A concatenation of calla lilies. / iStock photo.

THE PRINCE has scattered three clumps of calla lilies behind the anemones. At least I hope they’re calla lilies. I’ve always wanted to waltz into the garden in something swish, wave a martini about and say, “The calla lilies are in bloom again.” Katharine Hepburn, Stage Door, you know? 

I’ve been practicing that line my whole life, it seems. And the moment may yet come. Next year even, should the flowers bloom. 

The reason I’m not sure of what we have is that I uprooted the plant, with permission, from someone’s garden and then promptly forgot what the flowers looked like, as they immediately drooped and died. This left me with some knotty-looking bulbs and some strappy green leaves that several folks on one of the highly intelligent Facebook gardening groups I follow rather tentatively insisted were calla lilies.  

How thrilling if they’re correct! Though, absent that line of dialogue, they’re still pretty flowers, as I vaguely recall.  

At long last, the front garden is coming along. Nothing around here happens too speedily, so it’s no surprise that this took only 38 years. 

Its most important element was inspired by a garden that is several blocks over. I suppose I should say was, because the young men who now live in the house installed AstroTurf in the front yard, among other horrors—though I say this fondly since they were throwing out their 32-inch TV last weekend and held it for me while I got the car. It’s shiny and almost new and shall go in what we grandly call the Guest Suite in the basement, where I shall move a little this and that and create a space for a mat and shall perform yoga or Feifferesque dances, all angles and drama. We are a two-TV family at last. You can pretty much find anything on these streets. 

All of that was an aside. 

The young men’s yard is situated like ours, along an alley. The plot is a little smaller, though ours is not particularly large, maybe 15 x 20 feet.  Before the boys destroyed everything, there was a small tree planted toward the rear, between the house and its neighbor, which had the effect of setting the home apart, as if it were freestanding. 

At the time, we were living next door to an unloved, unkempt, mildewed horror of utmost decrepitude. One Christmas we were shocked to see a large inflated plastic Santa on the porch roof—what jollity! But there it remained, slowly losing air, week after week, month after month, until it completely deflated and puddled over the edge. Years passed. At last, the house was flipped, renovated and sold for $1,385,000 to a Republican and a Democrat,  which, I imagine, makes for an exhilarating life.

That was another aside. 

Anyway, pre-flip, the tree trick was a brilliant way to hide the neighbors. To create that freestanding-house effect, we put in a pink dogwood, which straggled along for several decades. It always started out the year well-budded and promising a fine display, which never quite happened. In August the leaves would start browning, the edges crumbling, and it looked like hell until winter, when its bare branches seemed almost attractive. 

Eventually, we gave up and planted a Japanese maple, a lovely small tree that seems content and looks attractive all year with a minimum of fuss, while giving our house the stand-alone feeling I wanted. Ah, the sweet smell of success.    

Next week: what worked this year, what didn’t, and what to plant for a glorious spring. 

—Stephanie Cavanaugh

LittleBird “Stephanie Gardens” highly anticipates next year, when she will find out whether or not she has calla lilies.

IT SEEMS TO ME that book clubs were made for women who know who the Kardashians are but don’t really care.

After all, what’s the one question women ask one another (after discussing the merits of going gray)? In my experience, the question is the modern equivalent of “Read any good books lately?” specifically, What is your book club reading?

So I’ve compiled the beginning of a book list, a few more than a baker’s dozen in no particular order and with not a lot of explanation (Amazon reviews or Goodreads can do that for you). A lot of books wind up being “book club books,” so you may have already read a bunch. But there may be some hidden gems.

Did I leave out your favorites? Of course I did! Feel free to add to the list—the more the merrier! Just put your recommendations in a Comment so everyone can see them. And remember, sometimes the best discussions stem from books we don’t like.

—Nancy McKeon

Unorthodox: The Scandalous Rejection of My Hasidic Roots, by Deborah Feldman. A young ultra-Orthodox woman leaves her Brooklyn Hasidic community. The book is also a Netflix series, starring the young Orthodox girl from the terrific Israeli TV series Shtisel, also on Netflix.

The Nickel Boys, by Colson Whitehead. “Inspired by a real [“correctional”] school in Florida, The Nickel Boys is a haunting narrative that reinforces Whitehead’s prowess as a leading voice in American literature.” —TIME

Red Notice, by Bill Browder. “Part John Grisham-like thriller, part business and political memoir” (The New York Times), “Browder’s business saga meshes well with the story of corruption and murder in Vladimir Putin’s Russia.” (Fortune)

The Italian Teacher, by Tom Rachman. “A poignant, touching tale about living in the shadow of a brazen artistic genius . . . Unforgettable.” —USA Today

If It Bleeds, by Stephen King. “Four new, exceptionally compelling novellas (The Washington Post); “It is striking—sometimes eerily so—how necessary these stories feel today. (The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette)

10 Minutes 38 Seconds in This Strange World, by Elif Shafak. As exotic as the Istanbul setting is, and as carnivalesque her characters, British-Turkish writer Elif Shafak, author of The Bastard of Istanbul and Three Daughters of Eve, delivers a compellingly human story in a most audacious structure.

Shadow Divers, by Robert Kurson. A sunken German U-boat? Off the coast of New Jersey? Two weekend scuba divers searched for the truth—and who knew about it—half a century later.

Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, by Haruki Murakami. Gripping, prophetic and suffused with comedy and menace, this is an astonishingly imaginative detective story, an account of a disintegrating marriage, and an excavation of buried secrets from Japan’s past.

Are You Happy Now?, by Richard Babcock. John Lincoln is a book editor miserably ensconced in a third-rate publishing house, whose overwhelming ambition is to flee the Midwest and land in New York—where, he imagines, he’ll work with real writers. Are You Happy Now? is a comic novel about the hard work of understanding what it is you want.

Citizens of London, by Lynne Olson. The behind-the-scenes story of how the United States forged its wartime alliance with Britain, told from the perspective of three key American players in London: Edward R. Murrow, head of CBS News in Europe; Averell Harriman, the entitled millionaire who ran the Lend-Lease program in London; and John Gilbert Winant, the shy, idealistic U.S. ambassador to Britain.

Old Filth, by Jane Gardam. FILTH stands for Failed in London Try Hong Kong, and Old Filth, a retired lawyer who made his reputation in Southeast Asia, finds in his English-countryside retirement that his life was not quite as he remembers it.

Where the Crawdads Sing, by Delia Owens. “A painfully beautiful first novel that is at once a murder mystery, a coming-of-age narrative and a celebration of nature . . . through the eyes of an abandoned child.” —The New York Times Book Review

A Fine Balance, by Rohinton Mistry. Magnificent, and humorous, this sweeping novel pits four ordinary people against India in the time of Indira Gandhi and the State of Emergency. The scope and the humanity call to mind the best of Dickens.

Cutting for Stone, by Abraham Verghese. The orphaned Anglo-Indian twin brothers Stone come of age as Ethiopia hovers on the brink of revolution. Moving from Addis Ababa to New York City and back again, Cutting for Stone is an unforgettable story of love and betrayal, medicine and miracles—and two brothers whose fates are forever intertwined.

A Gentleman in Moscow, by Amor Towles. We all fell a little bit in love with this Russian aristocrat forced to live out his post-Revolution life in a Moscow hotel—as a waiter. What could have been a tale of oppression turns into a surprisingly sunny saga, thanks to the count’s grace, dry humor and noblesse oblige.

Educated, by Tara Westover. Westover’s personal story, growing up in a family in which girls were to become wives—and in which coveting an education was considered sinful is simply stunning.

Born a Crime: Stories From a South African Childhood, by Trevor Noah. Ignore what has to be the ugliest book jacket in years (see photo on our homepage) and settle in for a memoir by the South African star of The Daily Show that resonates with politics and real life, offering refreshing perspectives on both.

MyLittleBird often includes links to products we write about. Our editorial choices are made independently; nonetheless, a purchase made through such a link can sometimes result in MyLittleBird receiving a commission on the sale, whether through a retailer, an online store or Amazon.com.

AND WHAT OF anemones, LittleBird Janet, our fearless leader, asks. Such great fall flowers. 

Ah, Janet:

Assumably*, the mention of anemones was spawned by my last column, on liriope, which, by the way, caused a foofarah on a local gardening site, a battle between those who are adamant about using only plants native to the area, and those of us that say, Oh pretty! I want it! 

Guess which camp I’m in.

Liriope, the rather innocent-looking, hardy and prolific little fall flowering shrub was called invasive and, in a most cruel smear, a pollutant. Well, my stars. That was harsh, though a refreshing change from politics and plague, for which I applaud myself. 

I’m considering the anemone this morning, frothing above a patch of, yes, liriope on the terrace surrounding Radici, a delightful Italian deli in my Capitol Hill neighborhood, where patrons seeking an escape from Covid isolation idle with coffee, books and laptops beneath a flutter of red market umbrellas.

Unlike the riotously colorful spring-flowering anemones, Japanese anemones come into bloom in fall. Slumbering through the heat of summer, they burst into frills of daisyesque bloom with the first snap of fall chill. Which, you may have noticed, sprang forth this week. 

The palette of these charmers is delicate, from pale pinks to shades of white. The flower petals are fat, and almost translucent, which doesn’t seem possible, but is, and contributes to their fairytale beauty. Like the birthday card for a child of the feminine persuasion (me being PC), they should be doused with glitter and swarmed with butterflies. A bunny should be lurking nearby. 

 They stretch two to four feet above the groundcover, branches splaying, laden with buds, faces toward the sun. Meaning, they move. Right now, in the early morning, they’re watching DC’s historic Eastern Market across the way. By noon they’ll peer upward, and as the day fades they’ll turn toward the shop windows.

