Whatever it was, I amused myself with how bizarre their callow, undernourished figures looked against a backdrop of luscious Persian buttercups the size of cabbages. A monochrome pattern of red, orange, and yellow seemed to leak into each petal and spill over its velvet tip. Frankly, however, another image – the weeping willow tree’s deeply bent trunk and mangled branches – created a more operative illustration of this strange picture.
I didn’t expect this many people swarming the entry to the Chicago Botanic Garden, especially since this was happening even before its mesh gates swung open. To think that I had outsmarted the crowds by rising before the sun to drive up to suburban Glencoe! It would be a two-hour drive up north, with as little traffic as one could expect on the Tri-State Tollway on this hazy, Saturday morning in May. Many flower fans and aficionados of garden antiques were apparently of the same mind. Thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands if you count the entire weekend’s visitor registry, decided that the Midwest’s largest annual antique and garden fair would be too good an event to let pass. Supreme luck had it that an aunt of mine, herself an old hand at rose and tulip gardening, snuck me a member’s weekend pass to inspect the vernal meadows of this world-class garden community.
The Chicago Botanic Garden stands in the likeness of its parent body, the 100-year-old Chicago Horticultural Society, whose chief mission is to propagate horticultural research and education throughout the Chicago area. The Garden, which celebrates its 30th anniversary next year, shares this flowery vision through its own program of fairs and exhibits, walking tours and workshops. One such event – the Antiques and Garden Fair – recently drew over a hundred exhibitors from all around the country as well as gardeners from as far away as England to display their garden wares.
Exhibitors were grouped and tented under enormous white canopies. As I approached the fair entrance, a quick perusal of a garden diagram showed the key areas that I was to visit that day: the antiques were mostly displayed under the Tent in the Rose Garden, adjacent to the Rose Petal Café, where I knew I’d be chomping on an a vinaigrette-drizzled mesclun mix by noon; also at the Tent on the Great Lawn, in between Crab Tree Hill and the Checkerboard Cafe; the corner East Courtyard, Forsythia Hall, and Greenhouse Galleries brought me into humid, temperature-controlled regions where most of the gardening products and rustic decorations were housed.
Complete with the limey patina of wear and tear on oxidized metal were antiquated garden implements, flower boxes, watering cans, and torchlight holders. Beyond the functionality of these period pieces, and to my squeaky delight, were molded metal sculptures of life-sized (no, dog-sized) grasshoppers, bumblebees, crickets, and other winged creatures. Stone-carved frogs assembled on a float of water lilies would most likely attract buyers looking for a whimsical P.S. to their garden pond. Miniature votive candleholders made of punctured bronze with tiny mosaic glass windows hung on large, wrought iron spears like sessile buds on a kumquat tree. Each spear stood at average height and was poked into a galvanized pail full of sand.
The combination of flickering candlelight that bounced back on the mosaic produced a dazzling prism of colored light that fascinated all who passed by this display. That is, until they got to the five five-pound jackstones at a booth named Darwin. Compelling and resonant objects, read its tagline. Each jackstone (circa 1960, $250) weighed five pounds of cast iron and was painted in red, sky blue, orange, yellow, and pink. I tried to imagine what the jackstones’ function could be and as if in answer to my silent musing, the owner sidled up to me and said, "Maybe a doorstop and if you’re up to it, garden trim or front step borders. I think the owners were..."
Seconds later, a powerful gust of wind slapped against the outside of the canopy, sending an antique mirror bordered by swirls of pressed pink glass crashing down just inches away from me. Totally flabbergasted and offering profuse apologies for what might have been a tragic accident, the owner asked me if I was all right and I nervously imparted my thanks. I commiserated with him for a bit on the beautiful mirror that had now scattered into a million fragments. Other exhibitors and visitors had approached the booth to see what the commotion was about and I quickly found my opportunity to exit the scene. It was also time to get some air outside the claustrophobic tents (even if they were pitched 20 feet high).
Tiptoe Through the Tulip Bed is a section of the Botanic Garden that reminded me of a Sesame Street animation clip that used to make me giggle. I remember repeating the verse often, especially when I knew something good was about to happen. The clip shows a funny-looking woman tiptoeing through a flower patch, shrieking way out of tune in the shrillest voice, "Tiptoe through the tulips!!!" I felt like doing just that, but feared that the garden hands would come in and take this crazy woman away. Instead, I hummed the melody and chuckled as I took snapshots of the prettiest sky-lit bed of bi-color tulips.
According to the Netherlands Flower Bulb Information Center, a tulip’s ramrod bearing owes its straight, upright growth to a source of abundant light but not direct sunlight. Since they can easily topple, it is advisable to give them a little physical support by way of a large vessel or wire railing. The air surrounding the tulip bed was drenched with the most fragrant aroma and after asking around, I was told that the white, bell-shaped flowers planted next to the bulbs (which were very pretty, but rather neutral in fragrance) – the hyacinths – were responsible for suffusing the air with such sweetness.
