Trade Secrets Redux

This past weekend was the annual Trade Secrets Garden Show in Sharon, Connecticut.  I wrote about attending it last year (it is a "must do" in our calendar), so I'm not going to go into too much detail here about the show except to say that this year's well-attended event was a glorious one, and held on a blissfully lovely day.  It was heaven!

Reggie's topiary loot purchased at Trade Secrets
sitting on a bench at Darlington House

Litchfield County, Connecticut, where Trade Secrets is held on a gentlewoman's handsome working farm, is known for its rolling hills, quaint villages, open farmland, and estates hidden down long gravel driveways.  The area is a magnet for rich New Yorkers who prefer its low key charms to the frenzied mayhem of what has become of the Hamptons.  Nothing showy about this part of Connecticut, Dear Reader—it's all very discreet and tasteful.  Which is just how Reggie likes it, by the way.

We were joined at the show and over the weekend by the charming and amusing Meg Fairfax Fielding, of Pigtown Design fame.  The weekend was a non-stop gabfest of stories, laughter, and socializing.  I encourage you to check out Meg's blog, Dear Reader, as she is a kindred spirit, indeed.

So what did Reggie succumb to at the Trade Secrets show this year?

Topiaries.  Again!  And not just a few, mind you, but rather nine of them (an instant collection!), purchased at the booths of Atlock Farm and Snug Harbor Farm.  While Reggie has vowed time and time again not to buy any more myrtle topiaries (given his unfortunate history of murdering them), he is not a very disciplined fellow and he rationalized while considering his topiary options at the show that adding only one myrtle to the mix was permissible.  That's because if when he murders it at least he'll (hopefully) be able to console himself with the several remaining (non myrtle) topiaries that (he prays) will have avoided such a dismal fate awaiting the (currently healthy) myrtle one he bought at the show.  In the meantime, the topiaries he brought home with him are giving him lots of pleasure, which is what it is all about, isn't it?

Wish me luck!

Photograph by Reggie Darling

Easter in Paris, Part II

Today's post is the second, and final, installment of my two part series of photographs taken in Paris during the week leading up to Easter.  I hope you like it.

One of the places my seemingly never-ending search for champagne took me to was Le Vaudeville Brasserie, recommended by Nick Nicholson for its over-le-top Art Deco interiors.  We were not disappointed!  Not only did we find the sought-after flutes of champagne there, but we also found what we considered to be the best oysters we ate in Paris, and this marvelous, exuberant bouquet of cherry blossoms towering over the main dining room.

We admired the zen-like serenity of this chocolatier's window in the Carré Rive Gauche, nestled among the antiques shops the area is known for.  It's so French it's almost Japanese!

I stopped at this tiny flower shop on the Rue du Bac because I thought it was terribly clever to scatter the discarded petals of the roses for sale there onto the sidewalk instead of sweeping them up and away.  So pretty.

One was rather taken by this chocolate egg in the window of Les Marquis de Ladurée on the Place Vendôme featuring a cameo of Marianne of France.

More chocolate eggs seen in another chocolatier's window, this time wrapped with springlike green and chartreuse bows.

These pâte des fruits were the perfect ending to a lovely luncheon at le Grand Véfour, one of the oldest and most beautiful restaurants in Paris.

One does not see such flower stores here in New York outside of the city's (fast-dwindling) flower district.  In Paris they seem to be at every turn!

Looking up into the Dôme des Invalides takes one's breath away.

I'm convinced the French have cornered the world's market in the creation of pretty confections.

What Easter would be complete without bunnies cavorting about, as these ones are at Deyrolle?

Shelves and shelves of chocolate eggs, bunnies, chickens, and ducks wrapped with orange bows!

Speaking of eggs, while visiting the sublime Musée Nissim de Camondo, I finally learned how to use one of those French copper bowls made for whipping egg whites.  As can be seen in the photograph, the trick for stabilizing the round bottom of the bowl is to nestle it in a ring made of kitchen towel.  This was an "ah-ha!" moment for Reggie!

