gardening

Tending the garden, gathering its blooms

976461_665260190155647_2028541073_o
Yves Piaget, first of the season
For two solid years, I've babied this rose, from bare root plant to blossom. Thorns emerged, and it was prone to bugs and disease. A puny bud emerged at one point, but the stem was too fragile to support its weight. I almost yanked it from the flowerbed, right then and there. But at the last minute, I granted it a stay of execution.

If it doesn't thrive this season, I told myself, I'll replace it with something else. And wouldn't you just know it: The bush burst forth with three gorgeous flowers, earlier this week!

I've heard this in a religious context, and maybe you've encountered it elsewhere. But it occurred to me just this morning that writing memoir is not unlike the blossoming of this beautiful rose. With each chapter I write (revise or write again), the bud begins to flower. New petals reveal themselves–tiny hints of understanding; of honesty, unfurled–until one day the Truth spills forth, releasing with it the sweet, sweet fragrance of Freedom. The shadow on the right side–I try not to see that as a flaw. It represents the Unknowable, which is part of memoir, too.

A garden parable

931208_648657535149246_675055811_n
My hydrangeas are coming into bloom–neither blue nor pink, but a paler shade of each, and the leaves are getting crispy at the edges. That's what comes of being planted in hard-packed soil, of seeking shade but being subjected, instead, to harsh sunlight.

There's a lesson in this for me. Barbara Kingsolver says it well: "“Close the door. Write with no one looking over your shoulder. Don't try to figure out what other people want to hear from you; figure out what you have to say. It's the one and only thing you have to offer.”

A wee bit o’ Little Women

I carried our rickety wooden ladder into our backyard, camera slung around my neck. And I don't know why it happened, but as I brought this blossom into focus…
CIMG9032
…my mind drifted back to a passage from Little Women. I remembered the gist of it, but I looked it up, anyway. I wanted to get these words just right:

Hannah used to say, "I'd know which each of them gardings belonged to, ef I see 'em in Chiny," and so she might, for the girls' tastes differed as much as their characters. Meg's had roses and heliotrope, myrtle, and a little orange tree in it. Jo's bed was never alike two seasons, for she was always trying experiments. This year it was to be a plantation of sun flowers, the seeds of which cheerful land aspiring plant were to feed Aunt Cockle-top and her family of chicks. Beth had old-fashioned fragrant flowers in her garden, sweet peas and mignonette, larkspur, pinks, pansies, and southernwood, with chickweed forthe birds and catnip for the pussies. Amy had a bower in hers, rather small and earwiggy, but very pretty to look at, with honeysuckle and morning-glories hanging their colored horns and bells in graceful wreaths all over it, tall white lilies, delicate ferns, and as many brilliant, picturesque plants as would consent to blossom there.

CIMG9016
CIMG9048

CIMG9035

A lovely passage, isn't it? And I'd venture to say that my garden (this gardener) portrays a wee touch of each character in Little Woman, wouldn't you?

Bleeding Hearts


Photo via Veronica Roth (posted with permission)

I head for the cash register, heart-shaped flowers draped like pendant necklaces over the rim of my Red Flyer wagon.

An elegantly dressed shopper approaches me. Her hair is professionally coiffed, her posture is ramrod straight. But her hands are all aflutter, and her face is a tangle of emotions I cannot read. 

"Is that–? No, it can't be!"

She speaks with a clipped British accent; no mistaking her heritage now! Her eyes melt into a puddle of sentiment as she recalls for me the cottage garden of her childhood, the mother who planted Bleeding Hearts in the lush undergrowth of her own Secret Garden.

I cling to every word.

She is taller than my grandmother, her mannerisms more refined. But she reminds me so much of my Nottingham-born Nana! Their backgrounds are similar, their sentiments intertwined.

In this brief encounter, I am reminded anew that so much of life –our biology, our shared stories–has its genesis in the garden.

Site Meter

Treasure-hunting

Tricky politics…dIrty laundry…the sturm and drang of social media… 

Ack! Does anyone remember that old commercial, "Calgon, take me away!"

