Behind the posts, articles, conferences and social media, there’s a backstory. Have you kept up with the digital correspondence between Ranters Scott Beuerlein and Marianne Willburn?  You can start here, or go back and find the entire correspondence at Dear Gardener.

Cleveland, Ohio

April 16, 2025

Dear Marianne,

Good Lord, Marianne, I’m in Cleveland! In the old days, I would have said I’m marooned in Cleveland, or forlorn in Cleveland, or that I must have died and been condemned to Cleveland, but that was way back when I was a mere indoctrinated Cincinnatian who had never been to Cleveland. And I would have ignorantly said one of those things only because it would have been expected of me.  

But I’ve been here now. Two other times and today, and I’ve come to learn Cleveland is almost as cool as Cincinnati. It is Columbus that’s really the shithole town of Ohio, but somehow it always slides under the radar. The Cleveland Botanical Garden is right across the street. Case Western is all around me, including a Gehry building. The art museum, the orchestra, the natural history museum, all of it and more, is within walking distance. It’s like they decided during the cold war to put all the coolest stuff all in one place. That way, if we got bombed, all of it would go or none of it. Nobody would have to resent the art museum or some other place because it got spared and everything else was a goner.

You have to carefully check your camera leveler when taking a picture of a Gehry building, because, otherwise, how would you know?

Did I say it was all within walking distance? Guess what? I took a walk. I’ve been steadily recovering from my long saga of suffering to the point where I was able to stroll around pain free after dinner. The first time in, probably, a year. Maybe two. Possibly three. What a joy! Seriously, it truly is the things we take for granted… But, fact is, after all this time I’m walking like a beginner. Loose. Like a drunk. No two steps exactly alike. 

And I saw lots of plants and had some thoughts. First Katsura. Remains my favorite tree. Truly greater than the sum of its parts.

One of the weeping Katsura cultivars. Unlabeled. Argh. But it’s probably ‘Marioki.’ A stunner

Pinus densiflora umbraculifera (Tanyosho Pine), best bark to behold at dawn or dusk, although our far under-appreciated sycamore is not that far behind.

A Tanyoshi pine outside of the Cleveland Botanical Garden. It was closed so they wouldn’t let me in. After tomorrow, they’ll probably never let me in again.

Towering sycamores outside my hotel.

Not long ago I was one of those assholes that had to join the chorus whenever somebody unloaded on hedges, and I will still say that not every homeowner needs to go out and hedge everything they own every Mother’s Day just because they’re certain they need to do something but they don’t know what. Fact is, sometimes hedges serve a purpose and sometimes they’re even pretty cool. If you don’t know too much. Or if you’ve had some wine. Marianne, I’ve had some wine. And, also, I’m knowing a lot less than I used to.

I’m speaking to a bunch of gardeners tomorrow. A new talk called ‘Favorite Plants from Favorite Gardens.’ I gave it in Georgia last week and it went over well, so I’m reasonably confident it will go okay. Not even going to tweak it, unless I wake up at 4:00AM or 5:00AM in a sterile hotel room with no food and none of my stuff and no Michele around to wake up and annoy. If that happens, I’ll work on it some. The chance of that happening is, sadly, very high.

Then I’ll give my talk and drive home and see the same things I saw when I drove up here today—muddy, dormant Ohio farm fields, big expanses of forest (in the North), and a bunch of pears in bloom along the highway. They came and went in Cincinnati. I wish I could enjoy them, but, damn, I know too much. At least for now.

Yeah, sure, yours, 

Scott