Originally crafted in April of 2013, this story was inspired by the discovery of my mom’s garden journal.
It’s mid April in Minnesota. Usually, even this far north, spring has started to make an appearance.
Not this year. It snowed last week. We got freezing rain a few days ago. And the grass can barely be seen. It’s depressing. And everyone is over it.
April is usually the time when I feel most hopeful and ambitious about making my small backyard into a beautiful garden. This is the year! I will plant some flowers, maybe some vegetables and herbs too! Unfortunately, my ambition doesn’t last too long.
Even before the first trip to the garden store, I’m overwhelmed by possible options and the unique challenges that my yard offers: nightly visits from raccoons, aggressive and territorial squirrels that often stare me down when I try to stay outside for too long, and a lawn that has big dirt patches, tons of creeping charlie and a noxious weed named Japanese Knotweed that is virtually impossible to kill.
By June, my enthusiasm has waned and I’ve resigned myself to a backyard that’s not bad, it’s really private and offers great shade, but that doesn’t have a garden. And that’s not that inviting.
My mom was a great gardener. Her parents were great gardeners. Probably their parents were great gardeners too. Before my mom got really sick, I used to call her up every spring to get her advice about what to plant in my backyard and how to deal with the critters and the weeds. She always had great advice, lecturing me on the relative merits of annuals versus perennials, the best plants for low-light and the various ways to deter critters without poisoning them. She was always incredibly knowledgable, and enthusiastic…and patient. She knew, I think, that most of the advice that she gave me would never be taken.
You see, I am not a gardener. I think I lack the temperament. I’m not patient enough. I get overwhelmed by the planning and the sheer amount of details that often go into creating a garden. I can’t ever remember the names of common plants (my knowledge ends at hostas) and which plants work best and where. And I lack the basic skills/techniques that are needed for weeding, watering and making sure plants don’t shrivel up or get eaten up.
But, I have a great appreciation for the Gardener, especially the Gardener Artist who envisions their garden as a living canvas for creating and displaying beauty. Before my mom went back to school in her 50s and earned an art degree in fiber design, gardening, along with sewing, interior decorating, calligraphy, and cross-stitching, were some of the primary ways she practiced and expressed her art.
We always had gardens at the many houses we lived in, from Michigan to North Carolina to Virginia to Iowa. I remember our garden in West Des Moines, Iowa the best. Partly because I was older, in high school, and because it was the most elaborate and biggest of her many gardens. But, also because it’s better documented: in the early 90s, my dad video-taped my mom giving a tour of her Iowa garden for her parents.
I love watching my mom in this video. She’s really happy and confident and passionate about her garden. And her knowledge of the various plants is impressive. I like remembering her this way. Having spent so many years being haunted by images of her in the final months before she died, when she could barely talk or move, I need these moving images of her in her glory. They comfort me. They inspire me.
On this April afternoon there is still snow on the ground, but the sun is shining, the birds are chirping and spring is coming. Maybe I should start planning a garden. I won’t be as ambitious as my mom was. Maybe just a few new plants and herbs that look pretty. Yes, this time it might work.