6160 A Diary of the Urban Gardener and Cook

You know, sometimes it seems like you're doing the right thing, and then in a flash you realize the magnitude of the task ahead.  And so it would seem with "Home Sweet Wreck", the title I'm giving to the complete overhaul of the adjacent property we acquired on Friday.  Having sat abandoned for over five years, with the last resident having no running water or power for the final 18 months he was there (um, ewwww....), to say this property has seen better days is an incredible understatement. 

And so, to capture just how much work lies directly ahead in the coming months, I've begun a photo blog of the horrors of the adjacent property.  From the disintegrating plexiglass back porch, to the black mold ridden roof, to the raccoon next at the farthest reaches of the yard, the house and yard is an utter shambles.  This will be an interesting journey for all of us as I track how this changes, morphs, and integrates into the 6160 property.  The possibilities are incredible, and the timing ideal.  With the front porch project on 6160 finally reaching closure, a massive repaving project was kicked off immediately, so as to introduce steps directly to the new property from 6160.  The fencing company already motioned that they will be relocating the current 6160 fence to the new property border mid-June, another three pallets of crusty iron fencing is already in transit to begin aging and dividing the new property's garden, and two local nurseries will be deliving a massive number of evergreens and stately shrubs in less than a week.

What makes this task so daunting, I guess, is that the other projects were for homes I would be living in;  this, for me at least, feels abit strange;  I feel almost like an outsider looking in but hoping for the best.  I'm sure the sensation will pass once the gardens begin to integrate with 6160, but as it stands right now, the only way to describe it is this is what it must've felt like about three months after the reunification of Germany (when West Germans got a good look at their new East German comrades and got the "I'm sorry what???" face...)

So stay tuned as this project kicks off in front of all of us...

Life can be so utterly unpredictable.  Most people use that expression when explaining some unfortunate situation that arises out of the blue;  for me at present, it's the complete opposite, as we have purchased the house next door to us and it's thrilling.

The exact mirror of 6160 to some extent, the property is allowing us to essentially take our double sized lot and double it again.  There are multiple facets we will be tracking on the website - the changes to the home as well as the complete installation, renovation, and incorporation of the back yard into the gardens of 6160. 

It's incredibly exciting... and abit daunting... because in tandem with all these changes, we will be launching three books over the coming months.  Drawing deeply from the website, the first book is complete and tracks 6160 through the course of a year.  The second book, already under construction, covers various collections and plant gatherings in the house and garden.  The third will be tracking the incorporation of the adjacent property into 6160.

And finally, after what feels like over a thousand emails, yes I will setup a Facebook account.  Have patience!  Don't forget we had already kicked off the demolition and rebuild of the front porch, and the trip to Belgium is right around the corner too.  But everything will come together for what I assume is going to be one gangbuster June and July.

In the meantime, we are having a really beautfiul Spring here in St Louis, and the gardens most definitely show it.  The Whiteout roses look spectacular, the Japanese Maples are filling out and taking on a look of antiquity and maturity, the Sages are in full bloom and the new Azaleas were a definite improvement by the Orchid House.  With everything looking so lush so fast, I've been reluctant to plant Orchids this year at all (I don't want "Jungle Love" to be hummed by every visitor to the garden...).  So the Orchid House may remain a still life this year.  We'll see.  But don't forget to check the Spring 2012 Photo gallery as it continues to receive uploads (as does the Orchard photo gallery).

As much as I'd like to think that the extensive plant introductions at 6160 really overhauled the property and transitioned it from a back yard to a garden, I'm kidding myself.  Despite all the iron elements, the paths and hardscaping, the topiaried evergreens and even the outbuildings, the gardens of 6160 are completely owned and dominated by the elder oak trees that sit to either side of the property; they determine nearly everything that happens for the plantings beneath (both good and bad).  6160  really remains a Garden of the Oaks.  This is true in Autumn, when they smother  the gardens in a blanket of caramel colored leaves.  It's true in Summer, when an angry storm can bring down branches that are thicker than a man's midsection and destroy vast swaths of plantings and even in some instances, outbuilding structures.  And it's true right now, in what should be early Spring but feels much more like early Summer.  The elder oaks should begin cascading golden pollen strands at the end of April; it's still March, and the gardens are smothered in a soft, tufty layer of the matte, yellow colored tinsel.  Because they throw such extensive shade and dappled lighting across much of the gardens here, I worry what the implications are for the rest of the plantings with what I am calling "The Awkward Spring".  The elder oaks are already half way through their pollen stranding, and while it makes the gardens take on a fascinating, Savannah-like quality, the new, lime colored leaves on the oaks are already beginning to unfurl.  In essence, significant changes to sunlight will be hitting across the gardens at a much earlier pace; hopefully, this carries with it no negative connotations for the plantings beneath that need that early hit of sunlight as they awaken in Spring.   

