So loud and clear

Posted on April 30, 2020 by composerinthegarden

Spring makes its own statement, so loud and clear that the gardener seems to be only one of the instruments, not the composer. ~Geoffrey B. Charlesworth

Spring has suddenly unfolded herself, transforming from a few bright flowers lost in a brown sea of last year’s leaves to a rich tapestry of green punctuated by full bouquets. colorfulhillside

Green leaves of every size and shape have sprung up, fresh and new.

Oakleaf hydrangea leaf

Ostrich fern

Lily of the valley

Asiatic lily foliage

New growth of Alberta spruce

Geranium foliage

New flowers open every day, making the morning stroll through the garden a journey of discovery.

gardenarch

Summer snowflakes

Hellebore flowers

Daffodil ‘Bella Coola’

Old fashioned bleeding heart

Daffodils and forget-me-nots

Lungwort

The earth laughs in flowers. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

springgl

After a long winter of dreary days and muted colors, the textures and forms of spring make me feel as if I’ve stepped into the land of Oz, from a black and white world into a land of vibrant color.

Near a birdbath set into the ground, greenbirdbath

I found a tiny bird nest – it may have blown out of a tree during yesterday’s wild winds. tinynest

On May 1, two of my compositions will be featured on our university’s weekly A Little Friday Night Music concert series on YouTube. If you are free on Friday, May 1 at 7:30 P.M. (eastern daylight time), please tune in and enjoy the concert performance of selections from Watershed and Arcadian Tone Poems, both pieces inspired by my love of nature. I will be there in the live chat to answer questions and comments during the concert. The video will remain on YouTube thereafter, so you can tune in anytime.

May you enjoy the sights and sounds of spring, wherever you find yourself. Stay safe, stay well, stay strong.

Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature — the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter. ~Rachel Carson, Silent Spring

The Inner Garden: Father’s Day Edition

Posted on June 15, 2019 by composerinthegarden

Baby Lynn at piano Years ago, in the 1990’s, I created my first video entitled The Inner Garden. In those days, it took over 20 hours to render a small low resolution video in Adobe Premiere. Nevertheless, I wrote, filmed and edited a series of short stories about making a garden into a 20 minute film, including reminiscences about childhood garden experiences. This week, I thought of one of the scenes – Planting Onions: Sage Advice – when considering Father’s Day. My father passed away several years ago and my best memories of him are about sharing music and gardening. He was my first music teacher, teaching me the mysteries of notes on the piano and leading family music sessions of everything from brass choirs for church to jazzy jam sessions.

Even though the resolution is low, I hope you enjoy this little video of family garden memories from my younger self 🙂 Happy Father’s Day to all fathers everywhere – be sure to take time to share yourself with your children – it will build a lifetime of memories.

Earth Day, Watershed Edition

Posted on April 22, 2018 by composerinthegarden

I remember the first Earth Day as a teenager – I loved the idea then and all of these years later, it still seems a special day to celebrate. As I grow with my garden, I realize that creating a healthy place for all flora and fauna to flourish is my first ideal and goal. Lately, my time has been caught up in finishing the school semester, guiding my ensemble through its spring concert and tending my garden. Bill, my husband and creative partner, has been editing and mixing the studio recording of Watershed for cello and orchestra that was premiered in late February. The CD containing the piece will be released in late fall on Three Oranges Recordings but we are far enough in the mixing process to share a few of the highlights here in this montage, thanks to Bill’s talents and generosity. (see an earlier Watershed post here).

Adam Liu, the cellist for whom the piece was written, turned in a stunning and passionate performance and our Duquesne University Orchestra, inspired by masterful conductor Daniel Meyer, was at their best. How lucky can a composer be when the artists that bring a piece to life give their creative all? Adam began his musical career playing the erhu, a Chinese stringed instrument, and suggested that he play the second movement, Sunrise on Still Water, on the erhu rather than the cello. I agreed and I love the sound – it shimmers with unearthly beauty. I hope you enjoy this short montage of highlights from the 20 minute piece.

Spring is tentatively here, with mild days alternating with snowy winter days. The weeping cherry tree is in full bloom, but ironically its cultivar name ‘Snow Fountain’ became a reality when an overnight storm coated the blossoms with white snow.

