About three years ago, my boss Maurice and his husband George took down a row of declining poplars. But, instead of doing what most people do, they chose to not have them removed. Instead, they left the base of the trunks in the ground, and cut up the rest into suitably sized logs that they used to build a stumpery. The soil between the stumps was filled with a multitude of ferns, and other plants that might do well in a situation like that.
The other night, we were invited to their garden to hang out, and to admire the progress. We donned our masks, and off we went. We were met by a veritable cloud of small, pale blue bells floating atop the fern berm. It looked especially effective and fabulous in the blue light of evening. This chance hybrid was found by an estate gardener in Cleveland, OH, back in 1935. He named it after his wife – well, in as far as back then, wives’ names were pretty much their husbands names, preceded with a “Mrs”. So, let me introduce to you; Mrs. Robert Brydon . I’m guessing what the honored missus’ actual name was, has been lost in the fog banks of time. I appreciate the subtle protest of her spirit, as her official namesake assumes the form of a dense mist, making itself very noticeable by smothering everything in its path with a cloud of airy flowers. Mrs Robert Brydon – whomever she was – was no shrinking violet!