This really has been an awkward Spring, to be certain; despite incredible volatility in temperatures this past Winter, it appears it was one of the warmest ever on record.  In turn, this has led to a great deal of confusion for the plants that thought Spring had arrived in February.  Early daffodils, which should begin their heaviest blooming now are essentially done;  the Daffodil Show at the Missouri Botanical Garden, which occurs mid-April every year, was subsequently cancelled.  The Rhododendrons at 6160 were literally blooming in late February and spent by mid-March.  Even stranger, the Whiteout roses here are already flowering, which theoretically shouldn't begin for at least another three weeks if not four.  Almost as stunning, the Japanese Maples of 6160 are in full leafout while Redbuds are still in flower. 

But gardeners learn to take the unpredictable qualities of Nature and roll with it.  Here at 6160, the unseasonable warmth allowed us to take out the remaining gravel paths in the Orchard and hardscape them, making the planting, pruning, and harvesting experience so much nicer.  Pots were scrubbed and brought out from the Potting Shed and filled with five different varieties of lettuces (we're trying something different this year; typically we plant them in the ground and fill the pots with herbs) and placed in the Orchard ferneries.  All the architecturally salvaged windows that make up the Potting Shed, the Orchid House, and even the sole window in the Barn were reglazed.  Two pure white mounding Azaleas were planted by the trio of Cypress trees, and the giant rose arbor was shifted to the Clematis and Sweet Pea garden.  While many books and websites talk about the difficulty and care needed to ensure Sweet Pea seeds germinate, I seem to be finding Sweet Pea sproutlings everywhere in the rear garden this year...      

In the front garden, the Barberries were straight-lined versus stagger planted so as to allow for a thick, rectangular "box" to be pruned/topiaried.  This required the transplanting of some of the existing Barberries that lined the front walkway as well as the gangway; the vacated space was then planted with Bloomerang Lilacs.  The rusting gate and old iron roof edging were sprayed a hammered silver so as to better match the roof (and prevent any further deterioration/rusting), and surprisingly, we will be kicking off the front porch rebuild project almost a month early due to the warm weather.

As with any variability, there is good, there can be bad, and there can be the "what does this mean longer term".  The questions racing through the minds of many in the garden community center not so much on Summer being intolerably hot but on insect and disease issues that could be in the near future.  A hard snap of Winter does wonders on that score; its mildness coupled with an unseasonably warm Spring (it has been in the mid-80s repeatedly this month, it should be in the mid-60s) could make for some unpleasantness in the short term.

But we'll just roll with the punches and deal with it.

Forest Park is unique in many regards. To the east of 6160, the park mirrors many across the nation, with well manicured plantings, fountains, scuptures, and what I always referred to as "nature tamed" - this is the type of "nature" that most city dwellers can manage. To the west of 6160, however, lies the John F Kennedy Forest, a dense, rugged, untouched area within Forest Park. A thin ribbon of blacktop snakes through the wood; with nature in full force across this southeast corner of the park, the area has a somewhat menacing atmosphere. Perhaps this is why there are few visitors to the Kennedy Forest; however, I for one adore it.

Growing up, our farm abutted Greensfelder Park, which has immense similarities to the Kennedy Forest. Again, a very narrow, leaf strewn trail was all that stood between you and thick, somewhat frightening underbrush... Spindly young trees that had managed to take hold of the edge of the footpath looked twisted and contorted as they struggled to find sunlight. Enormous, elder trees sat not far off from the trail, arching gracefully and opening fully towards their crown; of immense size, they often formed a giant canopy over the footpath and dominated the horizon. Sunlight was dappled at best and would reach the ground in thin, narrow fingers, giving the whole area a sense of shady enclosure. Twisted thorny underbrush rifled upwards from a thick blanket of leaves which spanned many years. The continuous and spurious crunch of leaves to either side of the trail by unseen wildlife as I would pass by was always jarring - you never actually saw what was around you, you just heard it moving...

And it was my favorite place to go to contemplate life issues. In fact, the woods are still my favorite place to go to contemplate. And the Kennedy Forest fits the bill perfectly.