I'm not one for disengaging–not for long, anyway. And never altogether. But when the walls press in and the air feels close, I find respite in my garden. It's not perfect, by any means. The hardscape's cracked, where the earth once shook and settled. The fence is weathered, and despite my best efforts their valiant efforts, some of the plants aren't thriving like they should. But if I squint my eyes just right and tilt my head just so, secrets oftentimes reveal themselves to me. And so it is that, with each changing of the seasons, I find new treasures there. 

Is that El Sol I see, peeking his head through the drifting clouds? Quick, slide your feet into a pair of flip-flops–come treasure-hunting with me!


Faded rose, bejeweled by the rain


Sweet stock, on my bistro table


November-blooming azaleas, misted by the marine layer that blanketed my backyard


A rain-soaked fairy watches over his patch of flowers

What are you seeing in YOUR garden these days?

Thankful Thursday: A rose by any name…


Pope John Paul II hybrid tea rose, via Jackson & Perkins
The folks at Jackson & Perkins just informed me that this year's most sought-after rose, Pope John Paul II,* is on the PopeMobile UPS truck, wending his way to my house! I can't begin to tell you how happy this makes me.

For much of my childhood, I was shamed into feeling I was less than. Indulgences like this didn't come my way very often. Maybe that's why the smallest things–the whispered kindness, the faintest glimmer of hope, the tiniest birds and blossoms–are among my greatest joys.

Before too long, I'll be gathering (and giving away) blooms from my refurbished rose garden. I'll inhale their delightful fragrances in gratitude, and do my best to exhale any thoughts that I'm not worthy.

Catalog copy: This elegant rose is the showpiece of the Vatican private garden, and now can be grown in yours as well! Among the finest white roses ever, it produces pure, luminous white, lavishly petaled blossoms with a delightful fresh citrus fragrance. This exceptional new Hybrid Tea has received top ratings for its powerful scent, vigorous growth, superior disease resistance, and perfect bloom form. 10% of net sales donated to the poor of sub-Saharan Africa.

Nip this potential problem in the bud


Double Delight rose, via Google Images
Here, a cautionary tale for green thumbs and gardener wanna-be's (like me):

I'm replanting my rose beds this spring because my then-gardener whacked the heck out of them pruned them back too far, and they've been sickly ever since.

I've enjoyed reconfiguring the overall arrangement–reimagining color combinations, incorporating old friends with new acquaintances, etc. (Moondance, Angel Face, Double Delight, and Lasting Love…so evocative, don't you think?) But I've also discovered a very sad side effect of the current recession is that rose bushes are in short supply this year.

Some growers went bankrupt; some distributors cut back on supplies. The net effect for home gardeners is this: Many varieties are harder to find this year–standard favorites and exotics, alike. So if you're planning to order roses online this spring, do it now. Or if you prefer buying plants from your local nursery, put yourself on their waiting lists. You're more likely to get the ones you really want, once they're available in your growing zone.

Tell 'em a little birdie sent you. 🙂

 
I've managed to buy most of the roses I wanted from my local nursery, and I've placed an online order for another two or three varieties that they don't carry. Crossed fingers that they don't get cancelled for any reason…it's planting season here, and I can't wait to see them in full bloom! 

Thankful Thursday: Gardening Edition

I’m not a prissy princess, but I’m not the outdoorsy type, either. To echo Joan Rivers, “My idea of roughing it is walking barefoot across the Hyatt Regency.”  I’ve been known to sacrifice my own preferences for The Greater Good, albeit with some whinging. But although I’ll never enjoy sleeping on the ground, I do love digging flowers into the dirt.

As my plants take root, my own feet grow more firmly planted on terra firma, a sense of belonging I never experienced as a child. In my grown-up garden, I can indulge my whimsy by planting candy-scented, showy flowers instead of groceries. While it’s not an HGTV-quality showcase, my backyard is a playground that beckons me outside for recess.

For you, a spring bouquet that carries an invitation: Can you come out to play?



 

Top left to bottom right: camellia, Angel Face rose, gardenia, camellia, azalea, camellia, violas, camellia 


Site Meter