I know this because I’m so often here, though less so now as my coffee-drinking British buddy Maggie is across the pond. She’s putting the finishing touches on her Dracula opus, due out in October. But that’s another story. 

Janet’s request was timely, as Japanese anemones put on a delightful show. Unlike mums,  which shrivel and brown seemingly overnight in our often steamy climate, anemones go on and on, covered with buds that promise weeks of bloom—and enough branches to make even a small patch useful for cutting and plonking into a flower arrangement, adding airy pops to any assemblage.

I have tried them before, three, four, could have been 10 years ago, but they didn’t take. Who knows why. Then I forgot about them as we’re usually visiting my sisters in Florida in September, as Jeanie chose to be born at the peak of hurricane season, which has too often provided extravagant entertainment. By the time we’d return, they’d be out of stock.  

Lucky, for once, I dragged Tallula the grand-dog—staying for a bit—to Frager’s Hardware, which has a small but rather nice garden center. As she sniffed out a cat, or a rat, I found three varieties, including the one I was hunting, Queen Charlotte, a light pink. Surprisingly bushy, they will be lovely against the still-green leaves of the forsythia and hydrangea, arching over the tangle of vinca and ivy that swaddles the front garden, and partly shaded by a shapely red-leaf maple, its leaves turning deep maroon.

You might note that Japanese anemones are actually Chinese, imported from Shanghai in the mid 19th century, and most definitely non-native. Knowing them to be prolific spreaders (a kinder, gentler word for invasive), I have a vision of their multiplying each fall, adding joyful noise to the scarcely tamed wilderness that I aim for in my small patch. 

L’Shana Tova all. May you and yours be inscribed for another year of health and life. I shall fast on that this Yom Kippur.   

—Stephanie Cavanaugh

LittleBird “Stephanie Gardens” doesn’t like mums—or did you figure that out already? 

*Not a word but should be

THIS YEAR, more than most, we have good reason to want to extend the outdoor season. All that outdoor restaurant dining, those lovely porch parties could go poof! as lower temps start popping up on our phones. Indoor dining? Hmmm, maybe not yet, no matter what the forecast.

Europe’s sidewalk cafes have pushed the weather envelope for years, some competing with one another over whose gas-flame-blasting floor heater can ensure the most business, others simply draping a cozy blanket over the cafe chairs. Not to be negative, but, Stateside, I anticipate hearing about at least one wooden porch ceiling being charred by a newbie who doesn’t fully appreciate the power of those heaters. And city restaurants that have erected sidewalk and street-side tents will have to be vigilant lest the evening meal involve some unforeseen fireworks.

That said, there are still ways to keep the outdoors on the agenda, even if it just means wearing your coat while dining, literally, out. Here are a few thoughts.

—Nancy McKeon

These Shade Line electric heat lamps from Lava Heat Italia may not be as powerful as the commercial gas-blasting giants (which Lava Heat also makes), but they sure are a lot easier on the eyes. The floor lamp and the hanging lamp both produce up to 1,500 watts of heat, and the pendant in particular could hang directly over the outdoor dining table. Both send heat out about 10 feet in each direction. The seven-foot-tall floor lamp with its black shade is about $745 at Home Depot, the hanging lamp about $600 (the hanging shade is also available in white at Home Depot for $1,175).

I found this photo of a Budapest cafe on the Grownup Travels site. It brought back the memory of nestling in just that kind of comfort outside a Budapest bakery a few years ago. There are many blankets and throws on the market, of course, but I thought these color-block throws from Target were handsome and their price so gentle that you could buy one for every chair on the patio, all one color combo or several. The “faux cashmere” (it means acrylic, but who’s counting?) throws are 50 by 60 inches and still available in aqua and cream, yellow and cream, and taupe and cream. $31.49 at Target.com.

This Over-the-Table Rod has nothing to do with keeping the cold away, but it’s a clever–okay, kinda weird–idea for keeping the outdoor dinner table festive. The black iron rod gets clamped onto either end of the table, though it might be a better alternative to use it on a console or buffet table and not lose those two end seats. The rod extends from 55 to 98 inches in length and sits 38 inches above the table. After that, it’s up to you: string lights, a tiny chandelier, autumn flowers and grasses; later in the year (and indoors) garlands of greenery, ornaments, whatever. It’s $48 at Terrain.

If you have a fire pit or other open fire to warm things up outside, you’ll be happy to hear an old-fashioned popcorn popper can make the evening’s festivities even brighter. The Open-Fire Pop kit comes with three bags of corn already mixed with oil and salt–but, really, bags of white and yellow Jolly Time popping corn are readily available in supermarkets (and on Amazon) and cost around 8 cents per ounce (and you can control the amount of oil and salt). The Open-Fire Pop kit is $26.99 at Home Depot and HomeDepot.com.

And when you’re ready for dessert, what could beat marshmallow and chocolate s’mores? These stainless-steel forks for roasting the marshmallows telescope to 32 inches long and rotate. There are many such forks to be found online, but this set of eight forks is $15.97 at Amazon. Note to self: The next time s’mores call to me, I may try upgrading with chocolate that is fancy-schmancier than the traditional Hersheys bar. Terrain offers the Artisan S’Mores Kit by Ticket Chocolate, four portions for $20. More chocolate? Ticket Chocolate also has the Chocolate Lover’s S’Mores Kit, with chocolate graham crackers, also $20.

Summer or fall, we want some of our drinks kept cold. For the grownups in the room, there’s the elegant double-sided Optima cooler from the Frontgate catalogue’s Professional Series. Depending on the size (the 21-inch tub can hold 11 standard wine bottles, the 17-incher 7 bottles), they range from $152.10 to $179.10 and come in six finishes (black stainless steel shown here; one 21-incher, in antique gold, is $99.99). Too serious? Try Funboy’s Tropical Palm Drink Caddy, $25 at Nordstrom. Winning proposition: This “kiddie pool for your drinks” deflates and won’t take up precious storage space.

MyLittleBird often includes links to products we write about. Our editorial choices are made independently; nonetheless, a purchase made through such a link can sometimes result in MyLittleBird receiving a commission on the sale, whether through a retailer, an online store or Amazon.com.

Crafts will take many forms at the Smithsonian craft and Craft2Wear show. Seen above, items from the September 2019 Craft2Wear show, by, from left, Cynthia Chuang, Gabriel Ofiesh and Ignatius Cregan/Rod Givens. ON THE FRONT: Jackets from the September 2019 Craft2Wear show, by, from left, Mary Lynn O’Shea, Jane Herzenberg and Sandra Miller.

THE SMITHSONIAN needs you. By “the Smithsonian,” we mean the Smithsonian Women’s Committee. And by “you,” we mean all of us.

The Women’s Committee exists to support the Smithsonian’s 19 branches, and it awards grants—almost half a million dollars’ worth each year—to the various museums and libraries and research facilities and traveling exhibits, plus the National Zoo.

Problem is, the money for those grants comes from the Women’s Committee’s two primary fundraisers, the springtime craft show, probably the most important juried craft show in the country, and the fall Craft2Wear show, which showcases the work of artisans who concentrate their craft on the wearable.

You can no doubt guess the rest. Because of Covid-19 the big spring craft show was postponed until fall, and now it will combine with Craft2Wear’s wearable-art boutiques for two weeks in October. But . . . the show will be virtual. There will also be a live auction on October 21 for art and craft objects made by artisans who rely on the Smithsonian shows for a fair amount of their annual income.

The combined crafts show will run from October 13 through October 25. But the Women’s Committee’s funds for making their all-important grants is down to about zero. So the committee is asking for help from craft enthusiasts who look forward to the annual shows and understand the role of the Women’s Committee.

As a message from the committee explained, “There are no rewards for your donation—we have no tote bags or mugs or bumper stickers. All we have is our thanks, and the thanks of the curators, researchers, and scientists . . . your donation will support.”

You can make a donation here.

—MyLittleBird staff

Liriope, says “Stephanie Gardens,” has escaped the confinement of the street-side tree box, where it has stood up to dogs and human feet, and is now being planted, as she says, “between the this and the that.” Here it divides the begonias from the caladium. / Photo by Stephanie Cavanaugh.

SOME YEARS AGO, it could be a decade, my friend Maggie and I were walking along Pennsylvania Avenue on a mild and lovely fall afternoon, the Capitol dome shining bright white behind us, when a young woman guided her dog over the low, looping iron railing that surrounded a freshly planted tree box and watched adoringly as her pet lifted his leg on the pansies.

Maggie said—and she’s got this wonderfully intimidating English accent so if we’re together I generally let her say things when things need to be said—”YOUNG LADY, Why are you letting your dog RUIN that planter?”

Liriope does a bang-up job as an edging, its orderly nature making it a natural for a straight line. / Photo by Stephanie Cavanaugh.

And the young lady looked up and said, and I kid you not, “There was no sign.”

As in McDonald’s having to issue a caution that their coffee is hot. 

In this neighborhood, announcing “there was no sign” alternates with “this is public space,” as the excuse for all manner of unneighborly conduct.

That was the end of any attempt to plant pansies along the curb. It wasn’t just the dogs and their rude behavior; dainty flowers just don’t stand up well to the press of a foot exiting a car. The constant tramp tramp tramp schlepp in a busy corridor is ruinous. 

Plays well with others: Here’s liriope as a border with hostas, plus a Japanese maple and, in the background on the right, a gardenia hedge. / Photo by Stephanie Cavanaugh.

