The Garden Artist: Leading You Down The Garden Path

Writings about Gardens, my own and others. Some science, some flowers, some garden design and some of the gardens that inspire my Art. I write about the lessons I’ve learned from nature. The wise spiritual messages as well as some practical gardener’s tips. Take a stroll down the garden path with me, My Art Starts In The Garden.

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Here’s me planting my original tropical summer garden. Definitely overdoing it in the heat.  (May 2002)

I overdid it again. One day this week, I spent five straight hours in my garden on a steaming, humid 90-degree day. My clothes were drenched and clinging, even my sweatband was dripping. I was getting wobbly, in danger of toppling over and suffering broken bones or worse. And then, a mild evening breeze swept by me, gently cooling my skin. At that moment, I snapped to my senses and realized I was flirting at the edge of disaster. So I stopped. Abruptly. I left the wheelbarrow filled with mulch, ready to be shoveled into the flower beds. I left it right where it was in the middle of the walkway. It was so heavy, and I was too tired to push and too tired to shovel. The reality of being 77 years old smacked me hard, and I shuddered at the consequences I was dancing with.

Throughout the day, I had filled my favorite 24-ounce, pink water bottle multiple times. I had eaten my usual meal of fresh fruit, coconut yogurt, gluten-free granola, topped off with some raw almonds. I am careful about myself. I eat well and hydrate well. I take care of myself. But maybe, just maybe, I should have paid attention earlier. Maybe this time I just got lucky. Perhaps I should have stopped working sooner in that suffocating hot and humid heat. And maybe I needed to pay attention to how I was feeling earlier, before I became wobbly. I had ignored the warnings my body was sending me throughout the day. Again.

Entrance to my garden. May, 2025

For over 35 years, this garden has been a solitary endeavor, where I continually design and redesign the landscape and plantings. I have worked independently, savoring the time to think quietly by myself, my sanctuary where I find my center. But I began to recognize that many heavier tasks like mulching, planting, and transplanting were no longer getting done. My garden was suffering. And so was my aching body.

For the last year, though, I’ve been lucky to have a garden helper for a few hours once a week to help with chores that have now become too difficult for me. It had been hard for me to invite someone to work in my garden. But when the option of working with John, a man experienced in yard work arrived, I grabbed it. Now, from March through October, once a week, he joins me in the garden.

John’s approach to self-care became clear to me the other day, when he had left for home after working in my garden for only two out of his usual five hours. Leaving early was totally unusual for him. It had been another hot, humid day, and not enough water was cooling his system. I was concerned about him.

Woodland Garden. May 2025.

John returned the next day feeling refreshed and healthy again after going home, taking two showers, separated by two naps and dinner before sleeping through the night. He emphasized the importance he is aware of in taking responsibility of himself. He said he knew what he needed to do to keep himself safe and healthy since he wants to continue doing the physical work he loves. He took responsibility for his health. I admire that.

I try to stay aware of my needs, but there are times when I need a reminder —a soft evening breeze to wake me. Just a gentle nudge to remind me to pay attention to what is happening in and around my life at that moment.

Like a collapsing hydrangea in the summer sun, I too need water, cooling shade, and careful attention to the messages my body and brain are sending to me in order to thrive. Perhaps, like John, taking responsibility for myself with well-considered decisions, sprinkled with a bit of luck, will be the key for me to continue my active lifestyle for a long time to come.

Front Garden in June

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Wilhelmina Gerrits-Nicolai. AKA – Tante Wilh c.1947

When I was a young child growing up in Brooklyn NY, we would travel as a family to Holland to visit our relatives. As one would expect, I was always exposed to new ideas and experiences beyond the normal and predictable rhythm of my life. At home, I was used to what my mother cooked and how she cooked it though I was not included as an assistant in the kitchen. I was also not included in planning the meals, gathering the supplies, shopping for the food, or storing it. I didn’t clean it, chop it, or scrape it either. Basically, food was just put in front of me and I ate it. It was not something that I thought about.

