to get those journals polished up from South Dakota trip.  I really do have a lot to share from that trip, but I trust you won’t mind that I’m spending some time doing the things that matter most in life–pulling weeds, correctly labeling my sedum collection, and taking abstract photos of texture like the one shown below.

I’m about to head out on the road again too.  Portland and Indianapolis are the docket for month’s end with lectures at two very fun industry events–Farwest and the Garden Writers Associational Symposium.  Speaking of speaking, with at least a year of ‘freedom’ from formal, future plans, I’m happily booking lectures left and right.  I’d surely love to come to your part of the world to talk plants, design, or marketing to new audiences.  Drop me a line if you’re looking for a speaker for your next event!  You can email me by clicking Contact Kelly at left.

More soonest…

The diaphanous textures of Sporobolus heterolepis (prairie dropseed), Eryngium yuccifolium (rattlesnake master) and Talinum paniculatum 'Limon' (fame flower) dancing at dusk.

I’m back!  After a long absence, it’s a pleasure to return to they keyboard and share with you the inklings of tentative plans for the future and a summary of the path I’ve just traced to get to this point.  2011 will go down as a full year in my book.

In the months since my last post (January), I’ve finished the manuscript for my forthcoming book Bearded Irises, due out from Timber Press in 2012.  More details on that, of course, as the release date nears.  I’ve also managed to finish my M.S. degree here at Iowa State University in horticulture, bringing the count of degrees in horticulture to two from this phenomenal institution of agricultural leadership.  My research has focused on the obscure and underappreciated genus Dirca, and I wrote this post about my work a while back.

But the purpose of this little note is to let you know about what I’ll be doing this week.  I’m going to be afield in northwestern Nebraska and southwestern South Dakota, pursuing plants heralded by the late plantsman Claude Barr–Great Plains natives that know how to take the heat, stick out a drought, and thrive in what many of us would consider the worst of gardening conditions.  Leaving Tuesday, I’ll be joined in this pursuit by two esteemed colleagues–Dr. Jim Ault from Chicago Botanic Garden and Winston Beck, an up-and-coming horticulture student here at Iowa State.  We’ll be blogging along the way, just as my team and I did back in 2009 when we trekked to the Ozarks.  Expect daily video entries too!  This is going to be a great trip–stay tuned!

Nary a word has left my mind, dappled across my keyboard, and onto the screen in the last month that hasn’t had something to do with my book or thesis.  At least for the next few months ahead, until spring inevitably diverts my attention to the real matters of life–flowers–I’ll be on the lam from blogging.  Of course in context that isn’t all that much compared to the prodigious outputs of my blogging colleagues around the net!  I’ll keep things updated as well as I can and rest assured you’ll hear from me, just maybe not as often as in recent months.

The future ahead–2011–looks jolly and bright.  With any luck I’ll finish my M.S. degree in July and move on with a much anticipated year off from school.  I plan to devote time to the editing process of my book Bearded Irises (due out in April 2012 from Timber Press), pursue some smaller writing projects (perhaps another bookazine?), lecture, catch-up on some projects at Rainbow Iris Farm, and travel in search of great plants.  When I get a little frazzled with the present, I dream ahead to those late summer days.  They can’t come soon enough for this plantsman!

A note about my lecturing–I’m going to take advantage of this year reprieve to really ramp-up my speaking and appearance schedule.  I’ve had to turn down requests in the last couple of years due to a need to balance my time away from school.  As you can imagine, I just hate turning people away.  If your group, event, or conference is looking for a professional dose of passionate plantsmanship laden with youthful zeal, I’d surely love to hear from you.  Use this contact form to get in touch!

I hope the comforts of winter find you as they’ve found me, even though they’re few.  I make time in my week for savory bread puddings, hearty soups, winter ales, an eclectic audio feast ranging from Rachmaninoff to Sondheim, and as many glints of spring as I manage to rustle from the Internet or my bookshelves.  A gardener has needs after all.  Though I appreciate winter least of all seasons, I remember that no garden blooms without first pausing to rest.  That’s probably not bad advice for gardeners to live by either.

Well there you have it.  I’ve decided to post a little snippet of poetry every Monday (or at least every Monday that I think about it).  In the last two months, I’ve taken to writing a collection of poems themed on the seasons–a special passion of mine as you know.  I leaked some verse in a post a few weeks back, to friendly acclaim.  You flatter me.  I hope throughout the next year to ball them up into some collective ode to the beauty of time and seasonal change, but I have no grand plans per se.  For now, I just feel like sharing.