Which leads us to liriope, pronounced leer-EYE-oh-pee. After the disastrous season of the pansies, the building owners filled every box with this curious green stuff that looked, not beautiful, but pleasant enough. This was the first I’d seen of this now-ubiquitous evergreen plant, occasionally, and incorrectly, spelled lariope, and also known as monkey grass and lily turf, though it’s akin to neither grass nor lily nor, I hope it goes without saying, monkey (see hot coffee). 

Now it’s everywhere, and with good reason. Nearly indestructible, with sprightly swords of evergreen leaves and clusters of purple flowers in fall, liriope stands up to heat, cold, tromping feet and, most important, dogs. It also spreads jubilantly, quickly filling in blank and boring patches of dirt. 

Most people put it in and that’s that, appreciating only its supreme utility, planting it with an air of: Okay, that works, let’s have cocktails.  

Indeed, this is one of those plants that thrive on neglect and are unfussy about soil. It’s also easily divided—in fact, it must be divided annually otherwise they press up against one another in such a tight mat they lose their pleasing lightness. Ours, which started with a few plugs in the curbside garden, is dug up each year and split, so it fills box after box down the block.  

Therein lies the danger. Liriope can be very boring. 

So it is with pleasure I’ve noticed a certain artfulness in actual gardens this fall: The liriope has escaped the tree boxes and  is being used carefully—indeed, chosen—as fine edging for borders or as a frisky filler between the this and the that. And right now, as the purple flowers wave valiantly above the green fronds, they look right pretty, an aspect heretofore overlooked, at least by me. One of few plants that come into flower in September, liriope has minor blossoms, but in a group the impact is delightful. This little workhorse deserves to be treated with more respect. 

Baby, who’s coming for a visit next week with her Personal Prince Pete and their baby Wes, has a vision of liriope edging their driveway in Raleigh, North Carolina. To that end, she expects to be doing some digging and dividing.  

“Ma,” she said, “liriope cost five bucks for a clump!”

To which I replied, “For you? I’ll hold a special friends and family sale and only charge $2.99.” 

After all, what are mothers for?

—Stephanie Cavanaugh

LittleBird “Stephanie Gardens” just loves the green stuff. Her Green Acre column appears every Thursday—except next week, when family invades and a good time is had by all.

DADS HAVE train sets and moms have dollhouses? Is that how it works? Maybe, maybe not. But, frankly, it’s a distinction without a difference: Both “environments” can be executed at extreme levels of craftsmanship, sometimes whimsy and often passion.

Ah, but train sets are muscular and have moving objects! Well, some of the more serious dollhouses in the world have working elevators and lamps that light up and in at least one case a full complement of plumbing, including hot and cold running water.

If you’re like me, you’ll find it easy to fall under the spell of the cleaned-up, miniaturized worlds they present to us. If I land on the dollhouse side of the fence it’s more because I don’t care that much about transportation but despair of ever finishing decorating my own home.

For hundreds of years talent artisans and craftspeople have applied their skills to re-creating famous interiors or even fantasizing them out of thin air and aspiration. And, as we see with several of these collections, individuals without the necessary skills to create such treasures have plowed ahead anyway, commissioning artists to create their fantasy for them.

Kathleen Savage Browning is a collector and founder of the KSB Miniatures Collection in Maysville, Kentucky. She has traveled the world to collect “rooms” and to engage with miniature artists to add to the interiors she already has—and in so doing helps keep alive the tradition of the miniaturist. In addition to maintaining the collection at the Kentucky Gateway Museum Center in Maysville, she has also written two volumes showing her treasures. In Collectively Speaking: My Passionate Pursuit of Miniatures, Kaye Browning recounts her 40 years of collecting, and allows the rest of us to enjoy the hunt vicariously.

One supremely worthy example of a fantasy interior is the Astolat Dollhouse Castle. Occasionally it is put on display, usually to raise money for charity. In addition to the Wikipedia images shown below, it can be seen in a slideshow from 2006. Truth to tell, you’ll probably get closer to the finely detailed “castle” in these images than you might at a crowded exhibit.

Another dollhouse worthy of a video is Queen Mary’s Dolls’ House, which has been displayed at Windsor Castle for the past 90 years or so. Viewing the images on the Royal Collection Trust website is certainly easier than taking a trip to England (if and when they’ll have us again).

Some people organize their travels around famous gardens, others around art collections. I think one could do worse than hop around from miniature museum to collectors’ show to special exhibit (like the Yuletide at Winterthur one, with its mini-Mansion). But beware: Like any pursuit, collecting dollhouses, or miniatures, or visits to either, can be as deep a rabbit hole as antique rugs and as obsessive as baseball statistics. And, to judge by the $8.5 million appraisal of the Astolat Dollhouse Castle, it can be even more expensive.

—Nancy McKeon

This re-creation of a Tennessee Entrance Hall circa 1835 is one of the miniature rooms commissioned by Mrs. James Ward Thorne starting in about 1932. This room was built in 1940 at a 1/12 scale (1 inch to 1 foot) like all 69 of her rooms, part of the collection of the Art Institute of Chicago. / Photo from the Art Institute of Chicago.

In a more modern vein among the Thorne miniature rooms is this California Hallway, circa 1940 and executed in that year. Mrs. Thorne’s collection, built by master craftsmen at her direction, features American furnishings from the 17th century to the middle of the 20th century. Depictions of European interiors in the collection, at the Art Institute of Chicago, range from the late 13th century to the 1930s. / Photo from the Art Institute of Chicago.

The English Drawing Room of the Modern Period dates from around 1937. It’s one of the Thorne Miniature Rooms at the Art Institute of Chicago. / Photo from the Art Institute of Chicago.

The townhouse here is from the website of the Warsaw (Poland) Doll Museum, which dates the tradition of genre scenes, with their fealty to “typical” doll figures and furnishings, to the Christmas creches of the 13th century. The rich tradition of the Nativity creche—which of course has expanded to include entire town settings—reached an artistic peak in 18th-century Naples and continues to contemporary times. / Photo from muzeumdomkow.pl.

Although most dollhouse furnishings are made with care, they don’t necessarily depict the environments of the highest social orders. Some faithfully represent middle-class reality (and perhaps aspiration), as in this kitchen scene from the Warsaw (Poland) Dollhouse Museum. / muzeumdomkow.pl.

The Great American Dollhouse Museum in Kentucky attracts visitors from all over, who are entertained by nostalgic depictions of farm life (Alma’s Farm, top) and collections of individual pieces, like this tableau of miniature 19th-century German and French furniture (bottom). / Photos from thedollhousemuseum.com.

One of the most cunning confections of its type is the 9-foot-tall Astolat Castle, designed by Colorado miniaturist Elaine Diehl (who worked on it for 13 years—and that was just for the structure, before she began making the furnishings). It’s named for the castle-abode of Tennyson’s “Lady of the Lake,” who died of her unrequited love for Sir Lancelot. / Photo from Wikipedia.org.

This image of the West Balcony of Astolat Castle gives some idea of the attention to detail. / Photo from Wikipedia.org.

Astolat Castle is topped by the Wizard’s Tower. The work has been valued at $8.5 million. / Photo from Wikipedia.org.

A dollar bill shown next to a real oil painting executed at 1/12 scale illustrates the level of detail in the furnishings of Astolat Castle. / Photo from Wikipedia.org.

Created and decorated by interior designer and collector Nancy B. McDaniel, the Dollhouse at Winterthur estate in Delaware was given to Winterthur in 2016. The museum displays the 18-room mansion as part of its holiday exhibit each year. McDaniel was inspired to create the dollhouse after many visits to Winterthur and, perhaps more important, a visit to view Queen Mary’s dolls’ house at Windsor Castle in England (see below). / Photo from Winterthur.org.

None other than the architect Sir Edwin Lutyens designed this doll house for Queen Mary of England in 1921. It sprang from an idea by the queen’s childhood friend Princess Marie Louise, and was constructed by craftsmen and specialists from all around Britain. The gardens were designed by the fabled Gertrude Jekyll. / Photo from Royal Collection Trust / © 2019 Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. Photo by David Cripps.

The level of detail in Queen Mary’s dolls’ house is astonishing, including real soap and food items, a working bicycle and furniture whose joints are dovetailed and whose seats are correctly upholstered. Many of the best dollhouses have electricity and working elevators; this one also has hot and cold running water. Shown is the Queen’s Bedroom. / Photo from Royal Collection Trust / © 2019 Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. Photo by G. Newbury.

What would a royal dollhouse be without a King’s Bedroom, complete with Chinoiserie panels on the wall, a horsehair mattress and properly upholstered furniture? Queen Mary’s dolls’ house contains more than 700 miniature watercolors, prints and etchings, plus 588 miniature books. / Photo from Royal Collection Trust / © 2019 Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. Photo by David Cripps.

Maysville, Kentucky, is home to the Kathleen Savage Browning Miniatures Collection. Shown above is the collection’s Miniature of the Month for September 2020, the Garage of Megler Landing, a Victorian-design dollhouse commissioned in 1981. The freestanding garage will look familiar to those who own a Victorian-era house: the rough floorboards, the wood shelves, the grimy work sink, even the jumper cables. / Photo from KSBMiniaturesCollection.com.

A detail of the Green Room at Catherine Palace in St. Petersburg, Russia, re-created in 1/12 scale by English miniaturist Robert Dawson. It’s part of the KSB Miniatures Collection, although not currently on display. / Photo from KSBMiniaturesCollection.com.

Just as detailed is this sleek New York Penthouse designed by Paris Renfroe Design and contained in the KSB Miniatures Collection in Kentucky. / Photo from KSBMiniaturesCollection.com.