Tante Wilh was our mother’s oldest sister and she lived with her husband Oom Herman in Breda. Wilhelmina was the eldest in that large Gerrits family and was so different than my mother Truus. She seemed so efficient and knowledgeable even though we didn’t speak the same languages fluently. We sure found ways to communicate.

At the age of seven, Tante Wilh had me working next to her in the kitchen, chopping vegetables, popping peas from pods, and taking the tips off the string beans. All her food was fresh, nothing canned like we had at my home. I don’t remember how those veggies tasted or whether I even liked them, what I do remember is how much I enjoyed being in the kitchen with her helping to make our meals.

Current Shrub in my front garden (without the currents)

One day she handed me a fork and a bowl and sent me out to her garden and told me somehow or other with hand signals, my broken Dutch, and her broken English to get the red berries from the shrub growing along the edge of the garden. I found this big green shrub with these tiny bright red round berries. I used the fork as she had pantomimed, to slide the tines of the fork along the sides of the branch edge that was holding the berries. When I did so, the berries popped into the bowl she had given me. I felt so proud to be given such a great responsibility to harvest these home-grown red berries. I brought them into the kitchen and Tante Wilh had me wash them and then put them onto the salads we were having along with our dinner that evening. I was bursting with pride at having contributed so significantly to the meal the whole family was eating that evening at the dining room table together.

This year at one of the nurseries I frequent, I saw a bit of bright color dangling from the tips of the branches of a shrub. This color combination galvanized my interest. It turned out to be a Current shrub that was sporting the very same bright red berries that I’d seen all those years ago in Tante Wilh’s garden. Within moments that shrub ended up in the back of my SUV. Now, sitting with pride of place in the middle of the shrubs and perennials in my front garden is that Current bush. I can see it through the French Doors in my living room. The birds feasted on the berries before I could gather them. But that’s all right since I gather the memories which is more important than the taste of the berries to me. I can still feel the sense of belonging that Tante Wilh gave to me by sharing and teaching me about creating meals, about family, about inclusion, about process, and about growth, as I stood by her side, elbow to elbow in the kitchen.

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And there he was, a huge antlered deer. Oh Dear!

Daytime Deer in my Garden. I don’t know who was more scared, him or me.

The next day, I bought a battery-operated sprayer and researched what would work best to preserve my precious garden. Most of the products not only smelled bad enough to ward off the deer, but they also smelled bad enough to keep me out of the garden as well. I found one brand that also contained some mint, which apparently the deer hate, so that’s the one I settled on. So last fall, after every rainy day, I would head out to spray the perimeter of my garden. This year, I’m upping my game since the buck brought his harem and extended family.

In the front garden this deer ate all my hostas in one sitting. I was wondering if he was going to ask for some salad dressing.

I’m having deer fencing installed in the part of the garden where they most frequently gain entrance in the hopes of diverting their attention. This happened to be on the property line with my new neighbor. Using the markings he had in position from his recent surveying, together we agreed on the exact placement of my upcoming fence. I hung screaming yellow Caution tape to define the property line, which sure disturbs the calming woodland aesthetics I’ve been creating for the last 35 years. The next step was the installation of this one section of fencing, knowing full well that it was only the beginning of preserving my garden sanctuary.

This is the view from my neighbor’s side of the deer fencing that I had installed on our mutual property line by Fence Solutions. I sure hope the deer notice it.

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Understanding the botany of the Hellebore will help explain the answer to the Flower Show suitability.

The attraction and colors of the Hellebore, Figure #1, are not supplied by petals but rather sepals. Petals are usually lost after a flower is fertilized but sepals and bracts don’t suffer the same fate and are persistent

Fig. 1. Diagram of the botanical parts of a Hellebore flower. Photo courtesy of Monica Tehomolic.

Sepals (A) normally form outside of petals as a protection and support of the bud and flower. There are usually 5 sepals, two outer, two inner and one both. A group of sepals is called a calyx.

The stamens (B) are the male part of the flower and are made up of 2 parts, the long white filament and the anther that sits on top holding the pollen. There can be up to 150 stamens per flower.

The stamens surround the female part of the flower, the carpel (C). Fertilization of the carpels can be by insects, bees or wind.

