Three Years on Substack

keep going..

Aug 15, 2025

Hello,

I’ll make this brief because we’re headed out of town for a few days to visit Baby Ruby (and her parents). But I would be remiss if I didn’t pop into your inbox to say Happy Birthday! That is, happy birthday to the Cultivating Color newsletter, although if you are an August baby like Ruby and my daughter Hilary, then happiest returns to you as well.

[[edited: *Record scratch* as the kids say.

Life happens and if we’re lucky we learn from disappointment. Turns out we didn’t get our getaway to adore dear Ruby unfettered. James tested positive for COVID this morning which put the kibosh on things about an hour before we were set to leave. Were we disappointed? You have no idea…

After some hemming and hawing, I decided to drive up, about 100 miles, to Bellingham on my own for a “socially distant” and masked check in. My arms ached to hold her, and my son, and my dear daughter in law, but it was such a blessing to lay eyes on them — a little bit bleary but still blissed out. My husband gets the last word on the day’s turn of events. “I glad you went, they need to know family is close by.” That sort of shifted things for me. Well that and a decadent ice cream cone I treated my self to for the drive home. I was covered in Rocky Road but left with a very sweet take on the day.]]

I began writing on Substack in August 2022. Since then I’ve published 186 letters from me to you filled with thoughts on color, gardens, and how we spend our days and direct our attention. That’s three years of ups and downs and everything in between, because of course that’s where most of life unfolds. Sometimes it feels like I have nothing new to say, but I keep going. Garden life prepares me for fleeting moments of beauty and blooms as well as countless hours of tedium and, at times, failure. The days may roll on with a sameness, but I’m different, you’re different.

As I wrote in the introduction to my first book, Hortus Miscellaneous, in 2007:

Throughout history gardeners have recorded their discoveries, their tips, their successes, and their disappointments. This most ancient craft began as a physical necessity for survival, evolved to address domestic décor, and some would say has even been elevated to high art in the hands of the right creator. Hard science, mud-stained potting shed notes, old wives’ tales, folklore and superstition, happenstance and habit have all contributed to a growing body of knowledge that we gardeners find compelling. We are assured by the discovery that nothing in the garden itself has really changed—the sun, a seed, some moisture, and you have begun. It is our culture and ourselves that change in response to making a garden, and that is a process of endless fascination. Plant the world, grow yourself.

I’m so glad you’re here,

xo Lorene

Limited Edition

Limited edition signed giclee print featuring nine images from my color practice. Print is 6- by 6-inches with a border for a finished sheet size of 7- by 7-inches. Produced on natural-white artist grade paper with a subtle textured, matte finish using archival inks.

shop signed print

Coloring

It’s been a minute since I painted my shells. Must be mussel memory. (see what I did there?)

I love these tarnished days of hydrangea season.

I get very prickly when things get hot. Yes, I’m a delicate snowflake that thinks 80F is hot, but razzing me won’t change anything.

Somehow I’ve kept this ‘Little Brother Montgomery’ rex begonia alive, dare I say thriving, for nearly a decade. So when I looked across the living room this morning as I was drinking my coffee and saw the entire plant splayed and gasping of thirst, I sprung into recovery mode. Little Brother has spent the day soaking its feet in a pan of cool water. Crisis averted.