Bedchamber from Savage Manor by Mulvany & Rogers. / Photo from KSBMiniaturesCollection.com.

Astolat Dollhouse Castle, on occasional display, usually for charity.

The Great American Dollhouse Museum (closed for summer 2020), 344 Swope Drive, Danville, Kentucky 40422; telephone 859.236.1883; thedollhousemuseum.com.

KSB Miniatures Collection at the Kentucky Gateway Museum Center, 215 Sutton Street, Maysville, Kentucky 41056; telephone 606-564-5865; www.kygmc.org.

Museum Domkow dla Lalek, Plac Defilad 1, 00-901 Warsaw, Poland; telephone 517-49-00-47; www.museumdomkow.pl.

Queen Mary’s Dolls’ House, Windsor Castle, Windsor SL4 1NJ, Berkshire, England; rct.uk.

Thorne Miniature Rooms, Art Institute of Chicago, Michigan Avenue entrance, 111 South Michigan Avenue, Chicago, Illinois 60603; telephone 312-443-3600; artic.edu.

Winterthur (dollhouse on display only at Christmastime), 5105 Kennett Pike (Route 52), Winterthur, Delaware 19735; telephone 800-448-3883 or 302-888-4600; winterthur.org.

Here’s LittleBird Stephanie’s sister Jeanie, who obviously knows how to celebrate a birthday. This picture is from a pre-Covid celebration. / Photo by Stephanie Cavanaugh.

MY SISTER JEANIE once had a summer job, sleeping in a luxurious bed in the window of a New York City department store. Talk about exhausting work.

This was in the late 1940s, before I was born. While many of our family stories extend the truth with, shall we say, a few alternative facts, this one is real. There’s a photo somewhere.

Jeanie turns 88 today. I suppose you could look at it as an unimportant birthday—it’s not 90—but it’s still cause for celebration. And where am I?

Sitting on my back porch steps admiring the dance of the autumn clematis, waltzing with the purple rose of Sharon, a sight I’ve rarely seen, as peak bloom is always September third, and we’re never here.

We’re usually there, the Prince and I, splashing about in Juno Beach, Florida, with a mile or so of white sand, crystal waves, spawning sea turtles, and scarcely a soul in sight. Jeanie’s condo is afloat with balloons, and littered with gift wrap tissue. Later there’ll be photos that I’ll promise will be tweaked in Photoshop, and dinner. Probably Italian, which we all love and, for some reason, is particularly good in south Florida.

When I was a kid, Jeanie reminded me of glamorous comic-strip reporter Brenda Starr, though with light brown hair, not red. She wore high-heeled, backless sandals called Spring-O-Lators (I won’t say what they’re more crudely called) with a magical strip of elastic at the arch that prevented them from falling off, even with the slipperiness of sheer stockings. These she had in every candy color, including licorice, in row upon row on her closet floor. They also gave her terrible corns, but what price beauty?

Every night she’d set her hair in a hundred pin curls, brushing it out each morning in Lauren Bacall waves. She wore mink stoles, turquoise eye shadow, bold lipstick and drifts of Arpège. There were hat boxes and a flashy convertible.

Dad was a furniture designer and manufacturer with a showroom in New York. Jeanie worked with him, picking fabrics, designing vignettes, flirting with department-store buyers as she sold them the moon.

When her husband, Lou, retired, they moved to Florida, to an oceanfront condo with terraces north and east, high enough up that sitting down you feel as if you’re on a cruise ship. When Lou passed away she took up with Jack, a handsome widower who lived across the hall in an apartment the mirror image of hers. They were together 10 years, but kept both places—one for living, the other for entertaining. An admirable setup, I think.

When Jack passed away, she decided she was done with men. The only ones left, she said, are looking for a nurse. For a social butterfly, she’s surprisingly content. On hiatus are mah-jongg, card games, meals out with friends and Happy Hour (Note: Since the Boomers hit 65, the term Early Bird Special has been retired). But there is the endlessly changing ocean, visible from every room. That, and a gin-and-tonic at 5 appear to be enough.

Baby sister Bonnie, who lives about 20 minutes away from her, will go by tonight with balloons, presents, Chinese food,and cake. The Prince and I will join them by phone;  maybe we’ll have cake too.

We could have driven down, though it would probably have been the end of our 1987 Mustang convertible. Flying was not an option.

This is all wrong.

And so I sit, watching the clematis blazing along the fence line. So much for this week’s gardening column.

Happy Birthday, Sister! I love and miss you. Here’s to being together for your 89th.

—Stephanie Cavanaugh

LittleBird “Stephanie Gardens” writes about gardening, and a lot of other things. She also answers gardening questions, including the one I’m about to send her about growing turmeric.

This peony clip from 1937 is made of platinum, yellow gold, six faceted oval rubies, 640 Burmese Mystery Set rubies and diamonds. It was in the former collection of HRH Princess Faiza of Egypt, and is now part of the Van Cleef & Arpels Collection. / From Gems, to be published by Rizzoli in September, which previews an exhibition collaboration between Van Cleef & Arpels and the Musée National d’Histoire Naturelle in Paris.

JEWELRY IS the art of showcasing gems by heightening their shine, color and shape. That’s what the book Gems says. For most of us, though, that reduces the wonder of gemstones, owned by relatively few, coveted by many more.

“Gems,” to be published by Rizzoli in September, previews an exhibition collaboration between Van Cleef & Arpels and the Musée National d’Histoire Naturelle in Paris.

A trip to Paris to see this wonderful collaborative exhibit—between the high jewelry house Van Cleef & Arpels and the Musée National d’Histoire Naturelle in Paris—would be lovely. But the elaborate book, to be published by Rizzoli in September, offers the advantage of, arguably, getting closer to these marvels than we might at the museum.

Don’t dismiss this tome as mere coffeetable-book eye candy. The text takes us as far down as we care to go into geology and geography, craftsmanship and connoisseurship. And if you don’t know the mysteries of Van Cleef’s Mystery Setting (see the peony clip above, as an example), the many examples of gems set with no visible prongs will show you how special the technique is. Some of the mid-century brooches may seem a little twee—how many jeweled poodles and ballerinas can one take?—but in the end, they are dazzling examples of a jeweler’s craft, working with some of the most precious materials Nature has tucked away inside the earth, waiting to be discovered.

—Nancy McKeon

A table clock from 1934 is made of steel and rock crystal, a great example of the Art Deco aesthetic. It’s part of the Van Cleef & Arpels Collection. / From Gems, to be published in September by Rizzoli. The book previews an exhibition collaboration between the jeweler Van Cleef & Arpels and the Musée National d’Histoire Naturelle in Paris.

LEFT: A blue topaz with (at the base) Morion quartz is Russian, from Murzinska. Morion quartz is a very dark smoky quartz. The specimen is no trifle: It stands about 7 cm tall, and is thought to be about 250 million years old. RIGHT: A bird of paradise clip from 1942 is an example of how jewelry often finds inspiration in the natural world (in addition to being made with precious natural materials). This was especially true in the art nouveau period, when capturing Nature’s fluid movements was prized. Of later vintage, the clip is made of yellow gold, platinum, rubies, sapphires and diamonds. / From Gems, to be published in September by Rizzoli, a preview of an exhibition collaboration between Van Cleef & Arpels and the Musée National d’Histoire Naturelle in Paris.

This mediaeval-inspired vanity case from 1925 is part of the Van Cleef & Arpels Collection. It is fashioned from platinum and yellow gold, plus enamel, mother-of-pearl and diamonds. / From Gems, a book that previews an exhibition collaboration between Van Cleef & Arpels and the Musée National d’Histoire Naturelle in Paris.

A polished slab of onyx from Brazil shows what 20th-century essayist, poet and translator Roger Caillois called “royal calligraphy,” the images and natural “writing” and imagery impressed on stones during their formation. The onyx was once part of Caillois’s collection; in 2017, Van Cleef & Arpels made a gift of it to the Musée National d’Histoire Naturelle in Paris. / From Gems, to be published by Rizzoli in September, which previews an exhibition collaboration between Van Cleef & Arpels and the Musée National d’Histoire Naturelle in Paris.

Fake or real? There’s a bit of both in the window boxes of LittleBird “Stephanie Gardens.” / Photo by Stephanie Cavanaugh.

LittleBird “Stephanie Gardens” doesn’t have all the answers, but she’ll research some if you submit questions to her. You can just add a Comment to this post, and the question will be forwarded to our Green Acre columnist.

Dear Stephanie:

We’ve got several squirrels who scramble around our garden, climb the trees and then make a lot of noise when they get on our roof. Any experience making them scram? I’ve read about dousing the roof with water and peppermint oil?

Be well!

Ankeeta Eichhorn

Dear Ankeeta:

Actually, I have had the opposite dilemma—attracting squirrels so they’d eat the damn apricots from our tree, now thankfully deceased. What a disgusting mistake that tree was.

You don’t like sweet little chittering rodents with fluffy tails, eh? Alrighty then! You can put up an electric fence around your garden: Squirrels are quick learners and have excellent memories (think buried nuts), and a few frizzled friends might give them a hint.

Tree chickens*, as they’re sometime called, also don’t appreciate being sprayed with water, or being startled, so a sprinkler on a timer might be a kinder, gentler deterrent.

As would various plants they are known to dislike—peppermint is one of them, and makes a nicely scented border as well as a tasty addition to your juleps and lemonade. You can also douse cotton balls in peppermint oil and stick them around plants your inadvertent pets find attractive. So, yes, a spritz of peppermint oil on the roof might very well help.