Replacing the petal in the case of Hellebores are small nectaries (D) that sit at the base of the sepals and provide food for pollinators. They don’t last very long and are shed at the same time as the stamens when the carpels swell with what will become seeds.

Fertilized Hellebores can seem attractive for quite a long time since the sepals are persistent and the swollen carpels (E) are distinctive. The sepals will tend to loose their color vibrancy over time however.

Because the Hellebore in Figure #2 is a fertilized flower, even though the sepals still appear fresh, this is not the stage when it is an acceptable specimen in a formal Flower Show submission.

So, the short answer to the question of whether the Hellebore in Figure #2 is acceptable for Flower Show judging is: No, since the center is a fertilized seed pod.

Fig. 2. Fertilized Hellebore. Photo courtesy of Monica Tehomolic

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Hellebores remain evergreen and provide winter interest in my winter garden.

I always start by trimming the hellebores since the longer I wait the more complicated the job becomes. Those stalwart evergreen leaves that have decorated my garden all winter are by this time raggy, spotted, and brownish. Hiding beneath them are the brand new buds of the Hellebore flowers just waiting to burst through heralding spring. I love uncovering their light-deprived lime green growth and freeing them to bask in the sunshine.

Cutting the old leaves at this very early stage makes it less likely that I’ll damage the new growth. The old stems are long and thick at this time and easy to differentiate between the short almost stemless new growth. On the years that for one reason or another, I wasn’t quick enough to do this early trimming, the job took twice as long as I had to carefully select between the old and new growth leaves. Not easy to do without accidentally cutting off a few buds. Full disclosure: When I do cut or damage a plant in my garden I reflexively find myself apologizing to it out loud…sigh…  

Not to worry about uncovering the hellebores when inevitably another bout of winter arrives since these are very hardy plants in my zone 6 garden. When the weather turns cold again for the next few weeks of winter I enjoy watching spring emerge through the windows in my home. Those hellebores burst through with so much optimism.

After trimming the old leaves, the emerging flowers of the Hellebore are a great glimpse of optimism for the upcoming spring season.

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The autumn woodland minus the weeds, vines, invasives and cracked branches.

The area I was considering was unconstructed. An untouched mix of woodland weeds with prickles and thorns. Vines that entangled my ankles attempting to bring me to my knees. Invasives on the New York State list of plants to avoid was like a who’s who of what I had in my garden. What problems weren’t on the ground were overhead. Cracked & broken tree branches to duck under and avoid in the wind lest they clobber me on their hasty descent. Generally speaking a dense unloved mess.

But I persevered. I am not just a gardener but I am also an artist who sees things that others don’t. I was determined to rescue this plot of land. To provide it with dignity.

Over time and with changes of season I took to walking around and through the woods, enjoying the shade, and the various greens and textures that a woodland presents. The sights are more subtle in the woods. No sunshine that makes you squint to limit your vision. No brilliant expanses of color to draw your eye.

You notice instead the hint of a breeze dancing through the nodding leaves. A patch of mild transient sunshine peering through the dappled shade. I began to hear what the woods were saying to me. To feel what it was saying. I learned what to treasure, what was real and meant to be, and what didn’t belong.

A gardener, decades before me, carefully planted hemlocks surrounding the outer fringes of the property. These were now stately trees forty or so feet tall. These added an aged presence to the scene and provided a strong sense of enclosure.

In researching what was native to the area I found that the Mountain Laurels which grew throughout the garden were here before any of our houses appeared. I focused on preserving them. These native Kalmia latifolia were under stress due to the many years of drought they were experiencing. I was determined to honor them and work toward their preservation.

My strolls through these thickets helped me pinpoint the laurels and I began walking around them to see the best way to showcase them. I decided that they would be the center of individual beds and that I could connect various beds with paths and allow me to admire these architecturally diverse shrubs from all angles.

Growing in the woods surrounding and into the Laurels was a mix of ivy and poison ivy. These had to go. Over time I began to remove the ivy but most of the poison ivy removal I left to the pros. It was a few years before that initial episode was mostly behind me but to state a fact, it is due diligence that keeps these plants from overtaking the woods yet again.