Paris is full of musical offerings during the Easter season.  We chanced upon an impromptu concert when visiting Eglise Saint-Sulpice early one evening.

I got yelled at by the security guard at the Hermès flagship store on the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré for taking pictures, including this one of gorgeous flowers on display there.

One was able to console one's grief with cocktails and sandwiches later that evening at le Bar 228 at Hotel le Meurice.  I encourage you to read my FaceBook posting on that little episode, as I think you may find it amusing.

Just as on Madison Avenue here in New York, there is always a line to get into Ladurée's flagship store in Paris.  We were luckier at the Ladurée outpost in Saint-Germain.

Flowers and motorcycles are often seen together in Paris!

We thought this diamond and pearl tiara from the French crown jewels displayed at the Louvre was rather fetching.

But, to be honest, one preferred the more accessible rose-flavored cocktail in the bar at Hôtel le Bristol.  It was delicious, and a perfect "pick-me-up" during an afternoon of taking in the sights.

What trip to France would be complete without pausing to admire topiary-filled Versailles planters in the Jardin des Tuileries?

Or a visit to Cathédral Notre-Dame de Paris?  We were fortunate to find an evensong service in process there when we stopped in.  The singing was magical.  Of course one stood a respectful distance at the rear of the cathedral when taking this image.

And with that, Dear Reader, I conclude our whirlwind tour of Paris at Easter.  I hope you liked it.

All photographs by Reggie Darling

Easter In Paris, Part I

As readers of this blog and Reggie's friends on FaceBook will know, I have just returned from a delightful holiday in Paris.  While I was there I was enchanted by the decorations of the city's store windows, dressed in anticipation of Easter.  I took a number of photographs of my favorites while I was there, Dear Reader, along with snaps of other things that caught my fancy.  Today's post, the first in a two-part series, features a selection of those images.  I hope you like it.

I was rather taken by this charming display of chocolate eggs, bunnies, chicks, and bonbons in the window of a confiseur.  (Please note adorable, evil little child in green jacket . . .)

Paris is justifiably famous for its flower stores.  I was thrilled by these beautiful lavender roses.

As I was amused by this carton of white, milk, and dark chocolate eggs.  So clever!

The windows of Meert, in the Marais, featured a lovely selection of foil-covered chocolate eggs.  So pretty!

I loved this "mod" Easter display in one window.  The white metal stand is at least two feet tall!

What little girl wouldn't love a present of this pretty dress-up frock?

The windows of Les Marquise de Ladurée on the Place Vendôme featured enormous chocolate eggs, topped with chocolate ribbons.  The insides of each include a tower of macarons.  I was wild about them.

Of course seeing all those chocolate eggs made one long for the real thing, too.  Fortunately, one was able to do have them at breakfast at Les Ambassadeurs at the Hôtel de Crillon one morning.

Another window at Les Marquise de Ladurée.  I think the French really do the most marvelous store displays imaginable.

Although the weather was relatively balmy when we were in Paris, there were one or two evenings when any lady visiting the city would have appreciated slipping into this elegant cream mink coat that we saw in a window on the Rue de Faubourg Saint-Honoré.  Perfect for spring, non?

These topiary trees laden with oranges seen on the sidewalk one day made me long to have an orangery at Darlington House!

There were many temptations at La Grand Epicerie de Paris at le Bon Marché Rive Gauche, including this table of cellophane-wrapped chocolates.

This little lamb is actually a powder sugar-dusted cake.  What will they think of next?

Perhaps "they" will think of coating these chocolate eggs with butter cream candy decorations, as this chocolatier did?

Or why not blow out the yolks of real eggs and fill the shells with chocolate ganache?  I almost fainted when I saw these!

The Easter flower display in the lobby of the Hotel George V was suitably restrained.  So chic.

Can you believe the crazy whimsy of these stuffed bunnies and lamb at Deyrolle?  I loved them!

After all that visual excitement, I thought I might need a piece of this Tarte Cocktail to calm my nerves.

Better yet, I think I shall sit down in this elegant fauteuil, collect myself, and plot out where I shall go next.  Champagne is definitely in order . . .