On the roof is one thing; in the attic, where they might nest, is another. Look for and seal up any holes, even tiny ones—these critters can squish through impossible gaps. Trim the tree canopy to make sure the branches are not in jumping distance of the rooftop—amazing is their acrobatic skill.

You might also try a flashing strobe light aimed at the roof or out an attic window—that startle factor again. Even a light left on in the attic might dissuade nesting.

There are ultrasonic devices that emit a sound audible only to small animals, though I’ve not come across one with better than a so-so review. Most users report that animals get used to the sound in a matter of days.

Besides mint, there are other plants these varmints dislike: hyacinth, lily of the valley, and good old geraniums among them, though some squirrels I’ve known get angry at the geraniums and attempt to dig them up. I have found fondue forks—surely you have a few somewhere—planted prongs up among the geraniums, scratches that itch.

It is now nearly time to plant spring bulbs, and oh, how they do love to dig those up, particularly the tulips that you’ve broken your back over. The trick is to mix bulbs they like with those they really hate, including snowdrops, allium and hyacinth. Daffodils have a toxin that makes them inedible. Plant the smaller bulbs above the tulips for a natural barrier; the tulips will push their way through.

With a little luck, the squirrels will have given up on your yard by the time next summer rolls around—and you’ll enjoy a wonderfully mixed thrill of a border.

As a last resort, you might consider feeding them so they’ll leave your plants alone. But if you just want them gone, spread peanut butter on pine cones and toss them over the fence into your neighbor’s yard. That should do it.

Dear Stephanie:

When I moved last year from a house in Washington DC to an apartment in Manhattan I was excited to have a glass-enclosed terrace, a solarium. I could still have a “garden,” I thought, but the terrace faces east, and every plant died in the unrelenting sun and heat. Now I’m happy with a fake geranium on the windowsill—no fuss, no muss and always in bloom.

Flora Dora

Dear Flora:

Was that a question?

Far be it from me to dis phony plants. Whether you suffer from nigrum pollicis (black thumb disease) or just an inhospitable patch of turf —or shelf—when fake flowers are used well, they can even add a witty soupçon, whereas going full-faux is a little . . . sad.

Thirty or so years ago, when my little back garden (and I) were young and sunny, I planted Asiatic lilies for their gorgeous blooms and seductive scent. Sadly, the display was short-lived, the show was over within a month, leaving towering green . . . sticks.

Shopping at one of those craft places, maybe Michael’s, I came across a display of cheap, fake-silk lilies that were startlingly realistic. Thinking, what the hell, as I do, I bought some then snipped off the flowers and wired them to the plant stems, which were by then nestled amid various live flowers and greenery.

So real did they seem that they even fooled me. I would sit on the steps leading down to the garden from the back porch, the best spot to view it all—and also closest to the kitchen for more coffee—and laugh to myself. When most of the garden is real and ever-changing, you soon stop noticing that the lilies are not.

I no longer bother with lilies, I don’t have enough sun for even a paltry display, but I do always have a few fake geraniums among the real ones in the window boxes, as the real ones  don’t flower well for me in extreme summer heat. The fakes are mixed with the real pansies and pothos and whatnots that change with the seasons, and the English ivy that drips over the box ends (though I’ve been known to add a little fake ivy to fluff up those ends, like a hairpiece).

But an entire box or bowl or vase of fake stuff? Pluck off those geranium flowers, toss out the leaves (which do scream fake) and mix the blooms in with pots of real greenery: a variety of ivies, deliciously scented herbs like lavender and thyme, and a fountain of asparagus fern, which is insanely hardy in dry sunny spots.

Not surprisingly, Southern Living magazine has a fine list of plants that can survive full sun and heat. Go forth and fake it where it doesn’t flourish.

—Stephanie Cavanaugh

*This is the kind of fascinating thing you learn wandering the Internet.

LEFT: Parrot, Rome, 19th century, micromosaic set in gold as a pendant, with four sets of 4-mm tsavorite and 2.7-mm demantoid garnets on bezel, 50 x 45 mm. / Photo by Travis Fullerton, © Virginia Museum of Fine Arts.
RIGHT: “Walking Butterfly,” 19th century, attributed to Giacomo Raffaelli (Italian, 1753–1836), micromosaic set in gold as a pendant, with gold bezel, hinged bale, 35 x 35 mm. Collection of Elizabeth Locke. / Photo by Travis Fullerton, © Virginia Museum of Fine Arts.

IT WAS THE LATE 1880s, and my great-grandfather, a veterinarian, had just died. And so his son, my grandfather, decided to leave their small city north and east of Rome and travel to London, to a new language and a new life.

If he had chanced to look around, my grandfather, not yet 20 years old, surely would have noticed a steady stream of Englishmen moving in the opposite direction, leaving London and the English countryside to experience the cultural highlights of Italy. It would have been, to be sure, a feeble shadow of the Grand Tour, the trek of fashionable young men from the 17th to the mid-19th century traveling in a predictable circuit of Italy’s antiquities as well as the merely old. But as much as my grandfather’s departure from his home was the early edge of a wave of Italian immigration, so too the Grand Tour’s itinerary was a harbinger of the age of mass foreign tourism only recently interrupted by the Covid-19 pandemic.

Whereas recent travelers to the Continent might find themselves taking home St. Peter’s Basilica refrigerator magnets or plastic likenesses of the Leaning Tower of Pisa, the earlier breed—a wealthier lot, to be sure, and usually accompanied by tutors and guides—had much finer fare to mark their travels.

Roman Forum, Rome, 19th century, micromosaic set in gold as a brooch, with alternating 6-mm cabochon aquamarines with side gold dots and 5-mm faceted aquamarines around bezel, 54 x 62 mm. Collection of Elizabeth Locke. / Photo by Travis Fullerton, © Virginia Museum of Fine Arts.

From the Return to the Grand Tour exhibit at the Gibbes Museum of Art in Charleston, South Carolina, we learn that from the mid-18th to the late 19th century, there were more than 200 mosaicists working in Rome. And not all of those mosaics were rendered in tumbled marble as pavements and the like. Many of the artisans were producing miniaturized views of the Eternal City, its monuments and cultural touchstones, mounting their little works of art on pillboxes or medallions to be framed and collected.

Elizabeth Locke, a jeweler based in Virginia horse country, knows Italy, she knows jewelry, and she knows the cultural value of the little Grand Tour micromosaics, which she has been collecting since 1989. Collecting them is not all she does; she also frequently enhances them, mounting them in 19-karat gold and embellishing them with the neoclassical underpinnings of her jewelry line, featured at Neiman Marcus.

LEFT AND RIGHT (top and side views): Coliseum, Rome, 19th century, micromosaic set in metal box detailed with enamel paint, 45 x 45 x 39 mm. Collection of Elizabeth Locke. / Photo by Travis Fullerton, © Virginia Museum of Fine Arts.

Locke has more than a hundred examples of these earlier treasures, 92 of which are on display at the Gibbes. I say her jewelry style is neoclassical, and that’s true, but it also has a modernity that juxtaposes neatly with the micromosaics, giving them a fresh appeal. The modern eye can be fooled by these tiny works of art: Some are so detailed that a quick glance suggests that they’re little painted enamels.

LEFT: “Peasant Man With Walking Stick,” Rome, 19th century, after etchings by Bartolomeo Pinelli (Italian, 1781–1835), micromosaic set in wide hammered gold bangle with rolled edges and side black jade cushions with gold triads, 1 3/8 x 2 ½ x 2 3/8 in. Collection of Elizabeth Locke. / Photo by Travis Fullerton, © Virginia Museum of Fine Arts.
RIGHT: St. Peter’s Square, Rome, 19th century, micromosaic set in gold as a pendant, with malachite border, suspended on 12-mm malachite bead necklace, 17 inches, 33 x 40 mm. Collection of Elizabeth Locke. / Photo by Travis Fullerton, © Virginia Museum of Fine Arts.

Given the necessities of the Covid-19 pandemic, the exhibit of Locke’s collection has been extended into next January. So if you find there’s still time for a late-summer, bust-outta-the-house road trip, you might consider making the Gibbes part of your own Grand Tour this year.

—Nancy McKeon

“Doves of Pliny,” 19th century, Giaocchino Barberi (Italian, 1783–1857), micromosaic set in black plaque, 54 x 78 mm. Collection of Elizabeth Locke. / Photo by Travis Fullerton, © Virginia Museum of Fine Arts.

A Return to the Grand Tour: Micromosaic Jewels From the Collection of Elizabeth Locke, The Gibbes Museum of Art, 135 Meeting Street, Charleston, South Carolina 29401; 843-722-2706; www.gibbesmuseum.org. On view through January 10, 2021.

A Capitol Hill garden where the fragrant and the flashy crash up against one another to create a boisterous kind of harmony. / Photo by Stephanie Cavanaugh.

SOME PEOPLE reach for the Bible when life seems, shall we say, infertile.

I reach for Henry Mitchell.

Thinking I was out of thoughts for this week, I picked up The Essential Earthman, let it fall open wherever it would, and landed on the chapter “It’s a Jungle Out There.” Yes, it is, thank you, Henry.

Mitchell, the late (and getting later all the time) gardening columnist for the Washington Post, remains the most delightful of gardening writers. His columns have been gathered into several books, all dog-eared on my bookshelves.

“There are prim gardens,” begins one paragraph of this chapter, “and they are very nice, but I would not want one. I remember at Versailles, the garden of Louis XIV, wondering how anybody could spend so much money and construct canals on so large a scale and have so many trees and still achieve a sparse and stingy look.”

Dissing Versailles—what a pleasure this man is.