As the paths began to appear I decided that the springy feel of the natural woodland ground brought a comforting physical experience right up through the soles of my shoes into my body. I was determined to use wood chips to maintain that back-to-nature harmonious and quiet experience. I continue this even now. About every 5 years the wood chips have converted to compost and are scooped into the garden beds. New wood chips are delivered in huge piles and the process begins again.

Delineating the paths I had a simple solution. With each shovel I put in the ground I removed yet another river rock. The street along one side of my garden is named Stony Hollow Road for a reason and to this day, over 30 years later, I am still removing rocks from their hiding places under the ground.

Another decision I made was to avoid dead ends. Life isn’t about dead ends, it is about transitions and journeys. Each path I created offers a choice of direction. I call it the road less traveled concept. This enabled me to have a different stroll each time I walked around the garden. New sights to see, new thoughts to contemplate, new experiences with each journey.

These woodland paths have gifted me with decades of intimate and satisfying connections with nature. The feel of the ground beneath my feet. The changing light of the day. The turning of the seasons. The gifts of growth and the sadness of loss as the garden goes through its life cycles. I too share these cycles. As do we all.

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In what used to be my darkroom, I now have LED grow lights so I can overwinter my tropicals & grow cuttings from my summer garden. I use timers to turn the lights on and off to match the daylight hours outdoors since some plants are daylight and some are temperature driven.

March 8, 2023 My former darkroom which now is my plant room with LED lighting on timers for overwintering my tropicals.

It was an easy retooling of the darkroom since I already had a sink and water in the room with counter space and cabinets. The room isn’t heated so I believe it was originally a root cellar when the house was built in 1942. That it doesn’t freeze and stays cool allows for a reduction in disease & pests when the room is too warm. The year that I changed from fluorescent lighting to LED’s was transformational in that the room stayed cooler which reduced the incidence of scale, mites, aphids and fungus.

April 13, 2023 The deck area awaiting its transformation.

Beginning in March I pot up all my elephant ears to give them a head start for outdoor planting once the weather reaches 50 degrees. Slowly I bring some of the pots out of the plant room to help them adjust to natural lighting. 

By April I have brought all my large containers out of the garage and refreshed the soil to make them ready for planting. In May, depending on the plant, I begin to fill the deck containers with the overwintered plants, grooming them where necessary. There is not much all-day direct sun in that area of the deck but as a precaution, I do not put the newly planted contributions into the sun immediately, instead, I gradually introduce them to the new lighting.

Mary 8, 2023 Some of the containers that are stored in the garage over the winter.

All my largest containers are on wheeled bases so I can easily redesign the display as the season progresses. The growth of the grouping is astonishing as the season progresses which I often don’t realize except when I review my garden photos looking for inspiration for my studio.

Sitting outside looking at this summer display while having my afternoon coffee break gives me time to think about how lucky I am to be in my garden all year round. Whether in the summer knee deep in flowers, in my winter plant room inhaling the smell of the soil and plantings, or in my studio painting the inspiration these flowers share with me.

June 6, 2023 The early summer scene of the tropicals ready for their summer vacation.

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Screenshot of the plant ID feature on my new iPhone 13

My new iPhone 13 has a great feature for identifying plants. Just take a photo of the plant, hit all the right buttons and voila, it gives you the suggested name or names of the plant. It also gives a few links to try to further learn about and identify the plant as well as suggestions for other plants similar to it for further research.

This is so amazingly cool and has already helped me identify the plants I was seeing as I traveled out west on vacation. Generally, in my own backyard, I’m able to identify the plants. But put me out in another climate or time zone and I can be lost. There are so many roadside plants that I was seeing while on vacation that I wanted to know more about.

It was October in the Arizona and New Mexico areas and I was at a loss for the most part plantwise. So I did a tutorial on my new iPhone 13 and low and behold, there was this feature that I never had before on my older phones. How very useful and a great tool for learning about new plants and new growing habits.

