2020 Programming is underway.
Here are some highlights from 2019
OASIS OF HOPE ... AMERICA'S PUBLIC GARDENS
NAVIGATE A RADICAL ERA OF CHANGE
Dr. Casey Sclar, Executive Director of the American Public Gardens Association
NAVIGATE A RADICAL ERA OF CHANGE
Dr. Casey Sclar, Executive Director of the American Public Gardens Association
TIES THAT BOND; MAKING GARDENS TOGETHER
A Bobbie Dolp Lecture Series Inaugural Presentation by Bill Noble
Bill Noble, garden designer and garden historian
A Bobbie Dolp Lecture Series Inaugural Presentation by Bill Noble
Bill Noble, garden designer and garden historian
Gaiety Hollow Inspires!
An Award-Winning Design by Jean Roth
An Award-Winning Design by Jean Roth
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It is exciting to see the many creative ways that gardening enthusiasts help keep the legacy of Elizabeth Lord and Edith Schryver alive!
We just learned that Jean Roth, long-time Portland Garden Club member and friend of the Lord & Schryver Conservancy, won Best in Show in the Garden Club of America’s Inspirations 2014 competition for her L&S urban garden vignette. Not only did Jean leave the show with a beautiful blue ribbon, she also received accolades from the judges: “A masterpiece of construction and horticulture material!” “Exuberant display of pristine plan material creates an urban jewel.” Jean entered her design in the Horticulture Division; Class 10 – Urban Jewels. Per the Garden Club of America’s rules, in addition to the actual display, Jean was also required to submit a Statement of Intent, a key card (planting diagram) and plant list. "We were instructed to create a design inspired by an urban garden and were given a 4’x4’ piece of plywood upon which to build. Our design was not to exceed that measure for the footprint but there was no height limit.” “I looked to Gaiety Hollow, Lord and Schryver’s home garden in Salem, OR as my inspiration. I wanted to highlight the firm’s beaux arts traditions including axial viewpoints, a sense of enclosure, use of broadleaf evergreens and “careless grace.” I then thought of the arbor at Gaiety Hollow and the rest was pure creative fun!” |
Paintings by CC. Willow and Gay Hopkins
Thank you to the artists for allowing us post their paintings which resulted from PAINT THE TOWN , a project of Artist in Action (AiA) which included Gaiety Hollow in their list of plein air inspirational art locations in 2018.
Top: Gaiety Hollow Poppies by CC. Willow, acrylic on canvas, 16" x 20"
Below: Lord and Schryver Garden by Gay Hopkins, acrylic on canvas, 11" x 14
Top: Gaiety Hollow Poppies by CC. Willow, acrylic on canvas, 16" x 20"
Below: Lord and Schryver Garden by Gay Hopkins, acrylic on canvas, 11" x 14
Poetry by the Willamette Valley Poetry Society
Elizabeth and Edith of Gaiety Hollow, 1932
~ Elizabeth Lord (1887-1976) and Edith Schryver (1901-1984).
~ Gaiety Hollow: their home, the house placed to enhance
their garden, one of 250 they designed together.
I.
Elizabeth, taller, might’ve reached the breakfast preserves, hung linens
on the clothesline. Perhaps Edith set their table beneath the window,
early northern light giving shape and color to backyard blooms,
paths dividing into rooms lilac, camellia, olive-yellow, thornless rose,
grape vine, pink clematis entwined atop the pergola’s beams; a shaded, backless
bench tucked beside small trees and ferns, a bright green riot;
a friendly garden shed within a separate, sunlit space, for tools and rakes
to tend and mulch the plants. The yard there, rubbed down to earth--
by working men? or, by the owner-women, in slippers and peignoirs?
II.
Just next door, Elizabeth nursed her ailing mother. During years
of witnessing decline, did the garden’s birdsong and promise
bring, with every glimpse, a released breath?
When Elizabeth’s turn for help arrived, did Edith offer care? We only
speculate, the women having burned their personal papers. The full account
is lost to us, a stony pact within their legacy, their era guarding privacy.
III.
We have been told of Edith’s way, when aging and alone: she gazed at
the garden from her kitchen-window seat … perhaps, at the hollyhock,
stalk of creamy bells—in Edith’s room of memory, a taller, more precious bloom.
Ada Molinoff
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Elizabeth and Edith of Gaiety Hollow, 1932
~ Elizabeth Lord (1887-1976) and Edith Schryver (1901-1984).
~ Gaiety Hollow: their home, the house placed to enhance
their garden, one of 250 they designed together.
I.
