EARTH DAY IN QUEENS

                                                                             

DOVES ARE TRILLING
PIGEONS COOING
SQUIRRELS CHATTER AWAY
GRASS IS SPRINGING
BIRDS ARE SINGING
SPRING IS HERE TODAY

Happy Earth Day,

Elise                                                                                

THE GARDEN

A soft, steady rain washed the neighborhood last night. I inhale, close my eyes and smell the aroma of warm, damp earth as it drifts past my open window. A small ensemble of weeds, conducted by a morning breeze, sways gently, lulling me into the half-sleep of remembrance.
I lean over the sill and study the garden. Once nurtured by two ancient German refugees, on a small narrow plot of land supplied by our building’s landlord, the garden now suffers from neglect. The apple trees have been cut down, along with bushes and flowering plants. Nothing is left but dry earth that sparrows love to bathe in.
Through the years, I watched my suburban neighborhood of mostly one and two family houses grow into a sturdy community of apartment buildings, two supermarkets and a cut-rate drugstore. The garden stayed the same. Coaxed, chastised, inspired by Emile and Anna – the refugees – it pulsed with life. We knew spring had arrived when the crocus and daffodils were joined by tulips and baby’s breath. The azalea flowered next—a showy display of crimson and claret. Roses, the color of peaches and cream, grew in June and emboldened by the heat of August squirrels knocked apples off the trees.
Emile and Anna loved the garden as much as they disliked each other. Every morning, the sound of shovels, a wheelbarrow crying for oil and their constant bickering would wake the tenants on the garden side of the building. No one dared complain. Better Emile and Anna’s squabbles than a hard, dry courtyard. At night, the pungent scent of flowers in full bloom wafted into my bedroom, encouraging me to dream of distant lands, exotic adventures. Dreams only occasionally interrupted by the high pitched mews of cats using the greenery for assignations.
Chrysanthemums grew well into September and lasted ‘til the cold warnings of winter forced them to fade. After Christmas festivities were past, Emile could be seen gathering discarded evergreens, tinseled branches twinkling in the morning sun, and placing them on the perennials. There they would rest while the tenants anticipated spring.
I don’t know why the landlord ripped up our garden. I heard rumors that a squirrel jumped from a tree and peeked in someone’s window and another neighbor mentioned cats keeping her awake. I think Emile and Anna must be turning over in their graves.


Bests,

Elise

My cozy eBook mystery titled Scene Stealer may be found at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Carina Press and wherever eBooks are sold. An audio book has been produced by Audible .com

Spring Has Sprung

Set the clocks ahead Sunday. Two fat Robins greeted me when we made a visit to New Jersey yesterday and today, though a chill March wind encouraged the wearing of a sweater, coat, gloves and a hat, I could see the limbs of trees had buds ready to open and turn spring green on the first warm day. Tiny purple, lavender and blue flowers had already poked there heads above ground daring Mother Nature to send another snow storm.

I guess my writer's brain was feeling spring in the air because characters began poking me, telling me what they needed to do next to advance their story. Stirring up trouble and keeping me awake at night. I'm ready for them--a pad and pen in the drawer of my night-table.

Bests,

Elise

My cozy mystery Scene Stealer is available at Carina Press and wherever eBooks are sold. An audio version is available at audible.com

Tulip Time

One day we were in the Jordaan area, thought to be named for the French Le Jardin (garden). Most of the alleyways and canals in this section are named for flowers and I visualize fields of tulips before we step through the door of Amsterdam’s Tulip Museum and meet the museum’s knowledgeable director Sjoerd van Eeden who brings the amazing history of the tulip to life.

A relative of the lily, the tulip did not originate in Holland but grew, wild and free, in the central Asian highlands. Brought by Sultans to Istanbul from Persia, the tulip thrived and reigned supreme in their gardens inspiring the admiration of Augerius Busbeguius, a Viennese Ambassador sent by the Austrian Emperor Ferdinand I to the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire. Busbeguius introduced the tulip to Europe. Flowers grown from the seed the Ambassador sent to Vienna became enormously popular; before long seeds and bulbs were carried to many parts of Europe including Antwerp, Brussels, Paris and Prague. The wealthy were captivated by this entertaining pastime and western European gardens blazed with the flower by 1630. The tulip had become an icon of prosperity bought and sold by specialists and academics.