The daffodils are coming into season, even as the early small bulbs continue to bloom.

Crocus tommasinianus

The hellebores have shrugged off the snow and cold and continue to bloom in soft pastel shades.

Yellow hellebore

Wherever you are, I hope spring is coming your way and your world is filled with color and beauty. And may every day become “earth day” in our hearts and minds.

Walk in a dream

Posted on August 20, 2017 by composerinthegarden

You can walk in a dream while you are awake; just walk in the misty morning of a forest! ~Mehmet Murat Ildan

Yesterday was sunny and hot, a perfect August day. Then wild windy storms blew in, pouring rain over the hot earth – wisps of steam rose into the air as the storm moved on. This morning, I awoke to clouds of fog and mist and felt as if I were still in a dream. Angel and I took a short walk but turned home sooner than usual, concerned about safety on the foggy road. foggyroad

The rain amplified the green of grass and trees along the shady woodland edges.

Foggy woods

Leaves and acorns of chestnut oak

Entrance to woodland

The fallen tree still hanging over the lower garden has kept me from working there, but the fog softened the shaggy edges and lent the garden an abandoned romantic quality.

Hydrangea ‘Limelight’ in the garden

Garden in fog

Fallen oak hanging over garden

The Hydrangea paniculata ‘Limelight’ was bowed down by the heavy rains, making the path under it impassible. limelightpath

A spider wasted no time spinning a beautiful web on the deck. spiderweb

Even the brightly colored hillside garden shimmered softly, subdued in the misty light. foggyhilltop

Rudbeckia ‘Viette’s Little Suzy’ fell down the steps after the heavy rain but continues to bloom, unconcerned. littlesuzy

I have spent much of this summer composing a cello concerto that will be premiered next year. There is more work to do, but as I walked through the mist this morning, I thought of Benjamin Britten’s description of the process. “Composing is like driving down a foggy road toward a house. Slowly you see more details of the house – the color of the slates and bricks, the shape of the windows. The notes are the bricks and the mortar of the house.” May you find clarity in the fog and enjoy the misty beauty of your dreams.

foggygate

moonlight disappears down the hills
mountains vanish into fog
and I vanish into poetry ~Sanober Kahn

Willy-nilly

Posted on April 11, 2014 by composerinthegarden

“Willy-nilly” – in a haphazard or spontaneous manner ~ The Free Merriam-Webster Dictionary

Iris reticulata ‘Harmony’

Yesterday, the warmth and sunshine of a beautiful April day lingered into evening, a perfect time to work in the garden. I had an agenda, a list – prune the roses, rake the leaves, pull the weeds. I pruned the blackened branches of roses that were damaged by a harsh winter and was delighted to discover green growth at the roots. That was as far down the list as I got. I paused to smell the wind carrying the scent of spring, I watched a pair of robins argue over territory, and my feet wandered over the paths drawn to bits of green and blue and yellow arising from the ground.

Rose hellebore

The “to do” list was forgotten and I moved willy-nilly through the garden, meandering, clipping here and there as I went, without plan or order. At work, I am the planner, the doer, the architect of outcomes. But on entering the garden, the plan became a burden that I happily surrendered. I shilly-shallied through a garden lit by golden evening light, my ears open to bird song while my fingers stroked the tender new leaves emerging from the earth. I began to dream instead of plan, I began to imagine instead of control, I began to be instead of act.

Daffodil ‘Verdant Meadow’

After a few hours of meandering with snippers in hand, caught up in the magic of a gentle spring evening, I discovered that my hands had pruned the hydrangeas, weeded the garden beds and cleared last year’s leaves from the stone steps. The garden was clear of debris and ready to grow. My orderly list of chores was somehow accomplished as part of a relaxed ramble, an afterthought to the real business of connecting with the magical world around me. Perhaps I need a little more willy-nilly time and allow myself to be a dreamer and a sillyheart more often.

“I don’t think I want to know a six-year-old who isn’t a dreamer, or a sillyheart.” ~ Uncle Buck

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The intersection of music and the garden as intertwined creative art forms

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