I came to gardening genetically—growing up in the same house my mother grew up in, I witnessed the true devotion of a gardener to her creation in my grandmother, who gardened the same 1 acre plot for over 50 years. But it is my husband, David, who infected me with the gardening bug more than anyone. He was already gardening when we met—growing tomatoes and kale, marigolds and gladiolas in his back garden. He’s a digger and gardening gives him the excuse to get his hands dirty and play in the soil. Fortunately, I had a latent interest, so we grew together as gardeners. Like so many aspects of our relationship, we were yin and yang to each other—I cook, he does the dishes; I polish, he vacuums—with gardening, he digs, I plant (he plants too, and I occasionally dig). I read all the catalogs in January, make plans about what kind of plants I want to add this year, go to the nursery and explore what’s there. He gets books out of the library on stone—paths, patios—and soil amendments, and building pergolas and arbors. He walks the back yard trying to figure out what other plot of our 1/4 acre lot he can turn into a garden. He knows if he digs, I’ll plant, so we move things around every year. It is truly a shared passion and we enjoy the occasional moment when the projects are mostly wrapped up and the garden is at it’s best—but it’s always a work in progress….
This summer, for the first year ever, we didn’t garden much together. Neither of us knows why, but the summer got away from us. David was dutiful about tending the garden, but by August it was overgrown and by September it was truly a jungle. We had plans, but other things got in the way. Not a tragedy—that’s the joy of a garden—it will mostly survive your neglect for at least a little while. We still have plans, but life is busy, so who knows what will get done.
As a gardener, I suffer from plant envy…I have a friend whose crape myrtle I covet. My mother has three of the most beautiful tree hydrangeas I have ever seen (planted by my grandmother). I walk by houses and look at gardens and stop and ask what kind of roses/daylilies/irises those are….
When we moved to this house we left behind at our old house most of our perennials thinking that the new owner would welcome their colorful parade spring through fall. Two years later she had everything dug up and thrown out (who would throw out plants???) and planted grass. We started over here in a garden with beautiful (if overgrown) specimens and have shaped the yard with new gardens every year. I still walk around and admire gardens and plants…
Which brings me to today. For years I have walked past a neighbor’s yard and admired her garden—the front yard is a sea of flowers with a tiny spot of grass. In the fall, especially, her garden took on a real glow. She had the most beautiful chrysanthemums that bloomed in drifts throughout the front yard—apricot flowers that bloomed a deep peach and faded to a light translucent pink. They were tall and almost shrub-like catching the breezes and that incredible fall light. Last winter, the house went on the market—a small, two-bedroom ranch surrounded by gardens. I wondered about the new owners—there was no one living there for a number of months. Then it became apparent that they were going to tear it down—and dig up the gardens to build a 4,000 square foot house.
David’s a thrifty guy, so it’s not new to him to visit demo sites for all kinds of things he might use “someday” and he’s pretty charming, so he never pays to take things off of people’s hands. We’ve been driving by the house watching for someone to show up so we can talk to them about the gardens and the plants I love.
Last night, a backhoe showed up and this afternoon, David came home to say he had spoken to the owner and we could have the plants. Then he loaded up the mini-van with shovels and tarps and brought back those beautiful drifts of flowers for me, because he knows how much I’ve loved them and neither of us can stand the idea of them being destroyed. So, now we’ll make a home for them in our garden.
We’re not big on gift-giving—we know how we feel about each other and tell each other often enough and isn’t that enough of a gift most of the time?
But my husband’s an unusual romantic—he’s never sent me flowers, but today he brought me armloads of bouquets for years to come—a grand sweeping romantic gesture that he squeezed in between the daily grind of work and family chores.
I am sometimes awed by how very lucky I am.
