A few weeks ago Tom's Nana's irises started to bloom in my yard. Only some of them bloomed this year but I am happy they are surviving. Last Fall I wrote an essay on how I am a sentimental gardener. I thought I would share the portion that has to do with Nana's Irises today.
Every growing season as I turn my face to the blazing sun and plant my favorite plants, many of which are chosen for purely sentimental reasons, I am blissfully happy. Over the past two years I have had the opportunity to landscape my first yard that is all my own. Each summer as my husband hauls bricks for raised beds to my garden and my children dig their hands into the dirt, I teach and live the legacy of gardening. I call my dad and my sister for garden troubleshooting advice. I run my fingers over the lavender and remember my graduation trip to France with my father. I smile at the black-eyed- susan’s in front of an enormous boulder, remembering my mother who taught me the name of these cheerful flowers and is an amateur geologist. She is the reason I don’t mind the plethora of rocks in my yard. She knows about rocks. The three aspens near this spot are also for my mother, a reminder of a hike through a forest of aspens one autumn as a young girl. “This is my favorite tree,” she told me. It promptly became my favorite tree also.
I relish planting memories and heritage. My mother-in-law called me one day last fall and told me she had saved me a bag of iris bulbs from her 97-year-old mother’s garden. My husband’s grandma had been an avid gardener and painter before age took most of her sight and health. Her flower beds had always been envious things, overflowing with big bright blooms. So, of course, I was overjoyed at the offer to plant heirlooms of my favorite flower. I gathered this beautiful knobby dirt-encrusted gift into my gloved hands and set out with my 3-year-old daughter one crisp autumn afternoon to bury some heritage in my yard. I dug and my preschooler placed each bulb carefully. We covered them up and I told her about her Nana Ora. We spent an hour together planting them throughout the yard. A week later I had an unexpected visit from Nana Ora and my mother-in-law. I showed her the general area of her flowers new homes. She can’t see or hear very well so I am unsure of the success of my show and tell. I could, however, tell she mourned her garden. She recently had to move away from her home and all of her flowers, not just the irises, were dug up. “I can’t replace them if they don’t come up,” she told me, bittersweet at her loss. “It’s OK,” I told her. “I planted them near my other irises and I planted them in three different spots. Some of them will survive.” We all know Nana Ora’s days with us are numbered but I like to think her great-granddaughter planted a small portion of her legacy this year. I know that for many future springs we will “ooh” and “ahh” over Nana’s irises and we will remember her. They will become part of a daily walk through the yard where I touch and smell and smile at memories.
I relish planting memories and heritage. My mother-in-law called me one day last fall and told me she had saved me a bag of iris bulbs from her 97-year-old mother’s garden. My husband’s grandma had been an avid gardener and painter before age took most of her sight and health. Her flower beds had always been envious things, overflowing with big bright blooms. So, of course, I was overjoyed at the offer to plant heirlooms of my favorite flower. I gathered this beautiful knobby dirt-encrusted gift into my gloved hands and set out with my 3-year-old daughter one crisp autumn afternoon to bury some heritage in my yard. I dug and my preschooler placed each bulb carefully. We covered them up and I told her about her Nana Ora. We spent an hour together planting them throughout the yard. A week later I had an unexpected visit from Nana Ora and my mother-in-law. I showed her the general area of her flowers new homes. She can’t see or hear very well so I am unsure of the success of my show and tell. I could, however, tell she mourned her garden. She recently had to move away from her home and all of her flowers, not just the irises, were dug up. “I can’t replace them if they don’t come up,” she told me, bittersweet at her loss. “It’s OK,” I told her. “I planted them near my other irises and I planted them in three different spots. Some of them will survive.” We all know Nana Ora’s days with us are numbered but I like to think her great-granddaughter planted a small portion of her legacy this year. I know that for many future springs we will “ooh” and “ahh” over Nana’s irises and we will remember her. They will become part of a daily walk through the yard where I touch and smell and smile at memories.
Do you have any gardening memories?
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