Before filing into the auditorium to listen to a keynote lecture by flower stylist Carolyne Roehm, I made a quick dash to study the odd shapes of the 10-foot trees that lined the Topiary Allee. By smoothing my palms over their perfectly contoured shapes (either conical, spherical, or quadrangle), I realized that the arduous task of trimming and hedging tough boxwood branches was accomplished with the help of a thick lattice of wiring in the trees’ underbrush. A razor-sharp set of pruning shears also came in handy. I walked along aisles of animal-shaped topiaries, some fully encircled with hardy green vines, others half-covered. I imagined how a few armadillos, ducks, or cows could add some zing to a staid, manicured garden.
We know of Carolyne Roehm from the time she worked as a fashion designer for the atelier of Oscar dela Renta. Dela Renta recently garnered the much-coveted Best Designer award from the Fashion Design Association of America, but also lost Roehm to her own design house. A messy divorce, a clothing business gone kaput, and several Shakespearean tragedies later, she’s back in the fold. This time, she’s not pushing sketchpads and notching textiles. Roehm is a floral designer.
In 1997, she authored a book entitled A Passion for Flowers, which touched on food and gardening. Stirred by a passion for how the seasons affect her signature style, Roehm proceeded to develop her Notebook series: Summer, Fall, Winter, and Spring. In each Notebook, she features products and designs that are perfectly suited to each particular season. Wicker trays and topiary-inspired cocktail linen match the vernal greens of spring, while toile vase designs in magenta complement the deep hues of autumn.
She says that 75 percent of the time her designs are inspired by the season (the rest of the time, it’s composition and texture) and she recommends thinking along seasonal lines when putting together colors and texture. Her favorite colors are blue and white, with an occasional bright yellow daffodil as a centerpiece, surrounded by fragrant pink and white mimosas. Although she has an appetite for collecting all sorts of dinnerware (she alleges that she is to plates as Mrs. Marcos is to shoes), vases and linen, she does not make any judgments on whether a design is modern, minimalist, feminine, 18th century or 19th century. She claims she owns 17th-century Blue Delft ceramics and 16th-century Chinese pottery, but she consigns them to the same storage space as yesterday’s Taiwan platters and tomorrow’s Swedish saucers.
She doesn’t believe in the frequent use of expensive accoutrements and claims, "When it comes to design; it doesn’t matter which you use. You can create your own story and its drama will fulfill own design styles." Even a lopsided bouquet of iris, billowy peonies, gardenias and hydrangeas (white, fluffy petals with dark, green leaves) looks pretty in a white, latticed ceramic.
With the ease and blitheness of a young schoolgirl, Roehm, who just turned golden 50, illustrates her point further, "Notice that even if the French, the largest purveyors of luxury goods, are also very frugal and practical. Because I normally use fillers like gerbera, statice, daisy, leather ferns and baby’s breath, I found out while I worked as a flower shop clerk in Paris that the French like to use different fillers like variegated ivy, even blueberries, as the main components in a centerpiece." Even common flowers such as marigolds (usually used at the edge of the garden plot to keep away bugs) can be a colorful addition to any design; other colorful flowers like zinnias, gerberas, cosmos, and nasturtiums in pink, red, yellow, and orange go well with toile fabric.
"Whether it’s designing a flower bouquet, fashion apparel, a food platter, architecture, or fashion accessories, there are certain design elements that need to be present: composition, line, texture, color, and structure." For a dining table that’s been set with beautiful linen, exquisite dinnerware and silverware, a simple silver tureen crowded with pink carnations may just be the perfect accent piece.
When a garden party calls for playful, blue-and-white-striped tablecloth, Roehm plants a single, yellow primrose in individual terra-cotta planters. For fruity designs, she places juicy, red strawberries in blue-and-white bowls. A medley of green fillers and green grapes makes a striking presentation on an all-white table setting. It’s edible décor that her guests just love. Her light banter leaves us in stitches, "I really believe that God is in the details, but I’m not like Martha (Stewart) who is great with a glue gun. I’d rather stay away because the last time I used one, I ended up with sticky kumquats all over the dining table."
As we try to recover from a few, healthy minutes of belly laughing, we came away with a few of Roehm’s own valuable flower tips:
• Always recondition your flowers when you get home after buying them to resuscitate them so that they will live for a few more days;
• Cut stems and clip off leaves at an angle (preferably early in the morning) with a serrated knife to expose the ends to the water more (if they are exposed to direct sunlight, they will dry up faster);
• Don’t throw the cuttings because you might be able to make a little nosegay or a decorative filler arrangement;
• Put the flowers in warm water to soak through the newly cut portion, making sure that no leaves fall below the water level because this is a source of bacteria;
• Water is always susceptible to bacteria, heat, and sunlight, so put a 1/3 can of Sprite or 7Up, or a bottle cap of chlorine bleach and a teaspoon of sugar (if you don’t have Floralite);
• Place the flowers in a dark place to rest for an hour or overnight;
• The rule of thumb for well-proportioned floral arrangements: Think of the vase as 1/3 and the height of your arrangement as 2/3;
• To make a short flower stem look longer, stick it into a hobby vial filled with water and attach this vial to a long stick which can be impaled on a piece of foam;
•Think outside of the conventional box when designing
Carolyne Roehm’s unpretentious, disarming charm tells me that she bears her own intuitive style. And since she says that everyone eventually finds his or her own signature style, that tells me that mine will probably reveal itself soon.