Spring has sprung! Seedlings are popping up!
Until very recently, I hadn’t stopped to consider what kind of philosophy I had on gardening. In fact, I couldn’t see myself as a “gardener” at all. I just tried to maintain the yard on the weekends, doing it as quickly as possible so that I could finish the chore and move on to more fun stuff. But lately, I’m seeing our plants in a whole new light.
Both of my grandmothers were gardeners, with very different approaches to gardening. My father’s mother (Grandma Taylor) was meticulous. Plants were trimmed properly, weeds were eliminated immediately upon appearing, and all plants were arranged by the book. There was a way of doing things right (her way) and there was no tolerance for the wrong way (which was anything that wasn’t her way). As harsh as it may sound, this wasn’t a bad thing; she knew what she wanted, how to do it and executed with the precision of a high tech project manager. Plants either bent to her will or they were eliminated. She chose each plant because they fit with the overall scheme, not for the individual beauty of the plant, per se. I admired her control, her dictionary-like way of reciting the requirements of every plant, and her ability to design truly beautiful borders.
There is one plant, though, that will always remind me of her – the Bird of Paradise. When she moved to California, she fell in love with this spiky, colorful flower. She would mimic the plant by putting her chin on her thumb and point her forefinger outward and sticking out her tongue, something that makes me laugh to think of now, as she so rarely allowed herself to look so silly.
Her structure worked for her. She always had a beautiful yard and took pride in her work. Mind you, most of my memories of her were from when I was quite young, as she moved away for my grandfather’s job later on and I didn’t see her much during my teen years, so my memory is a bit fuzzy. My father and aunt may have a very different opinion about her gardening style!
My mother’s mother (Grandma Bergman) was an avid gardener, but seemed to have the exact opposite approach. She loved every plant she ever saw (if there was an exception, I don’t know it) and could nurse even the weakest seedling back to perfect health in no time. All plants were welcome in her garden! Her garden was continuously evolving, as she was always moving plants over to a sunnier spot, or digging up a new bed for something she’d gotten as a gift from a friend. Her kindness and love seeped right out of the tips of her fingers, into the dirt and surrounded each little plant so that they would grow to being the best they could be. Her raspberries, as a result, were the biggest and sweetest anyone has ever seen. Her peas were enormous and popped just right in your mouth. Her flowers smelled as heavenly as an angel’s breath. Show her some rich black dirt and she’d just about stick her face in it to inhale the rich odor of well-composted soil. Her garden didn’t have the structure or refinement of Grandma Taylor’s garden. Her garden was flowing and ever-changing, maybe even a little “messy” by modern standards.
For years, I thought I was more structured, like Grandma Taylor. I was eager to move into our current home because it had a smaller yard, requiring less maintenance. One of the first things we did was to cover large areas of ground with rocks – decorative, lifeless spaces that looked good but required no/little maintenance. This lowered our water consumption and gave us more free time, which we felt was a good thing.
Today, though, I’m not so sure. Maybe it’s just spring fever, or maybe its just because Grandma Bergman passed away last September and I’m craving some connection to her – some way to see the world as she saw it. Regardless of why, though, I am feeling a connection to the earth that I haven’t had before. I want to dig. I want to plant things – all things! I want to see things grow and watch the daily changes. I just planted my first very own garden (Hubby has always been the primary gardener, planting and maintaining our veggie gardens, with only minimal help from me). I am responsible for these little lives, these tiny plants, that will grow and bloom and provide us with amazing food (I hope). I want to plant roses – hearty, heavily-scented Old Roses. I walk the dog and find myself eyeing my neighbors yards for planting ideas and for opportunities to take a clipping. I’m reading gardening books in my spare time.
In the spirit of Grandma Taylor, I researched and mapped out any changes to the yard for weeks in advance. I never risked bringing home an unknown plant and resisted every urge to be spontaneous. So now, so very unlike “me”, I am just doing it – only the barest planning, no grand scheme, no particular coordination. I’m free! I’m free of my own rules and limitations! I’m going to plant what I want, when I want. And I’ll do my best to honor the plant’s needs, of course, but I’m going to stress less over the end result and enjoy the process more. I’m betting a learn a lot more this way, too.
All in all, my hope is to follow my current passion for Grandma Bergman’s gardening ways to balance out the tendencies I have toward Grandma Taylor’s methods. I want to be precisely spontaneous. I want organized chaos. I don’t want to be so serious about our yard; I want a little fun and to enjoy it more. Regardless of what kind of gardener I turn out to be, I’m enjoying being on the path. Really, isn’t it all about the journey? I think I finally appreciate that now.
Strolling your path and smelling the flowers along the way – it’s a little bit of bliss
Tags: Garden, Grandmother, Home, Personal, Plant, roses, Sowing, Vegetable
This is just right! I got to know both women – and you! – and you’ve captured their spirit and their diversity of thought. Both of your grandmothers would be so touched by this. And I think your idea of “organized chaos”, of planting what you want when you want, will suit you to a “T”. And I get to watch your garden grow! Your descriptions of the old roses is getting me to think about planting one or two in our yard, too. (Don’t tell Dad just yet! lol)