Made by MM: Blowing bubbles

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Make your own moss world: Kokedama Tutorial

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Antoine de Saint Exupéry's Little Prince came from a planet scarcely any larger than a house. He shared his little planet with good plants, bad plants, a couple of vulcanos and one beautiful rose. The image of this small asteroid covered in green with one magnificent flower sticking out of it, has always made me smile: wouldn't it be magical to live on such a planet? One day, while on an urban exploration of Amsterdam, there it was, my first string garden: a little ball of soil, covered in moss, with one, tiny plant growing on top. I wrote about the moss ball, or Kokedama as it is called in Japan, in a previous post but I have waited the whole winter before venturing on making one. In the end I even turned this event into something special by inviting friends and teaching them too how to add a bit of magic to the world: because that is truly what they do. That's why I want to teach this to you too. What you will need 1. a tiny plant ; moss can't stand direct sunlig
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I am dreaming of a small Christmas world...

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\ Remember my Kokedama tutorial? I have now changed ingredients. Instead of a lovely vinca minor I really wanted to exploit the small planet-look of the Kokedama, so I have been looking everywhere for a small pine tree. Well, the smaller they are, the more they resemble twigs therefore I opted for a pine tree lookalike. So... tadaaa, here it is, my small Christmas world.
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The importance of looking carefully

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It was rush hour at the Amsterdam railway station and I was on my way to Brussels. The train was running late and as a consequence everybody was walking up and down the platform impatiently, moving in coordinated blocks. That's how I saw her: at one point the mass left a huge gap right where she was standing. At first she seemed motionless like a statue: an elderly lady, somewhere in her eighties, with wavy hair, a soft suede coat, a mohair turtleneck sweater, wonderfully cut pants and lovely flats. All of which was in the purest shade of white. She looked as if she had stepped right out of a Vogue winter fairytale. But the lady was conscious of everybody staring at her: young girls with their mocking smiles, young boys rolling their eyes in disbelief. The white lady's hands clutched more and more to the bag she had pushed in front of her like a shield. I thought she looked amazing. I went up to her and said 'Madame, you look beautiful'. A lovely smile broke her face in
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