I consider with pleasure the jungle I have created of my small patch of back yard, hardly one that a serious horticulturist would envy. Here, the bird of paradise mingles with the jasmine, hibiscus, bananas and cannas, lemons and a sad little lime. These are set against the platter-sized leaves of the philodendrons and elephant ears. None of this can survive a winter in Washington DC and must be toted by My Prince to my little second-floor greenhouse at the first hint of a snap of frost.

Nothing native about it.

I am also reminded that I intended to write about a curbside plot a few blocks away that I came across this spring; a breathtaking tangle of yellow iris, the early purple flowers of the lunaria (with seed pods that resemble capiz shells once they’ve shed their papery skins) and purple geraniums. These flowers frothed around spectacularly blousy pink bourbon roses and delicate apricot tea roses with a commingling of fragrance so potent it could bring on a seizure.

It’s the Secret Garden* before it was tamed, a jostling of strange bedfellows that came together to create a masterpiece.  Like something a brilliant florist would create for a million-dollar wedding, or a creation by brilliant perfumer Annick Goutal, who might call it Eau de Rue, and sell it for $100 an ounce.

Have you ever tried ginger jelly with Brie? If this garden patch had a taste, it would be that. Heart-stoppingly rich with a frisson of savory-sweet.

I took a photo of the garden and posted it to Facebook and immediately had a response. “I drove by it a few minutes ago,” the writer wrote, “and I almost drove over the curb, it was that gorgeous.”

So ferociously untamed a patch is this that few might even call it a garden. Certainly not those who enjoy their roses set apart and neatly mulched, with little identifying tags at the base. A practice I’ve always found peculiar. Roses shouldn’t sit there in isolated splendor; they need equally dazzling yet complementary companions, a hit of spice to zhuzh** the sweetness.

Was there art amid the chaos?

I searched out the owner of the plot, and was told he’s a curmudgeon, good luck getting him to respond. I left a tearful begging message under his door, and set forth to wait. We’ll never know.

Of course I want an entire front garden of this, leaving the back to the tropics. Happily,  lunaria is everywhere around here and easy enough to dig up and transplant, which I did. Or rather, the Prince did as I directed with an enthusiastic wave of the arm.

Already I’m dreaming of next summer.

—Stephanie Cavanaugh

*Did you know there’s a new film of Frances Hodgson Burnett’s classic, starring Colin Firth? I don’t know which gives me stronger palpitations, the star or the book. Rent it on Amazon Prime for $19.99.

** Maybe you thought I made this word up. I did not. It’s a verb that means to make something more lively and interesting. Thank you, Sara Barnett, for enhancing my vocabulary.

LittleBird “Stephanie Gardens” dreams and writes about gardens and other growing things. She also communicates through her Facebook page. https://www.facebook.com/citygarden/

MyLittleBird often includes links to products we write about. Our editorial choices are made independently; nonetheless, a purchase made through such a link can sometimes result in MyLittleBird receiving a commission on the sale, whether through a retailer, an online store or Amazon.com.

“Treasures on Trial” at Winterthur back in 2017 opened with this dramatic painting (show also at right) by “Mark Rothko” (not really). The painting was part of the 2011 scandal in which the renowned Knoedler Gallery in New York was accused of having sold $60 million worth of works purportedly by important Abstract Expressionists such as Rothko, Robert Motherwell and Jackson Pollock. In fact, they were all painted by an artist in Queens, New York, Pei-Shen Qian. The gallery is now closed, and many settlements were made.

WEBSITES ARE their own kind of time machine: It you miss an art exhibit, even by several years, you may get lucky and find that its treasures, and all the scholarship behind them, have been memorialized by an enterprising museum in a rich and captivating online show.

Such is the case with an engaging exhibit mounted in 2017 at Winterthur, the estate and museum of the renowned antiques collector Henry Francis du Pont in Winterthur, Delaware, near Wilmington. “Treasures on Trial: The Art and Science of Detecting Fakes” cast a wide net, looking at faked paintings, fraudulent provenances and antique furniture cobbled together with an eye toward fooling collectors; it even features a few rogue forgers, a couple of them quite entertaining in their way.

No area of collecting seems to be immune from trickery: sports (a genuine 1890 baseball mitt passed off as one used by baseball great Babe Ruth), decorative arts (a piece of 18th-century porcelain embellished around 1975 to increase its value), fashion (a genuine ostrich-skin handbag fashioned to replicate a $35,000 Hermès Birkin bag).

You can spend an hour or more working your way through the online exhibit, learning the strangely entertaining stories of fraudsters and posers, reading along as some of them meet their just deserts in a court of law or an FBI raid. It’s a shame to have missed the show back in 2017, but with Covid-19 keeping us glued to our laptops it’s nice to have such a worthy diversion.

Here are some examples of exhibits from the show.

—Nancy McKeon

Robert Lawrence Trotter painted in the folk-art style, but after American folk art began commanding record prices, he started creating fake provenances for his pieces. He eventually admitted to having sold 52 paintings to art dealers and having consigned 29 to auction houses around the country. Some collectors elected to keep the forgeries after they were discovered, some for teaching purposes, others simply for the enjoyment of the piece. / Left, “Village Scene” by Robert Lawrence Trotter, 1985, courtesy Art Conservation Department, Buffalo State College. Right, Untitled, in the manner of John Haberle, by Robert Lawrence Trotter, circa 1989. Yale University Art Gallery, donated by the US Department of Justice, FBI.

Leather goods, albeit of very different kinds, have had a role in fraud.
LEFT: A genuine 1890 baseball glove was bought on eBay for $750, then resold for $200,000 after the eBay buyer claimed it had been Babe Ruth’s. The fraudster got caught. / Photo courtesy of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, New York office.
RIGHT: This elegant ostrich “Birkin” bag is not by Hermes. Although well made, one big giveaway is that the “spores” or bumps of the ostrich skin are hammered down by Hermes to create a smooth surface. Not so with this counterfeit. / Courtesy of an anonymous donor.

The Dutch forger Han van Meegeren began by faking “rediscovered” works by the likes of Vermeer, Pieter de Hooch and Frans Hals. Geoffrey Webb, one of the “Monuments Men” who investigated art looted by the Nazis in World War II, donated this copy, right, of “The Procuress” by Dirck van Baburen, assuming it had been painted by van Meegeren. As chemical analysis has become ever more sophisticated, Webb’s judgment has been confirmed. / Left, “The Procuress,” by Dirck van Baburen, 1622. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, M. Theresa B. Hopkins Fund. Right, attributed to Han van Meegeren, after Dirck van Baburen, circa 1940. The Samuel Courtauld Trust, The Courtauld Gallery, London.

It’s not only works of art that get forged, of course.
LEFT: In fashion, there are knockoffs and licensed copies, and then there are out-and-out counterfeits. The Chanel wool houndstooth suit on the left is from the spring 1971 collection of the House of Chanel. On the right, a reasonable-enough copy, made with a lesser-quality wool with a slightly larger pattern was made in America by a US manufacturer, also in 1971. The lining is acetate, not silk, the buttons different and the buttonholes and grosgrain-ribbon trim machine-stitched. / Both suits from the collection of Claire B. Shaeffer.
RIGHT: George Washington was the first president of the US, of course, but he was also the first president of the Society of the Cincinnati, a fraternal group formed by officers from the American Revolution. As such, he purchased 302 pieces of Chinese export porcelain custom-decorated with the figure of “Fame” holding the Society’s badge. Both plates, top and bottom, are late-18th-century hard-paste porcelain. But it has been determined that the plate on the bottom was probably a plain antique plate purchased in 1975 at a London auction and then refired (there are telltale marks on the reverse) after the Society badge was added, thus greatly increasing its value. / Genuine Washington plate, gift of Henry Francis du Pont, 1963. The copy is from the Reeves Collection, Washington and Lee University, Lexington, Virginia.

Like a game of “hot potato,” some forgeries continue to circulate even after being revealed, especially if a buyer has discovered he has purchased a fake and tries to get rid of it. Such was the case of this fake Andrew Wyeth, an attempt at an exact copy of a Wyeth watercolor. / “Wreck on Doughnut Point,”
watercolor in the style of Andrew Wyeth, courtesy of David Hall.

Compelled by mental illness, Mark Landis made replicas of paintings, in this case a watercolor in the style of Paul Signac, a French neo-Impressionist. Landis was caught out but was not charged with fraud because he never sold his works, only offered to donate them to museums. / The Oklahoma City Museum of Art.

Plumeria. / iStock photo.

LittleBird “Stephanie Gardens” doesn’t have all the answers, but she’ll research some if you submit questions to her. You can just add a Comment to this post, and the question will be forwarded to our Green Acre columnist. Meanwhile, back to our originally scheduled column.

I’M STARING at the plumeria, as I do most mornings, willing it to flower. 

Sometimes I sit next to it, nosed up close to the grainy-looking bits at the joint of each leaf. Is this where it flowers? I wonder. Are these new branches to be?

Plumeria is (in my opinion) the ultimate tropical plant, bearing hallucinogenically hued flowers scented to near paralyzing sweetness, flowers that are traditionally woven into Hawaiian leis.

I went to Hawaii once and a briefly clad woman draped a gorgeous lei around my neck as I exited the airport, enveloping me in scent. Welcome to Honolulu.

Craving one ever since, most springs I’m bamboozled at the Philadelphia Flower Show—the section taking up half the Convention Center, where garden furniture, fairy lights and frequently ghastly ornaments are sold. Also plumeria. Not the plant, mind you, but the promise of one. A stick, which I’ve been told (over and over) will easily grow into a bush laden with heavenly flowers. In Philadelphia. 

So if they can do it in Philadelphia, surely the plumeria will thrive in the semi-tropic summers of Washington DC. Right?

