Hello, fellow lovers of all things green,
On a humid morning after a much-needed soaking rain, everything outside seemed to have taken a deep breath. The birds were busy, the leaves glistened, and the gardens looked grateful.
As I reflected on last week’s post, including the Jethro Tull coreopsis that Marty Carson gave me years ago, bursting with blooms for the first time, I realized something unexpected. A portion of that story found its way into a few words I shared with family members at Marty’s celebration of life.
Flowers from the garden framed Marty’s memory, just as her gardens continue to frame so many of ours.
Marty was one of New Jersey’s legendary gardeners. I place her in that rare company of people whose gardens become extensions of who they are—much like the family of Well-Sweep Herb Farm I wrote about last week.
Yesterday, I had the privilege of attending her memorial.
Family Beyond Blood
Since Marty’s passing, the gardening staff that lovingly cared for her extraordinary property has been reduced to bare bones. The remaining gardeners have worked tirelessly to prepare the gardens for visitors while carrying the weight of losing someone they loved.
One of the many garden rooms that made Marty’s landscape so memorable.
The day before the gathering, I spoke with Rachel Jameson, now the only full-time gardener on the property. She told me how her husband and three remarkable children came to help prepare the gardens. They’re family to Marty, really. I’ve witnessed that over the years, and it has always warmed my heart.
You may remember Rachel’s family from my 2021 story and podcast, Baobab Tree of Life: Growing Kindness. More than five years later, those children continue growing into remarkable young people.
Rachel had me giggling as she shared a story about her youngest son, Grant. He had reached the age when certain requests from Mom are open to negotiation. He was eager to go swimming before helping weed around the pool house, where the celebration would be held. His older brother and sister stepped in.
“You can’t go swimming until the job is done.”
Gardens have a way of teaching lessons that reach far beyond plants. Do the work first. The rest comes afterward. It’s a lesson many of us spend our entire lives learning.
The Handkerchief Tree
My conversation with Rachel brought back another memory.
Years ago, the Pennsylvania Horticultural Society hosted a tour of two extraordinary private gardens in northwestern New Jersey. One belonged to Marty Carson. The other belonged to renowned garden writer and photographer Ken Druse and his partner, Louis Bauer.
Marty always personally maintained her courtyard garden that inspired visitors and fellow gardeners for decades.
I wrote about that day in a story called The Two Best Gardeners of the Garden State.
While I frequently savor a stroll among my friend and design colleague’s garden, that particular visit was especially glorious. Marty’s unusual plant combinations were artistic, deeply personal, and meticulously maintained.
The Dove Tree was in bloom years ago. This year, a spring freeze claimed the flower buds, but it will bloom again.
Before we left for Ken’s garden, I noticed something blooming for the very first time: a Dove Tree (Davidia involucrata).
Its white bracts floated among the branches like handkerchiefs dancing in the breeze. Sometimes it’s called a Ghost Tree or Handkerchief Tree because of those remarkable blossoms. It’s finicky, often taking ten to twenty years to bloom when grown from seed. Perhaps that’s one reason gardeners treasure it so deeply.
The Discovery is a Thriller
I became captivated by the remarkable story of its discovery, which reads like a thriller. In the late 1800s, a young botanist named Ernest Wilson set out with a hand-drawn map, rode the seas to China, survived disease, escaped bandits, and nearly drowned—only to discover the one known Dove Tree had been cut down to build a house.
Can you imagine? Many would have turned around and gone home. But not Ernest Wilson. He kept searching.
The happy ending – Wilson’s unyielding exploratory spirit succeeded in finding other trees whose seeds were brought back to England in 1901. His persistence is the reason many of us can enjoy this remarkable tree today. The story has always stayed with me.
Weathered Gardening Hands
After visiting Marty’s garden, we continued to Ken Druse’s remarkable landscape. Ken welcomed us warmly and encouraged everyone to wander the winding paths.
Comparing Garden Hands of Ken Druse and Marty Carson
“This garden is about plants,” he said. “And the goal is to fit as many in as possible.”
His garden feels like a living museum, filled with treasures around every bend.
When I wrote about that visit in 2017, I included a photograph I still cherish—Marty and Ken comparing their weathered gardening hands.
Hands that planted. Pruned. Dug.Weeded. And created beauty.
Since writing that story, Marty is no longer in her garden. Yet her gardens continue to live. Not only in the landscapes she created, but also in the gardens she inspired—in our yards, our hearts, and many of the gardens we designed together.
The Dove Trees Didn’t Bloom
Yesterday’s gathering was beautiful. Framed photographs adorned the tables, surrounded by pots of flowers from the garden and capturing Marty at different seasons of her life.
The Dove Tree at Marty’s garden this June. Beauty isn’t absent—it’s waiting for another season.
After the service, I wandered the gardens. They weren’t nearly as groomed as usual. But Marty’s presence was everywhere.
The waterfall and pond that continue to nourish the gardens Marty loved.
Family members had scattered her ashes over the magnificent thirty-foot waterfall that feeds the pond, nourishing the gardens below. The irrigation system draws from those waters. There is something deeply sacred about that. Even now, Marty continues nourishing the gardens she loved.
As I wandered, I searched for the Dove Tree. Actually, there are two of them. I thought perhaps they would be blooming again. But they weren’t. Later, I asked Rachel about them.
“Oh,” she smiled. “The Handkerchief Tree.”
She explained that the early spring freeze had likely damaged the flower buds this year. So they didn’t bloom. For just a moment, I felt disappointed. Then I realized that’s okay. They’ll bloom again.
Sometimes nature reminds us that beauty isn’t absent. It’s waiting for another season.
The Gift of Noticing
There was one more surprise waiting for me that day. Shortly after I arrived, Marty’s son Bob walked over and said, “Mary, I have something for you. It’s in my truck.”
The treasure wasn’t the spoon. The treasure was what Bob noticed.
A few moments later, he returned holding a silver spoon.
“I was going through Mom’s silver,” he said, “and I came across this.”
Engraved on the handle was my name.
The spoon is beautifully detailed with delicate flowers and graceful leaves winding along the handle. As I looked at it, I couldn’t help but see a smiling face in the pattern. It made me smile right back as tender tears welled in my eyes.
Bob told me he doesn’t know of any Marys in their family history—perhaps the spoon dates back generations. But that’s not what made it special. The treasure wasn’t the spoon. The treasure was what Bob noticed.
As he sorted through his mother’s belongings, he saw my name. He thought of me. He packed the spoon for the trip from Florida, where Marty spent her final days, and carried it to New Jersey to place it in my hands.
As mentioned on the Podcast: The robin wins for craftsmanship, the cardinal comes in second (center), and the mourning dove somehow manages with the flimsiest nest of all.
Gardens teach us to notice.
The first bloom on a peony.
A bird building its nest.
A seedling pushing through the soil.
Or a Dove Tree that didn’t bloom this year.
They also teach us to notice one another.
Marty spent a lifetime helping people notice beauty and teaching them how to garden. Standing in the gardens she loved, it felt as though she was still doing exactly that.
Trees bloom again. Kindness and love never stop.
And the beauty we plant in the lives of others continues to grow long after we’re gone.
Garden Dilemmas? AskMaryStone@gmail.com or tune in on your favorite Podcast App.
Prefer to Listen?
This story is also a feature in this week’s episode of Garden Dilemmas, Delights & Discoveries, with additional reflections from the screen porch:
Related Stories:
The Two Best Gardeners of the Garden State
Extraordinary Gardeners, Extraordinary Plants
Episode 25 – Baobab Tree of Life: Growing Kindness
