As I write this, the Hyacinth is sprouting in the front and back yard. This, after a long, bitter, winter.
I have a beautiful garden thanks to my Consort, John. He is an expert with flowers and plants, as was my Father, which is probably why I have been with him for 26 years—this sharing of a love of Nature that I knew so well from the time that I was a Child.
This past harsh winter, I was glad about the Pines, Cedar Trees and Bushes that circle our home for adding green to what would be a bleak landscape. The Hawthorne tree, beside the Pine at the side of our Plantation Home by the river, is a show-off in the Spring, when the buds open up, smoky pink. I see that John’s canvas of garden design goes beyond the boundaries of a traditional flower bed—it includes everything the eye can see, from the trees he had immediately pruned when we moved into this house, to the horizon line, and then to the sky itself.
The beauty of John’s garden from April to late Fall, involves a different placement of blooms: delicate brushstrokes at first evolving into a lawn of Tulips, Narcissus, Daffodils, Columbine and Bleeding Hearts and Iris; then a wild, untamed environment in the summer with Peonies, Hydrangeas, Hostas, Cosmos, Lillies and so much more. In the Fall, Cone Flowers, Giant Marigolds arrive—their colour like sunshine and their scent, so fresh. All of it captures a sense of peace and in Winter, I have the loveliest memory of it.
Spring is the time of year when I watch John start gardening once more. He is happiest wielding garden clippers. Part of his nature is grumpiness, but after seeing him out there all these years, I’ve come to believe that I was wrong, he is easy out there and optimistic.
My eyes wander to the side-yard which he has French-Drained and large pieces of driftwood lean against the fence. John dragged those up from the river. He has luck out there too, finding old porcelain and an ancient rock that has a face carved into it. Another has what looks like the letter Z.
My Father would love John for this. He gardened for years. I found him aloof, but I now realize he was contemplative—coming home from work he’d head straight outdoors wearing pleated suit-pants, an undershirt and a Fedora. He said that he was never religious, but I think he was out there in the garden talking to God.
For me, Gardening is a way of life even though I don’t do it. I am the enjoyer of the artists who have given me a garden of flowers to delight in. No Rose is intentionally clipped in mine—John won’t do that; unless a rainstorm takes one down, and then he’ll put that Flower in a small vase. I am never without a plant or something growing in our house.
Light, beauty and fragrance are always around. This provides stability in all times of weather. When the light hits the branches of the trees, or snow falls upon them, the love of flowers, plants, trees and shrubs provide comfort through grief and sorrow—soothing it to cope with loss.
And now, it’s another Spring. The large windows of our home have opened through all the changing seasons. This one is particularly joyous because the hundreds of Tulip bulbs that John planted are about to come up and this year, our Garden will be the most beautiful it’s ever been.
A Grackle flew over the flower beds and up to the porch today and squawked through the Balustrade at John in amusement. Seems he has another Admirer.