Clutching my stick on the train ride home, I’m full of joy and renewed anticipation. Once home, I tenderly insert it into fine soil, the best soil, set it in a sunny spot in the solarium, water it and watch.

And watch.

And watch.

And throw the damned dead thing out.

The plant I’m now cooing over was ordered from a Florida grower late last summer. He’s a specialist in plumeria—though I’ve lost both his name and the name or even the (promised) color and variety of this particular specimen. I care not, as it began leafing out in March, three pinky-nail-size sprouts emerged and began to grow.

I cannot overestimate the ecstasy of this, particularly since absolutely nothing else pleasurable was going on in those early days of the endless plague . . . and still isn’t. 

Certainly, I was deprived of my then 3-month-old grandson, Wesley (or Moishe, as I prefer to think of him). We would watch him on the computer screen; if he noticed us at all, we were just TV people. The plumeria is my grandchild substitute.  

All of the leaves fell off as soon as she (all of my plants are female) made her summer transit to the strongest patch of sun I possess on the back porch, but she still looked green. A few weeks later new leaves appeared. I added Miracle-Gro and the leaves grew. I added Flower Fuel, a highly concentrated bloom booster, and overnight the leaves grew half an inch (of course I was measuring). 

So here we are in early August and I have a nice leafy little plant, with no sign of blossoms, and no idea where they’d emerge from if the plant decided to bloom at all. 

I asked our dear friend Sara, who lives in Florida and was whooping about hers blooming last year: “In order to maximize success with plumeria,” she said in an email, “you should be a forgetful and slightly demented little old lady who lives in Florida. That solves both the problem of the tendency to overwater as well as any climate issues.  

“I just stick the stick in a pot, occasionally accidentally notice it in my very sunny courtyard and water it if I can muster the energy and inclination. I also find that calling it by its more exotic name, frangipani, elicits more cooperative behavior. Who wouldn’t bloom if they were named after a 17th-century Italian nobleman, the Marquis Muzio Frangipane? “ 

This was not particularly helpful, but it did make me laugh.

Facebook has a number of sites devoted to tropical plants, among them, Florida Plumeria Growers, boasting photos of exquisite plants bearing flowers of breathtaking color and shape. Glorious, enviable, spectacular shades, and combinations of shades. Oranges, pinks, pinks and  oranges, purples. One could hyperventilate. 

Questioning this wonderfully helpful group, I got estimates of flowering times that stretched from one year to seven. Maybe I’d live long enough to see it bloom. 

They suggested I look at groups that cover growing tropicals in my area, a no-brainer, which is why it didn’t occur earlier. 

Logging into Mid-Atlantic Tropics, a group that features seemingly outlandish feats of horticulture, like full-blown tropical gardens in Pittsburgh.

I gathered my info from both groups.

The flowers emerge from the top, not the sides, and the budding bit is called an “inflo,” short for inflorescence, or the plumeria’s flower stalk. If you’re lucky enough to have such a thing, more flowering stalks will emerge around it.  

Inflo is a word that gets bandied around a lot on these sites. Using it makes one feel knowledgeable. Always look for words that make you look like you know what you’re talking about, I always say.

From there, things grew murky. Fertilize more. Fertilize less. Different fertilizer. More sun. Much more sun. Larger pot. Pot’s okay. Depends on variety (uh-oh). And beware of spider mites.  

And then . . . exhale.

“Summers between NY and DC are definitely warm and sunny enough,” said a guy known as Jefe, who’s living in Hong Kong but was originally from DC and also lived in New York.  

“I brought two plumeria stalks back from Hawaii and, later, one stalk from Singapore to Queens, NY. Got them both to bloom every summer. Needs to be warm and sunny. Not too picky about feeding.

“Once light levels drop, or temps drop to around 45F, the leaves fall off. But they come back in the Spring, and quickly, once the sun and temps are back up. I got blooms from July to September.”

 Three, four hours of summer sun was all Jefe had, about all I can offer, but glory be, it was enough for them to grow and blossom.

It took two years for the Hawaiian plumeria to bloom, he said, but once it did, it blossomed non-stop all summer. In five years, an eight-inch stalk grew into a multi-branched five-foot tree, with new branches emerging from the stalk after bloom. 

I have nothing better to do than wait. 

—Stephanie Cavanaugh

LittleBird “Stephanie Gardens” overwinters showy tropical plants in her glassed-in office/conservatory, then moves them out into the steamy DC summer environment, sometimes with good results (sometimes not).

MyLittleBird often includes links to products we write about. Our editorial choices are made independently; nonetheless, a purchase made through such a link can sometimes result in MyLittleBird receiving a commission on the sale, whether through a retailer, an online store or Amazon.com.

AS MANY OF US address the routine pruning of our wardrobes, we may dither over whether niece Carolyn might like these black pumps, whether Dress for Success needs more tall-girl pants suits, whether Goodwill should be the final stop for the dismal leftovers.

No such dithering for the late Lauren Bacall: Between 1968 and 1986, the sultry screen actress made 22 gifts to the Museum at FIT, New York’s Fashion Institute of Technology, adding up to 700 objects—handbags, evening gowns, day dresses and suits, shoes and accessories. Granted, Bacall’s wardrobe had labels that read “Givenchy,” “Halston” and “Yves Saint Laurent” rather than, say, “Lands’ End” or even “Kate Spade.” And granted also, those knife-blade shoulders of hers made her the perfect hanger for tailored suits and body-conscious dresses before we talked about body consciousness.

The Museum at FIT was inspired by the range of Bacall’s gifts to mount an exhibit of Bacall’s clothing from the late 1950s to the early 1970s, “The Look,”  back in 2015, the year after her death at age 89. That exhibit is, obviously, long gone, but it lives on at the museum’s website, to be savored at leisure. Here are a few of the beautifully tailored treasures from the museum’s collection.

—Nancy McKeon

“Lauren Bacall: The Look”: exhibitions.fitnyc.edu.

Bacall was known for her affinity for men’s-wear-inspired pieces, but she also was confident in the simple shape of a sheath or shift.

LEFT: If people today know the name Pierre Cardin, it’s probably from inexpensive licensed accessories. But in the 1960s, the designer was an innovator, experimenting with “space age” fabrics, even developing his own. The dress here is made of “Cardine,” a stiff synthetic that could be shaped, as with the pyramids punched into the skirt, and virtually suspended over the body, definitely not celebrating the female form.

RIGHT: Op Art met Emilio Pucci in the 1960s and the result was eye-popping pattern, as seen in this cotton velveteen mini-dress. And soon seen in myriad knockoffs in lesser fabrics at all price points.

LEFT: Norman Norell’s “subway” coat for Traina-Norell, circa 1958, was modest, or as modest as camel cashmere can be, but its lining packed a limousine punch: gold sequins, the lining matching  the gold-sequined sheath dress underneath. Norell prided himself on applying couture techniques to ready-to-wear, but his clothing was pricey ready-to-wear, to be sure, and was presumably rarely if ever seen on the subway.

RIGHT: Norell was known to comb through old fashion magazines for inspiration. In 1965 he produced so many designs similar to those of the 1920s that this short, flirty wool-crepe evening dress caused fashion writer Marylin Bender to wonder “Is it Norell . . . or vintage Chanel?”

LEFT: Post-World War II fashion said “yes” to the waistline, as demonstrated by this Christian Dior two-piece dress of silk gauze for spring 1951. Harper’s Bazaar magazine reported that its “glimmering butterfly print” was designed by the photographer Brassai, and that the dress was carried by retail specialty store Henri Bendel. The dress appeared on the cover of Life magazine (but worn by a model, not Bacall).

RIGHT: Given today’s emphasis on sleeves, this rayon-crepe tunic, by English designers Ossie Clark and Celia Birtwell, looks quite contemporary, not 55 years old (it dates from 1965).

Bacall’s slim figure was perfect for the menswear-inspired looks that flourished in the 1960s and ’70s.

LEFT: Minimalist American designer Halston had a prominent presence in Bacall’s wardrobe.   The jumpsuit was a specialty of his, and the purple silk organza jacket, which floats over the main garment, reveals the bare back of this 1972 piece.

RIGHT: Yves Saint Laurent and Lauren Bacall were a heaven-sent combo. The French designer’s tuxedo look, introduced in 1966, gave birth to a more lavish “gangster” look, and the slim Bacall could carry it off. This pinstriped wool twill ensemble dates from 1979.

Bacall’s accessories could be simplicity itself.

LEFT: This handbag from around 1968 shows how Hubert de Givenchy achieved classic balance marrying the texture of black lizard with the industrial smoothness of the bag’s white plastic handle. Just drop-dead gorgeous . . . and timeless.

RIGHT: The work of Italian jewelry designer Elsa Peretti is closely associated with American designer Halston, her organic shapes, such as this bold sterling-silver “Bone”cuff, playing off the slim, fluid lines of his gowns and daytime dresses. Today, this “Bone” cuff, and several variations, are carried by Tiffany.

iStock

TOMATOES? Herbs? Hydrangeas? I do love getting your questions. Here’s a fine trio that scampered into my morning mail . . . 

Dear “Stephanie Gardens”:

I love your columns, but you never talk about growing vegetables in a city garden. Heirloom tomatoes, Beefsteaks, Jersey? Yum.   

Cherry Roma

Dear Cherry:

Much as I also love tomatoes, I have but two small garden patches, both lounging in varying degrees of shade, which makes growing anything beyond pots of herbs on the marginally sunnier back-porch steps nearly impossible.

That said. Ahem. Those Big Boys and Beefsteaks are fruits, not a vegetables. 

