A garden this year
Amazing the things you forgot you wanted--it seems I am still, after all, my father's child. I have a garden, and besides the vegetables, I have been buying flowers. Having a new place, having no one else to worry about, I have craved flowers to grow and bloom. As much as counter space is at a premium here, from the first foray into the garden shop at Fred Meyer for an early sale, I am cherishing my little red begonia.
My father used to plant begonias, and lilies, dahlias, and delphiniums. Permanent plantings were azaleas and rhododendrons; native dogwood and mountain laurel were already on the property. We would all load into the station wagon together and each pick out a color for pansies every summer. I was always torn between the deep red and the deep, dark purple, or the purple and gold, and happily most all the available colors came home with us, between all of our individual choices.
I'm not going to try to keep up with what my dad used to grow when I was younger and helping him, but I could not resist the spell of a small azalea bush my very first foray into 'what do we need for this house,' you know, like curtain rods and a new utility knife, and $4.95 for something of my very own to bloom along with the camellias which were out. I tried a couple of azalea bushes at the other house, and they did not survive. One succumbed to a bad winter, and one was mowed down by a kind neighbor doing our front lawn, and because the weeds were high (neglect) in the supposed flower bed he took a helpful swipe over them, and the bitty little invisible azalea was no more. I have set out to reverse the assumption that I am the kiss of death to plants. I bought fuschia starts, and they're thriving, one has a first flower about to open and I can hardly wait. Fuschias are entirely new in my world.
It's not that I didn't care, but I was busy paying attention to children, and people, and the silent things in pots just didn't come to mind during my days. With my physical limitations, I am not going to be a master gardener, spending hours kneeling over flower or vegetable beds, and the envy of all who survey. It's not gonna happen, and that's okay.
But I find that I do want to grow something. Maybe it's compensation for the empty nest. Now that we have given up the home in which we raised our family, maybe it's subliminal grieving, a little bit. Looking for an outlet. Craving something lovely. And we have always grown tomatoes, nothing else tastes the same.
Saturday the parks department had its annual greenhouse vegetable sale. Actually, their big one, including flowers, is in two more weeks, but a neighbor mentioned that their was such a program, which we were not aware of, and I went and bought four different exotic varieties of tomatoes, a sugar pumpkin, and a golden pepper. One type I bought solely because I kept hearing people around me say how good they were, a variety called Chocolate Cherry. The tomatoes were huge, two feet tall; I heard someone say they were twice as big as last year--staff answer was good growing conditions-- in a gallon container for $3.50 apiece. I have already put sugar peas and potatoes in the ground, and have zucchini and beets trying to sprout in the kitchen. I found swiss chard seeds and am ready to sow those. My 7x7 plot will be happily full with things we really love to eat, and feasible for us to tend.
The missionaries came last week and turned over the ground, and came back to dig the holes today and plant those big tall tomatoes. I promised them that I would share when we had fruit, I hope that at least one of them will still be here.
My father used to plant begonias, and lilies, dahlias, and delphiniums. Permanent plantings were azaleas and rhododendrons; native dogwood and mountain laurel were already on the property. We would all load into the station wagon together and each pick out a color for pansies every summer. I was always torn between the deep red and the deep, dark purple, or the purple and gold, and happily most all the available colors came home with us, between all of our individual choices.
I'm not going to try to keep up with what my dad used to grow when I was younger and helping him, but I could not resist the spell of a small azalea bush my very first foray into 'what do we need for this house,' you know, like curtain rods and a new utility knife, and $4.95 for something of my very own to bloom along with the camellias which were out. I tried a couple of azalea bushes at the other house, and they did not survive. One succumbed to a bad winter, and one was mowed down by a kind neighbor doing our front lawn, and because the weeds were high (neglect) in the supposed flower bed he took a helpful swipe over them, and the bitty little invisible azalea was no more. I have set out to reverse the assumption that I am the kiss of death to plants. I bought fuschia starts, and they're thriving, one has a first flower about to open and I can hardly wait. Fuschias are entirely new in my world.
It's not that I didn't care, but I was busy paying attention to children, and people, and the silent things in pots just didn't come to mind during my days. With my physical limitations, I am not going to be a master gardener, spending hours kneeling over flower or vegetable beds, and the envy of all who survey. It's not gonna happen, and that's okay.
But I find that I do want to grow something. Maybe it's compensation for the empty nest. Now that we have given up the home in which we raised our family, maybe it's subliminal grieving, a little bit. Looking for an outlet. Craving something lovely. And we have always grown tomatoes, nothing else tastes the same.
Saturday the parks department had its annual greenhouse vegetable sale. Actually, their big one, including flowers, is in two more weeks, but a neighbor mentioned that their was such a program, which we were not aware of, and I went and bought four different exotic varieties of tomatoes, a sugar pumpkin, and a golden pepper. One type I bought solely because I kept hearing people around me say how good they were, a variety called Chocolate Cherry. The tomatoes were huge, two feet tall; I heard someone say they were twice as big as last year--staff answer was good growing conditions-- in a gallon container for $3.50 apiece. I have already put sugar peas and potatoes in the ground, and have zucchini and beets trying to sprout in the kitchen. I found swiss chard seeds and am ready to sow those. My 7x7 plot will be happily full with things we really love to eat, and feasible for us to tend.
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| The beet seeds are germinating--success! Just waiting on the squash. |
The missionaries came last week and turned over the ground, and came back to dig the holes today and plant those big tall tomatoes. I promised them that I would share when we had fruit, I hope that at least one of them will still be here.
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