In Autumn, color variations ensure that trees and underbrush take on more individual tones and become more singular entities versus an encroaching blanket of green on either side of a trail. In the Kennedy Forest, the snaking trail of blacktop, which has such hard edges and looks so pronounced in other seasons now becomes leafstrewn; fading orange and golds soften the overall look of the path, and you quickly forget you're in the middle of a very urban setting. For a brief window of time it feels like time has stood still for more than thirty years... I'm back on the farm with the expanse of Greensfelder Park around me and the whole of my Life is still ahead of me.

I used to wander from the farm to Greensfelder Park when I needed to think about "big things" - life, love (or lack thereof), "what I wanted to be when I grew up"; in essence, all the churn of adolescence. Even when I would walk with purpose to Greensfelder Park simply to enjoy the beauty of leaf change in Fall, life's "big things" would pour through my mind like moving pictures. Today, those moments that I find myself inclined to take the dogs to the Kennedy Forest (even when the reason on the surface is to see the blazing colors and the Memories of Green) are indicative I am at a crossroads and I need contemplation.

And so it is today. I find myself at a crossroads with my career and life; options and choices are now arising which I did not think I would be confronting (let alone that Bob and I are pursuing...). Life has a funny way of letting you know there is no certainty (I envisioned being a "career" man at my current employer and retiring at 6160); so as I walk through the beauty of the Kennedy Forest, I almost feel transported back to the early 1980's - once again I'm in the woods and while enjoying the blazing colors of Autumn, I find myself contemplating life's "big things"...

Copy paste from Thyme, then add all components

Probably one of the most important design elements at 6160 is the use of architectural remnants both inside and out.  At the turn of the last century, St Louis was the fourth largest city in the nation (third if you consider Brooklyn had not yet merged with the rest of NYC), and an industrial powerhouse of the time.  This led to substantial building boom in the housing market here, all during the zenith of the Gilded Age.

The Gilded Age was notable for Beaux Arts - neoclassical stylings that significantly heavily influenced U.S. architecture and interior design from 1880-1920.   The essence of these stylings entailed sculptural decoration along conservative, more modern lines, Baroque and Rococo finishes, somewhat overscaled details, bold scuptural supports, rich chunky cornices, sculptural enrichments (such as swag details), and subdued/very subtle polychromy (ie, in today's terms, "distressed" or "tarnished" to subtley introduce a number of colors into a setting).

In the housing boom of the 1990s, many a "McMansion" was built at the expense of homes that were built during the Gilded Age era - very unfortunate in my estimation.  Thankfully, a robust salvage industry arose, carefully preserving the architectural remnants during the tear down process for resale.  These details were all cast in the elements of the era - tin, thick hardwoods, iron (lots and lots of iron...); the sheer weight of the products sometimes leaves me slackjawed.  And at 6160, there was now a way to introduce elements of the Gilded Age without making the house feel like we were living in a museum. 

Working connections in Upstate NY and New England, as well as an antique/salvage area in St. Louis by the old Lemp Brewery, I secured dedicated "pickers" - teardown specialists who "picked" these details out for resale versus scrap the lot of it and send it to a landfill.  I sent them all lists of what would be in scope/out of scope for 6160; they in turn sent me weekly emails and inventories of the architectural salvage they secured.

Gardens

The gardens of 6160 are filled with iron elements from the Beaux Arts era.  Heavily rusted arbors, fencing, ferneries, etc... were all shipped in from New England.  These were fairly simple and straightforward to resurrect as the sculptural "bones" for the gardens.  Other elements were repurposed; for example, wrought iron railing detail from a widows walk at a teardown in St Louis was given new life in the front garden as edging for the Barberries.

The less simple to resurrect and implement were the windows now in the gardens.  Upon learning that several large homes in western Connecticut were being destroyed for NY suburbanite McMansions (how depressing on so many levels... my God what Bravo has done to this country with "Real Housewives" garbage...), I shipped all the windows from the southern wing of one of the teardowns back to St Louis.  The Orchid House and Potting Shed were almost completely constructed from these windows.  The window in the Barn, as well as the massive 5' x 5' window that rests behind the Orchard, both sourced from this Connecticut home as well.

Home

The interior of 6160 is equally at home with architectural remnants from New England, New York, and St Louis' robust past.   A massive tin ceiling medallion which formerly held a glass chandelier in a Connecticut hotel lobby now dominates a living room wall;  wooden columns from the same home that provided the windows for the garden rest against a corner near the tin medallion.  White roof finials, weather beaten and mottled to a soft gray, found new life as decorative objets - the smaller window finials now rest on a shelf in the entry hall, while the massive two foot finial that formerly capped the front porch sits on the floor of the dining room for architectural "pop".