Next: Easter in Paris, Part II

All photographs by Reggie Darling

Trade Secrets

Every May for the last twelve years, a very special horticultural event called the Trade Secrets Rare Plant and Garden Antiques Show has been held in rural northwestern Connecticut.  Founded by the inestimable Bunny Williams, the two-day show is a fundraiser for Women's Support Services of Sharon, Connecticut.  The show features vendors of rare and unusual flora; antiques dealers of gardenalia; and providers of tools, pottery (such as those of Guy Wolff, about whom I wrote several years ago), and related crafts.  Trade Secrets is a buying bonanza for anyone who appreciates out-of-the-ordinary gardening resources.  For the last several years the show has been held in Sharon, Connecticut, on the grounds of the glorious Lion Rock Farm, a handsome and substantial working farm.  Lion Rock is no run-of-the-mill farm, but rather it is a gentlewoman's working estate, owned by a successful Wall Street financier.  It is gorgeous.

"Three little coleus are we!"

Boy and I make a point of attending the Trade Secrets show every year, to stock up on unusual plants for our screened porch, for plants to fill our metal urns for the summer, and for whatever else strikes our fancy.  And there is a lot to strike one's fancy at Trade Secrets.  We enjoy going to the show for a number of reasons.  Not only is it a wonderful source for all things flora, and in a beautiful setting, but it is also an opportunity to see the Tribe out in full force.  Trade Secrets draws affluent shoppers from the surrounding Connecticut, New York, and Massachusetts areas.  That means there are lots of well-cared-for, perfectly art-directed ladies with blond hair, straw hats, quilted jackets, and Hunter boots.  And there are also many well-cared-for, perfectly art-directed men who might possibly wish that they, too, were well-cared-for, perfectly art-directed ladies with blond hair, straw hats, quilted jackets, and Hunter boots.  Not surprisingly, given who founded Trade Secrets, one sees any number of fancy Manhattan decorators, antiques dealers, and lifestyle purveyors at the show, busily shopping, visiting, and having fun.  One can also be assured of seeing a certain blond lifestyle goddess who appears at the show every year, without fail, enthusiastically shopping along with the rest of the blondes in attendance.

This year the Trade Secrets show was blessed with sunny, balmy weather.  The grounds of Lion Rock Farm were beautifully groomed to a fare-thee-well, and there seemed to be more dealers than ever and blockbusting attendance.  In other words, it was a huge success!

The map showing the location of all
the dealers at the show

We arrived shortly after the 8:00 a.m. opening for the premium-priced Early Buyers portion of the show and were amazed at how many people had gotten there before us.  Boy was issued buyer's number 339 on his admission bracelet, indicating that more than three hundred people had already entered the grounds by about 8:30!  The parking fields were so heavily planted with Range Rovers, Mercedes-Benzes, and other expensive cars that I was afraid we would have difficulty in harvesting ours when the time came for us to leave.

A portion of our Trade Secrets bounty

This year we approached the show with a restrained buying appetite.  We only needed a few potted plants for our porch, and that's what we got.  I refrained from buying any myrtle topiaries from Atlock Farm this year, even though I was sorely tempted.  As I have written before, I am unable to keep myrtle topiaries living beyond a month or two, and I couldn't bear the misery of watching yet another one wither and die under my supposed administrations.  Boy did find three diminutive variegated coleus plants and a charming fern at Atlock Farm's booth, and a bay standard with great potential at the nearby Hoffman and Woodward booth.  He also bought three striking bromeliads at David Burdick Daffodils & More, which has been an excellent source for unusual daffodils for us in years past.

Three bromeliads with a frog for companionship

We often combine our visit to Trade Secrets with stops along the way home at Privet House in Warren, Connecticut, and Hunter Bee Antiques in Millerton, New York.  Last year we met our friends James and Calista Littlefield for lunch at the White Hart Inn in Salisbury, Connecticut.  Recently renovated by new owners and beautifully decorated by Michael Patrik Smyth, the White Hart Inn is everything that one could wish for in a Connecticut country inn.  The lunch we had on one its spacious porches was delightful.