Nyssa sylvatica 'Zydeco Twist'

Naked

Naked, stark, and cold.
The lonely spirits of trees.

Autumn leaves
Rushing
To frigid winter

Naked and sullen
Stoic and bleak, too
Trees look bare of life.

Bereft of seasonal accoutrements
They waver in winds
Holding fast against the blow of winter’s blast.

Some still hold berries
Red or black, and shriveled
Gobbled soon enough by birds.

Naked, stark, and cold
Those spirits wait for spring.

.

Tonight, like many nights, I ambled out in the minutes before dusk for a stroll at my favorite park–a reconstructed prairie at the site of a former quarry.  My often solo traipses around the meandering trails of Ada Hayden Park turn up an awful lot of ideas–most quirky or dorky.  But tonight in those waning seconds of flickering sunlight, I took note of a listless lake front, perturbed only by the soft symmetry of the wake of a kayak that seemed to extend from one corner of the lake to another.  That kayak recalled an idea from the benthic depths of my mind, something I’ve itched to write about but haven’t found the time for.

Head first into that otherwise listless wake I go…

We’ve got to change the conversation about gardening in this country, because frankly at this point it’s shallow.  I’ve written before and I’m sure I will again, about how gardening needs to take cues from the “American food revolution” that took place in the 20th century, and which continues to mature in the 21st.  My personal perception–American horticulture is stuck somewhere between the era of 1950s-style TV dinners and boxed meals and the gourmand-boasting bistros and Bohemian coffeehouses of today.  One of my mentors, celebrated garden author and editor Elvin McDonald once remarked to me “I’ve always thought of my reader as a person who wants an attractive spouse, smart kids, roses in the garden and orchids in the house.”  I find something about that very inspirational.

For one, it’s a cogent idea of what, maybe, our American horticultural audience actually “looks” like.  Sometimes, I don’t think we know any more about them than a hermit does his neighbors.  Second, it conveys an essence of what gardening means to a lot of people.  It espouses the passion for gardening–people want gardening to be a meaningful part of their lives.  Some want roses and boxwood in tidy, formal enclosures with affordable sculpture.  Some want Fritillaria camschatcensis (Kamchatka fritillary) nestled at the edge of a bog featuring Sarracenia (pitcher plant) and Calopogon tuberosus (grasspink)!  And who doesn’t want orchids in the house?  Don’t think for a minute I’m promoting some elitist, plant snob’s view of gardening.  I just want people to have a rich opportunity to choose plants that genuinely express their love for gardening.  I’m not kicking the McDonald’s of gardening out of business.  I just want more of this (The Cafe- Ames, IA), or at least the horticultural equivalent thereof.

(That choice to me is evident, given my tastes.  But even when it exists, it isn’t for many.  They don’t get it, because we don’t get them.)

The tides of revolutionary change ride undercurrents of authenticity, not winds of fabrication–put less poetically, we need content with substance and style.  We’ve got plenty of stylized content these days, masquerading in the place of sound horticultural know-how and green-spirited passion.  The real stuff starts in the garden, with knowledge rooted under the plants we love, in the experience of building and creating, and within the passionate moments spent sharing that love with ourselves, our friends, our family, or anyone lingers long enough at the garden gate.

The analogy of the kayak beats strong here.  You’re the vessel, your audience the water.  Who is your audience?  What do they want?  How big are they?  A yacht on a 130-acre lake doesn’t make much sense, but a kayak does.  Ultimately, what kind of wake does your work leave?  Is it a steady, surface-rustling wake or a big splash that’s over and done with just as soon as it started?

No, I haven’t seen the movie, but as I wrote that title it prompted me to scurry over to Netflix and add it to my queue.  I loved the trailer.  It captured the thrill and rush of travel that I live for, the pace, the small conversations in nonchalant pubs and cafes in terminals countrywide.  Now we’ll see if it’s all realized in the movie or not.

Tangents aside, I’m in the air this week for the Garden Writers Association Annual Symposium held this year in Dallas, Texas.  My buddy Jimmy Turner is heading it up this year, and he’s promised us a good ol’ Texas time.  Unlike my ill-fated attempts at blogging during the Perennial Plant Association Symposium in July, I will get posts up, ‘pert near daily (in the best Texan accent I can muster).    Keep an eye on your inbox as I share the latest in products, plants, tomfoolery, and cajoling between colleagues.