A teardown in Upstate NY delivered a wealth of beautfiul, distressed pressed tin;  an artist nearby crafted five massive shelves for 6160, meticulously wrapping the chippy white metal around a  wooden framework.  Picture frames were also formed using the remnant tin; the living room, entry hall, and second floor bedroom all play host to these.  The artist found himself with a smidgeon of unused tin leftover; we purchased that from him as well, framing two of the panels for the entry stairwell and hanging the other in the stairwell to the lower level "as is".

Mouldings from a St. Louis mansion that I wish they would have rehabbed but ultimately destroyed were brought in and repurposed as towel racks in the bathrooms; where one was given a fresh coat of paint and matte metal hooks, the other was left in its highly distressed state with a pair of equally distressed iron hooks attached for utility.  A giant pulley from the old barn behind the lovely St Louis mansion was ceremoniously brought back to 6160; worn from years of use (and abuse), it now rests on a dry sink in the lower level. 

The St Louis estate had another find which was unique in my estimation - a crusty white iron gate which was only twenty inches tall.  Highly decorative and very heavy, the gate was from either a child's garden or pet's garden (who knows what or why the uber rich were doing with their money); we placed it in the kitchen on an upper shelf as another decorative objet.

The plethora of achitectural salvage across 6160, both inside and out, weaves harmoniously with the number of garden antiques we've sourced from Europe.  Net net - it works...

There is just nothing that can compare to the unique nature of the weather in St Louis.  With temperatures going into Labor Day weekend sitting at around 104, Labor Day itself had a high of 74 and the temperature has now remained constant, with low 50s at night, mid 70s during the day.

Welcome Autumn...

Autumn truly is my favorite time of year.  Growing up on the farm, it was the time of harvest, which was a wonderful experience.  Praying for weeks to The Man Upstairs that He wouldn't allow any of the chickens to break free and ravage the herb, vegetable and fruit gardens or worse, allow wandering deer discover the bounty sitting just beyond the woods of a massive state park (our farm abutted Greensfelder Park, which actually made the farm feel like it went on forever...), harvest was the time where the weather finally broke - you could go outside and not feel like you would need to shave your clothes to take them off from sweating so much...  It was the time where months of hard work paid off handsomely at the dinner table...  It was the time where the washed out, tired greens of late summer gave way to blazing beta-carotene like colors...  Important though, it was also the time for evaluation and big project tackling before winter's chill settled in.

At 6160, one could hardly describe there being anything very "harvest" like;  true, herbs continue in full abundance and the numerous tomato plants, which have been in virtual hybernation during the deadly heat of August, are now making one last attempt at fruiting.  But that's about it.  What does remain constant from the farm days, however, is the evaluation and big project tackling (for me at least), and this year was no different.

Gardens

2011 was an incredibly difficult year for the gardens.  Tornadic spring weather, followed by a dry, sweltering summer, made for a stressful time for most of the plantings.  There are always victims in circumstances like this; this year, however, saw the demise of two Standard Form Hydrangea Tardivas in "Sam's Garden", a fenced off area within the Woodland Garden.  These two plants were two of the very first plantings we introduced at 6160 back in the late 90s.  While unfortunate, I was completely amazed as I looked around the rest of the Japanese Maple Courtyard and the Woodland Garden - to my utter surprise the Japanese Maples looked completely unfettered by the horrendous weather that played out in 2011.  While multiple neighbors lost their Japanese Maples (I suspect they overwatered them - which is a big no no for these plants...), in the very least I expected to encounter leaf scorch;  however, the Japanese Maples at 6160 were completely unphased and resilient.  So... in came two more Emperor Ones to replace the lost Hydrangeas. 

On the flip, what did work was the introduction of WhiteOut Roses in the front garden - they continue to bloom even today, looking lush, disease free, and have fully encompassed a crusty old urn which houses a Rosy Glow Barberry.  The introduction of chicken wire and door mouldings to the Orchard was a huge positive after the spring storms shifted a number of birds into the Orchard itself (that was a total drag...).  The new steel door on the Potting Shed was a huge plus given the amount of watering that was needed this year - no rotting, no warping, and no kicking the door shut anymore (it had warped to the point the door could hardly close without using a Medieval battering ram approach...).  The Hostas were a beautiful addition to the Woodland Garden.  Not a huge fan of Hostas, I do appreciate Praying Hands and Blue Hostas of almost any nature (both add a unique shape and color element...) the best of which is that the varieties at 6160 are without slugs....  The swaths of Lemon Balm were a really good option for the western bank of the garden - in 2012, I fully intend to expand this;  it looks great and smells great too.

