Getting through the off-season is sometimes a challenge. Even the most mild and protracted winter cannot eliminate the yearning for the rebirth that only happens in spring.
Chickens were banished from our farm for the third time about 10 years ago. We’d lost our best ratting dogs, the rats became too numerous and my father’s temper blew.
With a focus on the region, dining in this town gives home cooking new meaning.
A non-interventionist winemaker wants to unify the region.
Spring comes, and the eyes water.
There is no doubt that the easiest way to start a garden is to go to a local nursery and buy young plants, ready to pop in the ground. But if you want to grow a particular vegetable or flower variety, planting from seed is the way to go because nurseries are limited in what they can stock.
This garden doesn’t just grow. It explodes. At the start of the season it’s a study in orderliness—a neat rectangle, halved, then quartered by…
I hadn’t been to Robert Jakob and David White’s garden since it was last on the Landscape Pleasures tour in 1997. I know I had felt then that it was probably my favorite garden on the East End because it seemed so intensely personal and idiosyncratic.
The house was on fire next door when they bought it. It had little foundation, and by the following spring they’d just begun planting fruit trees on the consumed house’s lot.
Do not pause too long in admiration of the finely pruned weeping willow at the rear of the house, whose proportions are as admirable as those of the magic tree at the center of blue willow ware or, as I did, when I reviewed in mid-spring enviously taking in a huge, alluring display of purple hellebores.
The heat of summer is softened by the calm, cool soft sway of the grasses in the Seegal garden in Wainscott.
With its mature plantings and lush flower gardens, this estate on Great Plains Road blends in seamlessly with the other venerable grandes dames that beckon behind the signature hedgerows. So it’s hard to imagine that only a short time ago the three-acre property was a vacant, flat, barren lot with nary a tree or bush in sight.