Here’s an example. All along the edges of pathways and roads in New Mexico were these plants in bloom with an overall yellow flower. I couldn’t decide if they were shrubs or herbaceous plants. I took a photo of them and Bingo..there they were. The plants were Gutierrezia sarothrae also known as Broom Snakeweed in the family of Asteraceae. With this information, I was able to spend time after the trip to read more about them. Very cool!

While hiking around Bell & Courthouse Rock in Sedona there were dozens of plants that captured my interest but couldn’t identify. I kept stopping our 5-mile trek in the breezy sunshiny day to take photos of them, all the while keeping an eye on the clock to make sure we were back safely before sunset.

First I’d take a photo on my phone of a plant. The phone would identify that it was a plant by putting a small circle with a leaf over the plant in question. Then I would click in the lower right-hand corner on the blue circle with the letter “I”. The next screen would give me results with links to research further along with images of similar plant images. Oh my! This is such a major step for them to have invented in order to feed my insatiable curiosity. Thank you Apple!

There is always so much to learn, so much to enjoy and explore when it comes to gardening and horticulture. I often feel that I like studying more than I like gardening which can be exhausting and back-breaking work. I can read about plants endlessly without losing interest or running out of topics to explore. Deadheading, planting, transplanting, weeding, mulching, is mostly not as much fun for me. Ah well, it’s a better workout than the gym at times, plus a far greater reward for all that hard work.

The initial screenshot showing the little white circle with a leaf indicating the camera identifies that it’s looking at a plant. The blue “i” in the lower right activates the ID process.

Once you activate the search your next screen hosts the Siri Knowledge of what plant it might be along with links for further research. It also gives you links to similar web images to look at.

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This year on June 6th, I opened my garden to benefit the Huntington Historical Society. It was so fitting that it fell on Uncle Teddy’s birthday since, in the garden, he and I are entwined together. For five hours straight I taught, explained, identified plants, offered historical references, shared my knowledge, and thoroughly enjoyed myself. Between 200-250 people came to enjoy my creation.

June 6, 2021, Huntington Historical Society Garden Tour – Welcoming the Docents

I helped them to understand that my garden is one of my artworks. It is an installation, an assemblage of art, plants, hardscape, and sculpture. It is a conceptual work that embraces the garden as a metaphor of the universe. There is a community of cooperation, of symbiosis and that of opposition, of parasitism in the garden. There is a quest for resources, for nutrition, water, sunshine, and shade between the multiple worlds of humans and animals, plants, pollinators, insects, and the microorganisms of bacteria and fungi. There are lifecycles of birth, maturity, senescence, death, and rebirth. There is a cyclical life experienced by all in the days, the seasons, and the years.

My garden has two major themes beyond this metaphor. I designed my garden as a journey. It must be walked through to be fully appreciated. There are no dead-ends, just options at each intersection for the choice of a different journey. No visit through the garden will ever be the same. The paths selected, the time of day, the week, the season, the year make for new appraisals. New adventures. New sights to be seen and new revelations to experience. New meditations on life to be contemplated.

June 6, 2021, Huntington Historical Society Garden Tour – The Bridge Over the Dry Stream Bed

Repetitively featured throughout the garden are circles and spheres. Circles have appeared in my art for decades in many different mediums and imagery. To me, they are the beginning, Eve’s apple. They are Woman. They are the enclosing arms of protection & nurturing. These circles are present in the navigation of the garden, the design of flower beds, sculptures placed strategically in vignettes, as well as found objects collected for decades and hidden as treasures between and around the plantings.

June 6, 2021, Huntington Historical Society Garden Tour – The entrance to the woodland walks.

I call this my “girlie” garden. The plant material is practically devoid of sharp pointy thorns & leaves. I look for soft and frilly foliage when selecting plants to include. The colors are pinks and pastels. I think of little girls spinning in their frilly birthday dresses with joyous abandon when I pick my plants. They are safe plants spreading a gentleness of spirit.

Talking with people about the meanings and thoughts behind the choices in my garden opened many eyes on the garden tour. I don’t think anyone who visited the garden could have enjoyed it more than me, except my long gone Uncle Teddy. It all began with him. And I thank him every chance I get.

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