Home

August saw the removal of the old armoire that used to house the flat screen TV as well as the benches that sat to either side of it.  The armoire was rebuilt flushmount, along with new side storage banks.  This was a win on multiple levels - first, the vents were able to be rerouted and carefully introduced into the salvaged base boards.  Equally important, the new big banks of storage that sit on either side of the armoire have been mounded with piles of soft pillows, providing more seating (it really is a nice place to sit and read...). 

September will see the introduction of two additional built ins to replace current cabinets - one in the dining room where the Frank Wolff studio prototype pottery sits, the other in the Living Room where all the Brooklyn seltzer bottles reside.  Neither will really deliver more storage; however, they will open the rooms abit more since they'll be flush mount, and architecturally they will mirror the rest of the built in cabinetry we've installed in 6160. 

The new wood and glass shelving installed in the lower level bathroom just the other week was an important upgrade in 2011;  it allows for better use of space given how truly small this bathroom is... not to mention looking really cool (almost like store shelving at Williams-Sonoma).  I'll try and snap some pics of the lower level bathroom soon.

So despite the crazy year, 6160 continues to grow & evolve in a beautiful way as we shift gears for Fall.  Here's looking forward to apple everything, pumpkin bread and pumpkin pastas, butternut squash soups and purees, roasted chickens and italian chops, rosemary honeys and cranberry side dishes, and blazing colors in the gardens.  Welcome Autumn...

Lemon Balm has to be one of the most astounding herbs you can ever encounter. It is an unremarkable looking little perennial, without flashy foliage or eye catching flowers. However, once you encounter it you'll give it your full attention - its attraction lies in its aroma.   Also called Sweet Balm or simply Balm, it is native to western Asia and has been cultivated in Europe since ancient times.  A close relative to Mint (but not "friendly" - ie, invasive), Balm's scalloped, slightly hairy leaves exude the sweet fragrance of lemon soap and a sweet, slightly bitter lemon flavor.   Essential oil of Balm is employed extensively by the perfume industry, and is often used to scent and flavor a number of foodstuffs including beverages, ice cream, candy, and baked goods.  Balm's scientific name (Melissa Officinalis) derives from a Latin derivation of the Greek word for honey bee (Melissa).  Since the earliest of times the people of the Mediterranean have known of honey bees' attraction to the herb. Bees are not only drawn to the diminuative white flowers which bloom in the late summer but, amazingly, to the fragrance of the leaves themselves. Even today, Bee keepers will often rub the inside of a new hive with Balm leaves to encourage a new swarm to stay. 

History and Legend

Balm’s reputation for lifting depression goes back many, many centuries. As far back as the ancient Greeks this plant was recognized for both its soothing smell and its medicinal properties. Greek physician Dioscorides would apply Balm to cuts or bites for its antibacterial properties, and then give the patient wine infused with Balm to calm their nerves. This calming affect has often been noted across time. The esteemed British herbalist Culpeper stated "Lemon Balm causeth the mind and heart to be Merry...and driveth away all troublesome cares."  In "A Garden of Herbs", Eleanour Sinclair Rohde quotes an Arabian proverb:  “Balm makes the heart merry and joyful.” Early 17th century English garden writer John Parkinson states, “Balm, without  question, is an excellent helpe to comfort the heart as the very smell may induce any so to believe.”  The herbalist Gerard reported its calming effects as extending to bees as well as humans: balm leaves rubbed over the surface of a beehive, he says, “causeth the bees to keepe together and causeth others to come unto them.” 

In "A Book of Herbs", Lady Rosalind Northcote writes “There was once a ‘restorative cordial’ called Carmelite water, which enjoyed a great reputation, and which was composed of the spirit of Balm, Angelica root, lemon-peel and nutmeg.” Carmelite water was famous the world over, and was named for the Carmelite monks who established themselves in France around 1605.  There is evidence that a preparation similar to Carmelite water (using lemon balm and lavender), has been employed in what is now France as early as the 1320′s. King Louis XIV stated he found Carmelite water an invaluable calmative; he eventually gave the Carmelites the sole legal right to prepare, sell, and profit from Carmelite water.  One cannot understate the impact of Carmelite water across French culture during that time.  The infamous Cardinal Richelieu relied so heavily upon Carmelite water that he kept a vial of it on his person in a red leather purse at all times. Likewise the French King Charles V used Carmelite water daily in his bath; he also inhaled it on a handkerchief, believing it would preserve his intellect.

