I had the good ole black thumb growing up. I think my first plant my mom gave me to sacrifice was an african violet. The second plant my mom made walk the plank was a hanging spider plant. That one took a little longer to end its misery, but eventually I did.
Those two experiences told me and my avid gardener mother, I didn’t get the gene. As a grown up, I had plastic plants. A little dust never hurt anyone, that was until my second marriage. We moved to his mother’s house. She lived with her husband in a different house.
This residence may as well been the garden of Eden. There were so many flower beds, I felt sick to my stomach. A HUGE island with a pistachio tree, a back garden filled with day lilies, three other side gardens with irises, and lastly a large container bed under a newly built pergola.
It was enough to make a non-gardener want to cry. Luckily, here came my mother from Oklahoma to save me, to save the garden beds before I sent them off to meet their maker. She was patient with me, oh so very patient, and she showed me how to clean them out, divide the irises, and then PLANT new flowers.
She had all the confidence in the world of me. Lo and behold, they all grew. None died. The next year they multiplied. I even got brave and planted seeds myself, grew those in little pods and transferred them to my flower beds. To my delight, they grew too. I bought a trellis arch and had morning glories growing on each side and up. They bloomed every day, my little plants – I grew from seed.
Even the container under the pergola was filled with baby’s breath that spilled over in great glory. I had moon flowers, four o’clocks, rosemary, lavender, roses and sweet peas. It was an oasis. A surprise oasis. I was so proud.
When things fell apart, I had to leave my oasis. I left my effort, my hard work, and mostly my love – my beautiful garden.
When we moved into a new house, I did some gardening as well (nothing like before). Elephant ears, oleander, zinnia, mexican heather, and, again, had a gorgeous rose-bush. AGAIN, I had to leave it behind.
I’ve been in the new place two and half years. I have some container plants, but I never made garden beds. I didn’t see the point at a rental, I was sure to leave again.
I never had the strength or fortitude to start all over again. Until this year…..
I fell in love with Jason’s house and empty garden beds. My love was re-kindled. What a blessing it was to me. I toiled and planted with all the spirit I had before.
As winter approaches (well our winter anyway, which doesn’t count but still kills plants), I am remembering a spring of gardening, a summer of blooming.
I am remembering that in our world today, we are a lot like flowers. We are all different and unique. We grow at different rates. Some of us need more care than others. Some of us need protection from bugs and the world around us. Some of us are fragile and easily broken, but some of us are tough, long-lasting. Some of us will die and not return next year, but some will birth new shoots that grow taller and stronger than ever before. But mostly, we all just need love and care to thrive, and grow.
Jason’s gardens, 2009
Impatients and pink stain-glass coleus.
Cooper’s memorial stone, an angel statue that reminds me of Jason’s oldest daughter, more impatients.
My pride and joy – the moonflower. They only bloom at night.
Amazing in the moonlight.
The front bed. Calidiums and impatients.
We each have our own beauty to display. Our beauty may not be pleasing to everyone, but to some it will take their breath away.
Revel in your beauty today, shine through winter, bask in your moments before they are gone.
A flower’s appeal is in its contradictions – so delicate in form yet strong in fragrance, so small in size yet big in beauty, so short in life yet long on effect. ~Adabella Radici
Hope you enjoyed your garden walk as much as I did, live with long lasting effect.
P.S. (I’m feeling like a fourth grader typing that) – I updated my photos on the About Me tab. New for November with some of my favorite photos.