The Delights of Gardening

When I was young, nobody could have convinced me that gardening was fun. I saw too many people sweating in the process. I was young and vain, so sweating was not high on my list of things to do. I have always loved to pick flowers and arrange them, but somehow I never made the logical connection of growing them first.

When I fell in love with my big old house, I was given the gift of a wonderful, rich dirt, well established yard, but I still didn’t get it. I was not born to the soil like my friend Patsy Sumrall, who would ride down the road and wax rhapsodic “beautiful dirt” in the freshly plowed fields. To me, they were just fields we passed on our way to go somewhere shopping.

It was, however, my friendship with Patsy and Cindy Neilson that planted the seed of my becoming a born again gardener. I don’t use the term born again lightly. I know how many fine Christians use the term to set themselves apart from the unwashed masses who have not yet been saved. I do understand, though, how it feels to have the kind of sudden revelation they experience. They have theirs with Jesus. Mine came this time with his mother, Nature.

I must admit, I do feel a religious experience when I walk out in my yard (garden to the rest of the world) “while the dew is still on the roses”. My garden is a loose, evolving creation. It is always changing depending on what is blooming now or what out of my various plant experiments that decided to live. If everything I had planted over time had decided to live, now my yard would be a jungle. Apparently not all plants like it here in my yard. I have developed two philosophies that I garden by. One is from my friend, Gloria Clarke, who says “ I don’t like them if they don’t like me!” about the things she plants. The other is I practice survival of the fittest with the plants. If they need petting, they can die in peace.

I tried a few roses early on with great disappointment. They were like the girls in high school who thought they were the prettiest, so they felt the need to be pampered because they were special. It was the same with teachers’ children in you r class. I never cared for either one. I didn’t have any patience with roses either. Anything that has to be sprayed and fertilized and regularly watered needs a home with somebody else. It reminds me of that country song “Here’s a quarter, find someone who cares!”. Roses and I were not soul mates. A few of them live and prospered in spite of my lackadaisical attitude.

My whole view of roses changed though, when I saw the P Allen Smith Garden Show about antique roses and attended an antique rose seminar at the Alabama Rural Heritage Center. I discovered the survivor roses. These are the roses our ancestors brought with them when they left civilization and headed west. They stuck the cuttings in potatoes to keep the cutting moist. They have survived at old home places throughout the South and ,of all places, the Natchez Cemetery. I visited Natchez twice and got some cuttings both times. The B&B where I stayed said that for gardeners wanting the cuttings, there was a don’t ask, don’t tell policy about getting the cuttings. Actually, I think the cemeteries know that by allowing the small cuttings taken off, they are getting pruning for free.

I took along friends to keep the car running while I snipped the cuttings. I had bought paper towels and zip lock bags to put the cuttings in until I got home. I have had about 6 different varieties from there to live. I have also bought a goodly number of antique rose plants from Petals From the Past. There is some truth to the old adage about gardening –The first year it sleeps, the second year it creeps. The third year it leaps. That has certainly been true of the antique roses. They are drought tolerant, they don’t need spraying. They are happy with neglect. I think that between antique and native plants, I have found my gardening niche. If you happen to be in rural Southwest Alabama, come by and see my garden. I’m like a proud parent showing off the new baby. I am also finding gardening friends who feel the same way. Gardeners speak a common language. If you speak gardening, you are welcome!