More Than Flowers

 

I have lived my life in the arms of a garden, near and far, past and present. 

It's a beautiful way to live,  and I'm sharing it in this personal memoir . . . .

A garden is many things, but primarily 

it's a place, a place that is so much 

More Than Flowers

Take a trip with me through the history of

 my house & garden, and meet some of the 

gardens and gardeners who have

 influenced and embellished my life.  

Here are a few snippets from my newest book,  

some reflections and sketches 

from a gardening life.

Your morning glories made me cry . . . .

All those years ago, that one straight, sturdy arm reached out from the oak tree and called to me, "Here I can hold a swing....."

The story goes that over a hundred years ago, several members of the original family living in this house contacted typhoid fever from the well......

Book is available right now in my Etsy shop,

@ stonewellgardensart.etsy.com

                           Dreamy Daffodils

Six months ago I opened a bag of "assorted" bulbs and set about digging holes. I blessed each bulb as I settled it into place, and cursed each squirrel that sat nearby twitching his tail in anticipation of a snack. 

I knew that the dry brown orbs were in disguise, wearing jackets of dull, brown paper. I knew that inside each one a thing of beauty was waiting, ready to emerge from a winter nap with all the glory of the sun itself.  

I didn't know then how many different hues of yellow, gold, pink, and cream were on the horizon, or how many sizes and shapes were in store for me. Best of all, I had no idea how wonderful they would smell.

April has arrived, and the happy trumpets are here.

                   Snowdrop Dreaming

As one year ends and another begins, I search for a symbol, and the tiny snowdrop is my choice.. In some parts of the world, the slim green leaves are already making their way through the soil, searching for the light.  Here in the cold of a January Midwest winter, I can only dream of them, tucked into the soil, a few inches beneath the surface, waiting.      

                                   

A  Reality Check

As I read about others beginning to finding snowdrops, I couldn’t resist a little stroll into places in my own garden that had been unvisited for months.  When I knelt down and gently pulled the tattered leaves away from a spot where I remembered planting bulbs last fall, I found no sweet green shoots. Instead, I discovered tiny dried bulbs scattered on top of the frozen soil and unmistakable evidence of marauding squirrels and chipmunks. Devious little diggers all! With a heavy heart, I replaced the fragile blanket of leafy protection and cheered myself with the thought that surely some of the bulbs must have survived. 

It really is too early for me to find snowdrops I suppose, but some deep urging sent me in search of them anyway. So, I will continue to wait.

Waiting is a word I found myself hearing and using a lot this past year. Waiting is what gardeners learn to do. I know that when I finally walk back into the world waiting outside my door in spring, seeds and garden tools in hand, I will be greeted with something new and wonderful again. 

This is a favorite illustration from Sara Midda's book,

In and Out of The Garden

Just as the poppy became a memorial to the casualties of the First World War, so the snowdrops were seen as a symbol of consolation in the midst of another war, 60 years previous, by the British troops fighting in the Crimea. Following the freezing winter of 1855, the soldiers welcomed the flowers with delight, and The Times correspondent William Russell reported," The soil, wherever a flower has the chance of springing up, pours forth a multitude of snowdrops..."

The persistent power of a humble wildflower, refusing to be interrupted, or even displaced, by the brutal power of war, is a concept rich with the symbolism of good over evil. The healing powers of beauty and nature are always stronger than the human hands of destruction. An idea not to be forgotten.

So many years have gone by, each one with its own cold, dark winter. Yet spring has come to every one of them. It will continue to come, announced delicately and quietly by snowdrops the world over, the ones deep in a German forest, and the ones just outside my kitchen window. 

                                    - from Pieces of Us