Londoners of Elizabethan times would carry small bouquets, called Tussie Mussies, filled with aromatic herbs and flowers; many utilized Balm, which they would frequently sniff to disguise the horrible stench of the unsanitary conditions of the day.

Interestingly, British researchers recently confirmed that the historical reputation of Melissa officinalis as a calmative and mood-elevator has thorough basis in reality. In the study, the most notable cognitive and mood effects were improved memory performance and increased calmness.  Lemon balm is also reputed to be an excellent mosquito repellent (the fresh leaves are rubbed against the skin). Lemon balm extract has been found to have exceptionally high antioxidant activity as well as antibacterial and antiviral properties.

Culinary

Balm leaves add a refreshing sparkle to a number of "summer" dishes.  They pair well with fruits, drinks, salads, and especially herbal teas.  It can be used in a number of unique sauces, such as lemon pesto.  Balm leaves are used to help flavor Chartreuse and Benedictine liqueurs.

Cultivation

A clump-grower, Balm is suited to a variety of exposures, from full sun to part shade.  Here in St Louis, it is best to site it so that it receives protection from the afternoon sun (it gets a sort of "weary" look in the bleating afternoon sun...).  Balm is a  hardy perennial in Zones 4-9  that grows to a height of about 18 inches and about a foot wide, with square stems and soft, heavily veined green leaves.  It prefers richer soil and to be well watered - far different than most herbs at 6160.  Cutting the plant back to prevent flowering ensures stronger essential oil output (ie, more flavor and more scent).   

At 6160, Lemon Balm sweeps down the length of the Western side of the gardens, forming an exceptionally fragrant blanket that stretches from the Tree Peonies to the Orchard .  Although there is a variegated cultivar of Balm, the amount of shade thrown by the 100 year old oak trees would force the variegated form to revert to green; thus we simply grow standard Melissa Officinalis.  Balm is easily divided should more plants be needed; at 6160, the Balm that blankets the area in front of the Snow Fountain Weeping Cherry tree all sourced from one clump that was divided.   

Although we don't use Balm in many culinary dishes, I always cut it back and prevent it from flowering for two reasons.  First, once Balm flowers, the leaves that are produced afterwards are strangely small - so visually, the whole planting area begins to look markedly different across the gardens (abit too much like oddly shaped Boxwoods).  But second, and probably more important, the smell that fills the air while trimming Balm back is phenomenal.  It is while I'm trimming Balm that I remember all the writings regarding Balm's mood lifting and calmative effects - and I can personally attest that it does indeed work...

Thyme is one of the most popular culinary herbs worldwide -  yet few people realize that Thymus, the botanic genus to which thyme belongs, contains 350 species, all of which are to a greater or lesser extent aromatic (that does not mean they are all useful in the kitchen...).

Generally speaking, Thymes are wiry-stemmed perennials with small, narrow leaves. Depending upon the species and cultivar, thyme leaves can be shiny, fuzzy, bright green, deep green, grey green, blue green, yellowish, silver, or variegated.  Thyme flowers, small and fragrant, can come in pink, lavender, white, or crimson. From an aromatics perspective, Thymes can exude savory scents with overtones of nutmeg, orange, caraway, mint, lemon, lavender, pine, or even roses.

Native to Southern Europe, North Africa,& the Mediterranean, Thymes are mainstays in the kitchen.  They have been employed in fragrance crafting for centuries and provide powerful essential oils, the germicidal and antiseptic qualities of which are still valued today.

History & Legend

The English word “thyme” comes from the Latin "thymus", which more than likely derived from the Greek "thymon", (ie, courage).   History indicates that Roman soldiers bathed in Thyme water to instill vigor. They were particularly fond of flavoring cheeses with Thyme, and Thyme liqueur was a Roman specialty.  The Roman poet Virgil, in his "Bucolics" (approximately 30 B.C.) recommended Thyme and Garlic “for mowers wearied in the scorching sun.”  The Romans also had high regard for Thyme as fodder for farm animals, believing it enhanced the flavors of the meats and dairy.

According to Sidonius Apollinarius (approximately 450 A.D.), an aristocratic bishop in Gaul (now modern France), Thyme was one of the primary plants to be grown in the “secluded gardens” of  aristocrats. Later, in the Middle Ages, European ladies embroidered sprigs of Thyme, each with an attendant bee, on scarves as tokens of courage for their favorite knights.