Looking down into the opening of a russet-colored
bromeliad

This year we headed directly home to Darlington House after the show, though, as we have much to do to prepare for Memorial Day Weekend, when our dear friends Preston and Digby are spending the holiday with us.  One of the things we have on our docket for next weekend is a visit to a large antiques show in Rhinebeck, New York, about which I will try my best to muster a post.

Boy selected the plants to coördinate
with our porch furniture's upholstery

In the meantime, Dear Reader, do please mark your calendar to attend next May's Trade Secrets show.  And don't forget to tell them that Reggie sent you . . .

A pretty, feathery fern to complete the decoration
of our porch at Darlington House

More can be learned about Trade Secrets by visiting their website here.


Photographs by Boy Fenwick

I'm Just a Cockeyed Topiary Optimist!

As readers of this blog may recall, Reggie isn't very lucky when it comes to caring for topiaries—those charming, impossible-to-sustain, diminutive potted standards sold by swell florists and specialty growers to those of us weak-willed enough to succumb to their siren call.  I've written about my failures with keeping such darlings alive, despite my most earnest efforts to, here and here.

Our remaining topiaries—trimmed, rinsed,
and sprayed, and (I hope) ready to be brought
indoors for the winter...

But, being the optimist that I am, I never seem to figure out that buying yet another topiary (which for me actually means buying at least two of them at a time, since they look best in pairs) will lead to the inevitable death of said plant.  For under my care death is what their fate will most assuredly be, despite my best efforts otherwise.  I've killed countless dozens of them over the years.

This spring, at the Trade Secrets garden show held annually in Sharon, Connecticut, (founded by the inestimable Bunny Williams) I bought half a dozen new pots of topiaries from Atlock Farm, one of the vendors showing there, to replace the topiaries I'd murdered over the previous winter.  I did so with the newfound understanding that my approach to owning and caring for topiaries had theretofore been flawed.  In the past I had erroneously thought that I could keep them alive for months (if not years) with careful and loving treatment.  I had also considered that my inability to do so was, well, a failure on my part.  Not so, one wise reader, named Flo, advised me—I was in good company because it is virtually impossible for mere mortals such as Reggie to keep such tender lovelies alive over the winter in a northeastern house, particularly one such as Darlington House that is lived in only on weekends and where there is no temperature- and humidity-regulated greenhouse for the topiaries to vacation.  Just think of a topiary, she wrote, as an expensive potted plant that has a limited life span, and enjoy it as such.

Such freedom!  I now understood that my topiaries' withering was as inevitable as the tides rolling in and out, something entirely beyond my control.  That is, unless I were Bunny Mellon, famous for—among other things—an extensive collection of perfectly cared-for topiaries, acres of greenhouses, and armies of gardeners charged with ensuring said topiaries' long life.  As I've pointed out here before, I am, most assuredly, not Mrs. Paul Mellon.

Of the half dozen topiaries I bought at the Trade Secrets show this spring, four remain with us, having survived a summer of mostly benign neglect on our screened porch at Darlington House.  I am showing them, ahead of our bringing them indoors for the winter, pruned (by Boy) of their late-summer shagginess and returned to their desired, perfectly coiffed profiles.  They are resting behind our gardening barn in the shade, after having been rinsed and sprayed, awaiting their transfer into the house.

Even though I know there is scant hope that these topiaries will survive until spring under my care, I still hope and wish that they will, despite the odds stacked against me.  I just can't help myself.  I'm a tender-hearted optimist when it comes to such things.

And that is why there will always be a demand for nurseries and plantsmen to bring fresh batches of topiaries to market every spring—because of cockeyed optimists like Reggie who, when confronted by a  new topiary deludes himself into believing that he might be able to, this time, nurture it from one year to the next.

And because I am aware that such optimism is foolishness on my part, I know that I will return to the Trade Secrets show next spring to, once again, replenish my stock of topiaries, continuing the never-ending cycle . . .