Carolus Clusius, a biologist from Vienna, became the director of Hortus Botanicus in Leiden, the oldest botanical garden in Europe, in the 1590s. He had a background in medicine and in Leiden, he researched medicinal plants. Clusius was one of the first to grow tulips, introducing the bulb to Holland. He experimented, performing crossbreeding and propagation with different species. Displaying his sizeable collection; he presented bulbs for sale in 1591. The price, Clusius asked for the bulbs was high and no one knows whether the bulbs were sold or stolen from his garden but the citizens of Leiden began growing bulbs that to this day remains a principal industry in Holland.

Sjoerd tells us the Sultans thought the flower resembled an upside down turban called dulban or tuliban and the name developed into tulip. By the 17th century, many outstanding selections of tulips were developed for the prosperous by horticulturists and were desired for their elegance or delicacy, varied hue, rarity and social standing. Tulipomania in Holland led to speculation (traders often earned as much as 60,000 florins (approximately $61,000) in a month). Tulip bulbs were traded until the cost reached the price of a house. Financial disaster followed in the crash of 1637; in less than two months, thousands of Dutch businessmen were bankrupt but the cultivation of tulips continued and today is run according to standard business practices.

Many of the tulips that stirred the speculation are still in existence and history’s tulips may be planted or, if you’re inspired by the Dutch Masters, painted today. They can be purchased through mail order catalogues and garden centers.
The tulip is a member of the onion family and during World War II was fried and eaten when food was scarce; gardeners may notice that squirrels and deer consider the flower a delicacy. Deer are not as attracted to daffodils, alliums, lilies, snowflakes and scilla.

Travelers passing fields of tulips, after their first bloom, may be surprised to see stems without heads. Tulips are allowed to flower for seven to ten days before mechanical harvesters clip the flower stalks to preserve nutrients for their bulbs. The flowers are often fed to cows; they prefer the red ones. The big business in Holland is supplying bulbs not flowers but the Dutch fill their gardens with magnificent blooms and purchase fragrant bouquets for less than five Euros and as I passed flower stalls in the daily markets, I longed to fill my hotel room with nature’s vibrant works of art.

The museum offers a film that takes the visitor to the tulip fields of the Netherlands and a modern tulip farm. The museum’s gift shop, Bloembollenwinkel (Bulb Basket) offers prints, books, mugs, antique tiles, delicate cups and saucers, vases and note paper in addition to bulbs. Prices range from 2.50 euros for a keychain to 14 for a T-shirt to 35 for a handbag. The keepsakes make lovely gifts and are a sweet remembrance of Holland’s favorite flower.


Scene Stealer is available at Carina Press:

January

The Big Apple has slush on the corners, pools of water waiting for someone to slip and rims of ice decorating the outer edges of the sidewalk. At times I long for spring to come quickly-in a sense wishing my life away. Usually I enjoy the four seasons but this winter is a doozy.

I dream of other countries-vacations in warm, relaxing lands. Sorrento with its orange and lemon trees, Amalfi with its homes perched high in the clouds-all dressed in summery ice cream colors. The other side of the world-Australia-the tropical rain forest with birds that are foreign to me flaunting brilliant feathers and crocodiles lifting their long, tapering snouts from the water in a phoney grin. Kangeroos of every size and shape some willing to be stroked and koala bears suffering the hugs of a tourist. Greece with its antiquities where the mind can rove back to another time and the beginnings of culture. London-just as cold as my city until you step into a theatre and marvel at the plays and actors. The applause warms the heart as well as the hands.

Until I can visit once more I settle for comfort food-tomato soup sprinkled with basil, cheese sandwiches and a hot mug of Columbian coffee.