A soup recipe of 1663 recorded the use of Thyme and beer to overcome shyness, while Scottish highlanders drank tea made of wild Thyme for strength and courage.   Rembert Dodoens, in his "New Herbal", claimed that “Thyme boiled in water and honey and drunk is good against a hard and painful cough and shortness of breath.”  Interestingly, Thymol, one of the active ingredients in Thyme leaves, is still used in cough preparations today.   In Wales, Thyme was one of the sweet-scented plants often used for planting on graves. Thyme has long standing tradition with Christianity, primarily because it's believed that Thyme comprised the fragrant bed of the Virgin Mary on the night that Christ was born.

It was the custom, from Shakespeare’s day through the Victorian period and beyond to attribute to plants symbolic meanings which could be employed to compose secret lovers’ messages.  In a lyric printed in Clement Robinson’s "A Handefull of Pleasant Delites" (1584), the writer said of Thyme, “Thyme is to trie me,” that is, the presence of Thyme in a bouquet meant that the lover was being tested by his or her beloved.   

Culinary

Thyme is a natural partner with Rosemary and Sage in the kitchen. At 6160, they are the bouquet garnis of choice and are used consistently to optimize nearly every savory dish. Thyme goes well with dairy products such as cheeses and butters (Thyme pairs particularly well with goat cheeses).  Seafood dishes, especially shellfish, also benefit from Thyme.  The real culinary standout for Thyme, however, lies with poultry and root vegetables.  Thyme is critical component for nearly every Autumn dish.  When Thyme is paired with Marjoram, Basil, and Parsley, a whole new avenue opens for maximizing Italian flavors.  It is in this vein where the link to tomatoes becomes self evident.  It should also be noted that Thyme is a wonderful partner with honeys.

Cultivation

Most forms of Thyme are hardy when provided with a little winter protection. They take to rock gardens, poorish soils, and nearly any situation that is not soggy or deeply shaded.  Note that the heavier the soil Thymes are planted in, the less aromatic they become... Soil pH can range from just over 4 to almost 8. Thymes prefer full sun and need at least 5 hours of sun a day. Thymes also make perfect indoor plants.  As with other Mediterannean herbs, good drainage and moderately fertile soil are crucial.  Most varieties thrive in Zones 6 - 10.

Thymes come in upright varieties, creeping varieties, and varieties that fall somewhere in between.  Upright thymes (usually all relatives of Thymus vulgaris, otherwise known as English Thyme), reach about a foot in height at maturity and form the bulk of the culinary varieties. Creeping thymes, many of which are cultivars of Wild Thyme (Thymus Serpyllum - sometimes known as Mother-of-Thyme or Shakespeare’s Thyme) are intensely fragrant and only reach about 4″ in height but have creeping, furred stems and oval, furry leaves, clad underneath with fine delicate hairs.  Rounded heads of clustered pink flowers smother the plants in July and August.

At 6160, there are multiple plantings of Thyme across the gardens.  While English Thyme fills many of the pots in the Orchard ferneries, creeping Thyme sweeps beneath one of the Apple Trees and collide gently with the Blueberries - this area becomes a magnet for bees and ensuries fruit set throughout the Orchard.  Still within the Orchard, clumps of French Thyme scramble next to Basils and Parsley by the tubs of dwarf Peach Trees.   Closer to the house, German Thyme forms thick mounds in a cement planter at the base of the backdoor steps.  This planter sits directly next to a pot filled with Rosemary and across from the sweeping beds of Sage in the Lupe Garden - extraordinarily handy when there's a need for bouquet garnis.  And finally, a fragrant carpet of Lemon Thyme sprawls beneath the New Dawn Rose in the Lupe Garden - it makes a wonderful addition to shellfish dishes, and certainly anything with artichokes.

While Sage might be my favorite herb, Thyme would have to be considered the workhorse of the 6160 kitchen gardens...  

Salvia officinalis, otherwise known as Garden Sage (or in this case, just Sage).  Grown throughout the ages and reknown the world over, "Salvia" is derived from the Latin verb "Salveo", meaning “To Heal.” "Officinalis" is yet another medicinal reference, as "Officina" was the traditional storeroom in a monastery for herbs and medicines.  Across time, Sage has been recommended for wide ranging ailments, and modern research would substantiate much of this - Sage has been found to exhibit antibiotic, antifungal, astringent, antispasmodic and hypoglycemic properties.  Most recently, Sage was seen to even positively impact Alzheimer's disease.  

The Sages are a large plant family with members found worldwide in habitats as varied as deserts, mountains, temperate zones, and tropics. The genus contains around 900 species of annual, perennial, or biennial herbs, shrubs, and subshrubs. All sages belong to the Deadnettle Family (Lamiaceae, formerly Labiatae), as do so many of our most useful herbs.  Not everything called Sage is actually "Salvia". The common name Sage is frequently applied to sagebrush species such as those found in the desert southwest - those actually belong to the genus Artemisia in the Aster Family (Asteraceae, formerly Compositae).  For this writing, all references to Sage will focus strictly on Salvia Officinalis (aka Culinary Sage or sometimes known as Garden Sage).