Elizabeth, taller, might’ve reached the breakfast preserves, hung linens
on the clothesline. Perhaps Edith set their table beneath the window,
early northern light giving shape and color to backyard blooms,
paths dividing into rooms lilac, camellia, olive-yellow, thornless rose,
grape vine, pink clematis entwined atop the pergola’s beams; a shaded, backless
bench tucked beside small trees and ferns, a bright green riot;
a friendly garden shed within a separate, sunlit space, for tools and rakes
to tend and mulch the plants. The yard there, rubbed down to earth--
by working men? or, by the owner-women, in slippers and peignoirs?
II.
Just next door, Elizabeth nursed her ailing mother. During years
of witnessing decline, did the garden’s birdsong and promise
bring, with every glimpse, a released breath?
When Elizabeth’s turn for help arrived, did Edith offer care? We only
speculate, the women having burned their personal papers. The full account
is lost to us, a stony pact within their legacy, their era guarding privacy.
III.
We have been told of Edith’s way, when aging and alone: she gazed at
the garden from her kitchen-window seat … perhaps, at the hollyhock,
stalk of creamy bells—in Edith’s room of memory, a taller, more precious bloom.
Ada Molinoff
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
aBeacon
A coral rose stationed
ten inches above the soil
beckoned to me
through leaves of cobalt,
viridian and chrome green
gathered my gaze past paving bricks
and sweet alyssum and purple veronica.
All else in shadow. When I sold our house thirteen years ago and vacuumed the living room carpet for the last time, I found a small red Lego against the baseboard and picked it up, knowing my future self would need that piece of the past, viewing the scene as if through water, as if through mist, as if on the screen of another mother’s film.
August with no rain only feathers
scrub jay, junco, chickadee, crow.
All hushed with historic heat.
Three spent leaves of yellow-brown
looked on as I painted that rose,
that beacon in times of doubt
tints of quinachridone and vermilion,
red-orange radiant in the garden.
“I’m glad I have a mother like you,” Elliot said yesterday from his swivel stool in the kitchen. I took a moment to think. “Thank you. I work at it.” “I know,” he said. I added, “And I haven’t always been like this.” “I know,” he said again. And his beacon blue-green eyes looked into mine. We have had our shares of darkness and anger, shadow and sorrow.
A white-crowned sparrow tilted its head
trilled its beacon song from the camellia tree
as water trebled behind a green lattice fence.
traffic shrilled and screamed on Mission Street
around the left side of the house. Then stillness.
ink snapdragons conversed with chickadees
dee dee dee as the three yellow leaves looked on
and the coral rose, poised and observant,
ignaled its beacon prayer.
C. Herron, 2017
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Gardening
The earth breathes
It inhales and exhales
I breathe with it
My fingers rake through the dirt
Around familiar plants
Mallow, sage, foxglove, lavender, hollyhock
My friends
The earth below my knees
Expands, contracts, rises up and sinks
Ever in movement
I float on its surface
Fingers raking its soil
Familiar movements
That nurture day lilies, phlox, Joe-Pye, asters
Franca Hernandez © 2016
A coral rose stationed
ten inches above the soil
beckoned to me
through leaves of cobalt,
viridian and chrome green
gathered my gaze past paving bricks
and sweet alyssum and purple veronica.
All else in shadow. When I sold our house thirteen years ago and vacuumed the living room carpet for the last time, I found a small red Lego against the baseboard and picked it up, knowing my future self would need that piece of the past, viewing the scene as if through water, as if through mist, as if on the screen of another mother’s film.
August with no rain only feathers
scrub jay, junco, chickadee, crow.
All hushed with historic heat.
Three spent leaves of yellow-brown
looked on as I painted that rose,
that beacon in times of doubt
tints of quinachridone and vermilion,
red-orange radiant in the garden.
“I’m glad I have a mother like you,” Elliot said yesterday from his swivel stool in the kitchen. I took a moment to think. “Thank you. I work at it.” “I know,” he said. I added, “And I haven’t always been like this.” “I know,” he said again. And his beacon blue-green eyes looked into mine. We have had our shares of darkness and anger, shadow and sorrow.
A white-crowned sparrow tilted its head
trilled its beacon song from the camellia tree
as water trebled behind a green lattice fence.
traffic shrilled and screamed on Mission Street
around the left side of the house. Then stillness.
ink snapdragons conversed with chickadees
dee dee dee as the three yellow leaves looked on
and the coral rose, poised and observant,
ignaled its beacon prayer.
C. Herron, 2017
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Gardening
The earth breathes
It inhales and exhales
I breathe with it
My fingers rake through the dirt
Around familiar plants
Mallow, sage, foxglove, lavender, hollyhock
My friends
The earth below my knees
Expands, contracts, rises up and sinks
Ever in movement
I float on its surface
Fingers raking its soil
Familiar movements
That nurture day lilies, phlox, Joe-Pye, asters
Franca Hernandez © 2016