Says Britannica.com: “Tomatoes are fruits that are considered vegetables by nutritionists. Botanically, a fruit is a ripened flower ovary and contains seeds. Tomatoes, plums, zucchinis, and melons are all edible fruits, but things like maple “helicopters” and floating dandelion puffs are fruits too.”

Bet you didn’t know that about dandelion puffs. Neither did I until 20 seconds ago. 

One year I tried growing cherry tomatoes in the window boxes, where we do get decent afternoon sun. The idea of little red fruities dripping about amid the geraniums and ivy was enchanting. This did not work, possibly because I’m a slug about watering, and window boxes with thirsty plants need constant maintenance—in this heat, fragile plants might need watering every day—particularly in the brutal afternoon.

I do grow other fruits or, more specifically, the occasional fruit. The Meyer lemon has been limping along for five years, and every other year or so it blesses me with a lemon. I grow it mainly for the blossoms, which smell heavenly and cheer up my solarium several times each winter. Right now it is in the garden, where it summers, and is sporting one tiny fruit that may or may not ripen to edible size. 

Dear “Stephanie Gardens”: 

I have rosemary,  basil and mint plants on my balcony. It gets plenty of sun. I water regularly. But they are all sluggish growers. They are limp and placid—not worth cutting to use (mainly to muddle in a cocktail). Is my mistake keeping them in small pots, or should I drink more cocktails to forget their stunted state? 

Bouquet de Hyacinths 

Dear Bouquet:

Placid herbs are just the worst, aren’t they? 

It’s possible they’re getting too much water. Do you let the soil dry out between waterings? Stick your finger in the pot first—and if the soil is damp, don’t. 

The gauzy Celeste tunic from the J. Peterman Company.

You could also be right about the pots. Those cute little things one picks up at places like Trader Joe’s are not just inadequate in size, they rarely have drainage holes, leaving the plants to wallow and roots to rot. You don’t need huge pots, an eight-incher should do.  

Your rosemary and mint plants will continue to grow—inside, in a sunny window, if it gets to freezing—and will need repotting someday. Basil, however, is a one-season wonder;  when fall approaches, make and freeze pesto, or just dry the leaves to carry you through to next spring.  

Of course, you can just tell people you grow only muddling herbs, but you’ll need a certain look. 

So much of gardening depends on costuming and authoritative attitude, I’ve found. Try a smashing caftan and a jeweled cigarette holder (unlit is fine, it’s the effect you’re going for). A British accent always helps—Americans will buy off on anything announced in those plummy tones. 

You don’t happen to have one in your pocket, do you? 

Annabelle hydrangea.

Dear “Stephanie Gardens”:

I have two Annabelle hydrangeas that look gorgeous for two minutes in spring. Then it rains hard and they droop. We put in trellises to prop them up before they bloomed, but it wasn’t enough. Last week we staked them with wire that looks very unattractive. Any suggestions other than Super Glue?

Also. When do you prune lavender?

Quercifolia Paniculata

Dear Quercifolia:

Ah. What a beauty Annabelle can be, with her dinner-plate-scaled white flowers blooming nonstop spring through fall.  That is, when she’s not splayed out like a drunken octopus, limbs flopped under their own weight.

Annabelle is not the only big-flowered—or big-leafed—garden plant to suffer so, and like you I

Garden stakes.

consider most wires and cages and trusses unattractive.  

Some years ago I discovered these clever metal garden stakes with a ring on top and an

opening to fit around a stem. They’re green, so they blend with the plant, powder-coated so they don’t rust, and come in various lengths, from tiny to support a single orchid to 30 inches, which should take care of Annabelle. 

You don’t need one for every branch, just for the main stems, and you can often feed more than one stem through a single support. Four or five stakes should do for a big bush. 

iStock

As for pruning lavender, have I got a video for you. Lavender pruning by Marianne Binetti for Osmocote, which makes excellent fertilizers, by the way,  takes you, fearlessly, through a twice-yearly shearing and, as a bonus, shows you how to make sachets with the clippings. 

—Stephanie Cavanaugh

LittleBird “Stephanie Gardens” doesn’t have all the answers, but she’ll research some if you submit questions to her. You can just add a Comment to this post, and the question will be forwarded to our Green Acre columnist.

MyLittleBird often includes links to products we write about. Our editorial choices are made independently; nonetheless, a purchase made through such a link can sometimes result in MyLittleBird receiving a commission on the sale, whether through a retailer, an online store or Amazon.com.

WHAT WITH Covid-19, we’re already dining outdoors when we’re not hunkered down in our own kitchen. So this is the perfect year to embrace the picnic, bugs and all. There’s a ton of tempting accouterments on the market that will allow us to add zip to our picnic style and juice the economy. We’ve found some possibilities and will add more as we find them.

—Nancy McKeon

LEFT: Add sophistication (and alcohol) to your picnic with a Camp cocktail kit. This is the Sage + Turmeric Kit; others include Aromatic Citrus, Sangria and Hibiscus Gin. You add your favorite vodka or other alcohol to the jar, and the aromatics do their work over three days. Each kit is $24 at Terrain online.
RIGHT: The staff at Lyndhurst, the historic mansion in New York’s Hudson Valley, taught us this trick years ago: A perky Radio Flyer is a great way to get all the picnic fixings to your site–or it can serve as the perfect picnic bar! The All-Terrain Cargo Wagon (Model #29), with real air tires and removable wooden side panels, is especially suited to traveling over hill and dale–or across the sand at the beach. It folds down for storage and is $179.99 at RadioFlyer.com.

Get-togethers, no matter how guarded, seem so much more festive now. Up the ante even more with custom paper napkins for your picnic. Three-ply napkins come in 20 colors and 40 colors for the printed message. A set of 25 dinner-size napkins would be $33.71, a set of 50 $41.21. There are higher grades of paper at higher prices; all are at TheStationeryStudio.com.

LEFT: As retro as the whole “picnic” idea, this wipeable oilcloth tablecloth will work just as well on the ground. From Freckled Sage Oilcloth Products, a 48-by-72-incher is $46, a 60-by-120-incher $150, with other sizes in between.
RIGHT: Feeling really festive (and lucky enough to have a tree bough overhead)? The Bright Floral Blossom Chandelier from Meri Meri may be in order. At 28 inches tall and 19 inches wide, it’s based on Polish pajaki decorative ceiling hangings and is $45.

LEFT: What’s a picnic without a healthy dose of down-home barbecue? With that in mind, KC’s Jack Stack BBQ offers the Taste of Kansas City, and it sounds pretty tempting. Included are a pound of burnt pork ends, a pound of chopped barbecued beef brisket, 16 ounces of Hickory Pit Beans and enough Jack Stack barbecue sauce to smother it all. The package, which serves two to four people, costs $76.95, unless you think you’ll have room for dessert, in which case Mom’s Carrot Cake or a Triple Chocolate Brownie will set you back $12 extra. Find it, and other barbecue specialties, at JackStackBBQ.com.
RIGHT: The On the Go Traverse Cooler Backpack by Oniva is insulated and can hold 28 beverage cans, or drinks and snacks (plus an outside pouch for other utensils). And there’s this: Attached to one of the padded shoulder straps is a bottle opener. The OTG backpack is $30.49 at Walmart.com. Also available in black.

There are lots of portable grills on the market, but not as cute as this one. The Cuisinart Venture is a gas grill, so you do need to supply a small propane tank, but it can be stored inside the base of the unit. And while the veggies are being charred on the 154 square inches of cast-iron grate, the wooden lid can be used to serve the cheese and crackers to those who wait. The Venture weighs 22 pounds and is $199 at Crate and Barrel.

Everyone will be able to find your picnic spot: Just tell them to look for the big canvas teepee. The structure comes in several sizes, from kiddie size to extra-large, extra-tall, from $180 to about $275 (XXL with a window). Find them at the TipTopTeepee Shop at Etsy.com.

LEFT: Melamine never looked so cool and contemporary. Designed by Aaron Probyn, the plates and bowls can be purchased individually from $6.50 apiece to sets of four or 12 (up to $86) at WestElm.com.
RIGHT: What would a picnic be without ants, right? These plastic critters are about 2 inches long and will be a witty addition to your picnic buffet. From CrankyCakesShop at Etsy.com, a set of six ants is $4.25.

Remember these? Sure, little “tents” over the potato salad seems stupid until the insects start buzzing. A set of four (four different colors) is $12.99 at Amazon.com.

LEFT: The Picnic Time company takes outdoor meals seriously. The blue ikat Promenade picnic basket, left, is sturdy canvas sitting atop a wicker base and holds service for two (as well as all your salads and beverages). It’s $49.95 at Saks Fifth Avenue.
RIGHT: The Picnic Time Portable Rolling Cooler is another picnic hero, insulated to keep food and beverages cool, plus a deep side pocket for utensils or . . . whatever. It’s $50.95 at picnictime.com.

Damn! We missed National Hammock Day, July 22! Nonetheless, we can stlll enjoy the Wise Owl Outfitters’ Double Owl Hammock, shown in the Endless Summer colorway, with 10-foot-long straps with carabiners so you can anchor it to a couple of nearby trees without harming them. The two-person hammock ($38.95) is 10 feet long; the one-person version ($27.95) is 9 feet long. Both hold 500 pounds. The hammocks are made of parachute nylon, come in half a dozen color combinations and are available at Amazon.com.

MyLittleBird often includes links to products we write about. Our editorial choices are made independently; nonetheless, a purchase made through such a link can sometimes result in MyLittleBird receiving a commission on the sale, whether through a retailer, an online store or Amazon.com.