History & Legend

The Romans first brought Sage into wide introduction across Europe (most likely from Egypt).  To the ancients, Sage symbolised wisdom, skill, esteem, long life, good health, domestic virtue, mitigation of grief, increased mental acuity, and immortality.  Added to this, the plant (according to Roman mythology) was a gift from the Satyrs (half man -half goat creatures who thrived on sex, drink and loud parties...).  Even in early history, writings of Sage abound, both from a medicinal and culinary aspect.  The Greek physician Dioskorides recommended Sage for kidney troubles, ulcers, rheumatism, tuberculosis, coughs, and sore throats.  The Roman writer Pliny even recommended Sage for snake bites.  It is in his writings we first see the plant labeled "Salvia" (for its medicinal benefits). 

Sage had quite the heady reputation in the Middle Ages and played the dominant role in monastery gardens.  It was during this period that Sage was commonly referred to as "Salvia Salvatrix" (Sage the Savior). Ninth century herbalist Walafrid Strabo, in his book Hortulus (ie The Little Garden) wrote “Amongst my herbs, Sage holds the place of honour; of good scente it is and full of virtue for many ills.” One of the most famous quotes surrounding Sage is found in Macer’s twelth century Herbal, which states “Why should a man die of sickness when he can have Sage in his garden?”  Sage is mentioned by Geoffrey Chaucer, the 14th century author of The Canterbury Tales. In his Knight’s Tale, describing the “pharmacies of herbs” enlisted to aid the wounded and dying after a fierce battle, he names only one specifically (which indicates the esteem in which the people of the time held it), that being the herb “Save” (his word for Sage). He writes, “Save, they dranken, for they would their lives have.”    Thomas Coghan, in The Haven of Health (1584) wrote: “Of all garden herbs, none is of greater virtue than Sage … such is the virtue of Sage that if it were possible, it would make a man immortal.”   English herbalist Nicholas Culpeper wrote “Sage is of excellent use to help the memory, warming and quickening the senses.”   He, like many during that time, believed Sage would protect against the bubonic plague.   In The Englishmans Doctor (1607), Sir John Harington lauded Sage’s honor. “But who can write thy worth, O sovereign Sage,” he wrote. “Some ask how Man can die where thou dost grow …  Sage was considered a grief alleviator, particularly in France and England.  Because of this, as well as its long standing association with Christianity and salvation, sweeping banks of Sage often blanketed graveyards. 17th century diarist Samuel Pepys records, “Between Gosport and Southampton we observed a little churchyard where it was customary to sow all the graves with Sage.”    

Culinary

As a kitchen herb, Sage's rich, musky, distinctive flavor enhances numerous dishes. It harmonizes  phenomenally well with any type of meat, but roasted pork and poultry dishes are standouts.  Starchy vegetable dishes benefit greatly from the herb, as do a wide variety of cheeses.  There is a pronounced benefit from the pairing of Sage with apples, and to a lesser extent, pears.  

Cultivation

Salvia officinalis is native to the Mediterranean region (though it has naturalized in many places throughout the world).  As such, the three fundamentals for successfully growing Sage are full sun, good drainage and good air circulation.  Plants mature to approximately twenty four inches tall and eighteen inches wide, and can take a somewhat sprawling form (particularly when grown in less than full sun).  Whorls of two-lipped, lavender-blue flowers (to 1 inch long) in short, upright spikes appear in late spring.  The oblong gray-green leaves (to 4" long) are strongly aromatic and in mass plantings appear quite silvery.  The plant itself is highly attractive to bees and butterflies.  Sage has virtually no pests or diseases; however, it is highly susceptible to root rot in wet, soggy clay soils.  Sage is hardy from Zones 4 to 8.

At 6160, Sage blankets the Lupe Garden.  Just outside the back door, this area provides the ideal Mediterranean microclimate that Sage thrives in - constant sun, fast drainage, and good air circulation.  Late spring often finds the area a sweeping mass of purple spikes bobbing above a sea of silver, while the New Dawn rose that sprawls along the fenceline blooms concurrent.  The "secret corner" sitting area was purposely placed by this mass planting of Sage, which seems to have the continuous gentle hum of countless bees.   

It's hard to have a favorite herb, but if I had to pick, this would be the one...