She must have overheard me. The plan was to dig her up and send her to a new home. After four annual performance reviews of 0/10, I had no choice. I had given this gal every opportunity to shine. I fed her. I watered her. I talked to her. The problem was, I wasn’t the only one interested in her. There were others who came to see her - sometimes in the night when she least expected visitors.
At first I couldn’t understand her inability to produce. She looked healthy. She sprouted an abundance of leaves each spring. She seemed well-rooted. She had a prominent position in my beloved heart-shaped garden, in the middle, just below the V of the heart. There were others who would have killed for her spot. After the first year, I chalked it up to the fact that she had yet to establish herself and her weakness radiated an energy that said, “Go ahead, do what you will with me - sink your teeth into my tender buds - eat me.” And so they did. Every last one. They defrocked her like swarm of locusts clearing a farmer’s crop. I decided to keep her on for another season. A second chance to strut her stuff, come September. It was one of the reasons I invited her into my heart - her habit of blooming late in the summer when most other beauties have come and gone. Besides, she had come from good stock - all the way from my brother’s garden in Kelowna. She was a proven winner and I always find it meaningful to grow things that my loved ones have shared. It gives them credibility and a little story to tell. They have a past and come recommended. That, and the sentimentality attached to treasured specimens from our favourite people. Any gardener will tell you, their best plants generally come from other gardeners. They have already been taken care of and grown up until it came time to be divided or pruned. This was her heritage and she was carefully transported home in my suitcase that first year, dampened paper towels wrapped tenderly around her roots and placed in a plastic bag, a piece of twine knotted in a bow at her neck, a few leaves poking out the top of the bag so she could breathe. The second year was more disastrous than the first. By September, not only was she budless, but most of her leaves were stripped away as well. I was verklempt. She stood nearly naked, her scrawny trunk and branches raw with embarrassment at having let me down yet again. Her sad state gave her an air of profound vulnerability, so I told her I would give her another chance and proceeded to give her a few extra layers of fallen leaves - a warm blanket for the winter. She would need it. The spring of 2020 arrived and so did Sharon. That was her name. Shame on me for not mentioning it earlier. More accurately, Rose…of Sharon. I was alone here at Kyeema North that spring, so my propensity for talking to my plants became somewhat of a worry to those who knew me and loved me. Had I lost the plot? No, I had not and besides, I have had good luck talking to plants in the past and this girl needed all the help she could get. As I raked away the leafy winter blanket I coaxed her and caressed her leaves, so determined was I to see her succeed. By bloom time, like most of the world around her, she blamed the virus for everything. Flowering would be delayed by another year. Her excuse was a bit lame but who could fault her logic? Weren’t we all feeling a bit like hiding? The 2021 bloom season will forever remain a mystery. She may or may not have shown her true colours but I was not here to see it. From what I heard, she tried to hide behind the mass of weeds that took over my heart bed that year as we were separated by oceans and thousands of miles and this time we both blamed the virus. By the time we returned to Kyeema North, gardening season was over and Sharon was the last thing on my mind. I did notice her trying to slink from my sight amongst the ragged and spent Iris leaves each time I passed, hoping I would just forget about her dismal performance yet again, but I had her number. “You, my pretty, YOU have one more year,” I admonished her and hastily dumped a wheelbarrow full of leaves over her for one more cold snowy Eastern Ontario winter. If she didn’t wake up in the spring, I wasn’t going to care, nor would I try to revive her. We were all but finished. By June, I could see I was flogging a dead horse. I called my friend Peg and asked if she would be interested in adopting Sharon. I had dangled little mesh bags of stinky Irish Spring on her feeble branches to help her out but she clearly was not happy. I would dig her up in the fall and take her to her new home where she would be loved and safe from her predators. It was nearly a fait accompli until…. …today, as I strolled over to consider the chore ahead of me in the heart garden, (which overall had not performed well this year), my jaw dropped. There it was. ONE lone flower in full blossom. She was radiant in the morning sun, tiny crystal drops of dew resting on her pinky-mauve petals, her stamen standing proud and firm, begging me to notice. I swear I heard trumpets or a choir singing Hallelujah, or maybe it was just my heart growing three sizes like the Grinch on Christmas morning - whatever it was, it can only be described as pure unadulterated joy. Never has a blossom in my garden given me such a thrill. “My God, Sharon,” I said as I stooped to admire her perfection. “Finally. You’re here.” For a second I thought I saw her blush. How she had done it, I’ll never know. Perhaps in the moment some hungry doe or fawn was leaning in, the slightest breeze had caused the stink of the Irish Spring to drift up its nostrils, changing its mind. Or, she kept tight in the bud until the very last minute, disguising herself under a leaf - so determined to show me she could do it. And what had made me choose this day to look into the heart garden after weeks of ignoring it? Did she know I needed a bit of cheering up? I did. And it worked. The power of one flower and patience and a bit of serendipity. How about that?
4 Comments
Margot
9/10/2022 05:07:31 pm
Love this and I always loved getting plants from you and forward them to others. Remember the obedience plant?
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Deb
9/12/2022 10:57:34 am
I certainly do Margot - will have to see about those next spring!
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Peggy
9/12/2022 10:56:53 am
So…..I take it Sharon will be staying on the north shore for another few seasons? I was looking forward to welcoming her to this end of the lake!!
Reply
Deb
9/12/2022 10:58:01 am
Currently undecided. LOL!
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DEBunked.I see nature as a metaphor for life. Please join me on this journey down the garden path as I explore life through story - a shovel in one hand and a camera in the other. Archives
May 2023
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