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Many of the flowering bushes in the yard have popped out a fall bloom now and again, but the flowering quince just outside the kitchen window nearly always wears a smattering of repeat blooms just as most woody plants are losing their leaves. I don’t take it as the quince’s last hurrah, but rather as its reminder of what I’ll be missing until it blooms again next spring. Imagine an entire gown of these watermelon pink blooms against the bush’s dark gray branches.
When I can’t wait any longer, I’ll cut quince branches and force them into bloom in the house.
Two springs ago I bumped into a Chaenomeles speciosa named ‘Cameo’ in full bloom — knockout semi-double flowers of a clear coral pink. It found its way back to my garden where it bloomed beautifully last spring. As it matures, I hope it will mimick the re-blooming behavior of its country cousin, flashing a couple of fluffy pink flowers in promise of spring.
My friend Deb says two is the start of a collection.
More about flowering quince.
In my early gardening years, I scoffed at the idea of wearing gloves while digging and weeding. But as an older and wiser gardener who is fonder of her hands, fewer of my garden projects are accomplished with fingers in the buff.
This photo shows my 2011 gloves with leather palms backed with a stout fabric, making them more breathable — and comfy — than straight leather. The fingertips are reinforced too. I’ve appreciated and worn the life out of them doing gardening heavy work this summer, and also have gone through a few light-weight, waterproof palmed gloves. The latter are perfect for weeding, but the fingers blow out.
Garden gloves are on my gift wish lists every year, and in early June, I was pleased to see that President Obama dropped into Fred’s Pro Hardware store in Toledo, Ohio — during a trip to visit an automobile factory — and bought his wife, Michelle, two pair of garden gloves. My kind of husband!
Although utilitarian/functional hand coverings were warn by cavepersons, the first mention of a garden gloves occurs in Homer’s “Odyssey” written in 800 BCE. Upon returning from his poetic epic journey and killing his wife’s suitors, Odyssyus goes in search of his father, Laertes, and finds him digging a hole to plant something. He apparently is dressed for gardening in dirty duds with some sort of leather shin guards and “sleeves of leather,” often translated as “gloves.” Both are intended to protect him from brambles, which I associate with neither fruit trees nor grapevines. Maybe there was a thorny weed problem in Ithaca.
The first glove-making in the United States can be traced to the early 19th century in Fulton County, New York. The area was forested with trees that produced tannin, used to preserve (tan) hides, making it an ideal location. Sister cities Gloversville and Johnstown were nicknamed the “glove cities,” and between 1890 and 1950, 90 percent of U.S.-made gloves were produced there.
Boss Manufacturing Co. claims to the oldest glove maker in this country, or maybe they are claiming to be the oldest continuously operating glove maker. They set up shop in Kewanee, Ill., in 1893, and are still in the hand protection business.
I do love Boss’s 1920 ad listing those who should wear their work gloves: railroaders, teamsters, builders, motormen, farmers, packers, movers, janitors, linemen, deck-hands, plasterers, street cleaners, gardeners, ash collectors, stone masons, pilots, painters, truck drivers, lumbermen, ironworkers, pavers, brick-layers, carpenters, stokers, machinists, foundrymen and every, man, woman or child, who does any hand work of any kind…
Saranac Glove Company, established in 1866 in Littleton, N.H., makes the same claim, but it seems like they might have changed hands — and names — a few times.
The earliest reference to an American glove maker I could find was Daniel Hayes, who established his biz in 1854 in the glove city area.
Hats off to those who make garden gloves as comfy, utilitarian and sturdy as the ones I gardened in this summer.
More gifts for gardeners ideas.
I’ve crossed paths with Seed Savers Exchange in Decorah, Iowa for years through reading, research and conversation. And this summer, I finally made it to the Midwest Mecca of heirloom and open-pollinated plant varieties, founded in 1975. I save tomato seeds every year, but that’s about the extent of my seed preservation. I am grateful that others are doing this for us, as much for the protection of biodiversity as for the availability of delicious varieties of fruits and vegetables that might have faded into obscurity without the efforts of SSE and others.
Eight miles of paths lead through the grounds, past preservation gardens and fields, plant isolation tents, through an heirloom orchard and past the SSE compost pile, which on the day I visited with my friend Julie, was filled with watermelons scraped free of seeds. The big pink and green heap contrasted so dramatically with the rest of the landscape that it was visible from quite a distance, and worth a picture once we made our way over.
More about seed saving.
More about watermelons.
