As I left the house for my walk this morning, the scent of the Spring garden filled my senses. It was just barely daybreak. I could smell the roses, mostly, and hints of other flowers – the thyme is blooming, and some of the salad greens are bolting. Their wee delicate flowers are not particularly numerous, but they do have a lovely delicate fragrance that mingles with the scent of roses in the wedge where the front of the house meets the side of the garage. I love that spot, and often simply stand or sit there, breathing in the scents of the flowers in my garden. Later, when it is warmer, the sunshine will bring out the savory spicy scent of the curry bush. Delicious.
When I returned home, the scent of roses, fresh mown lawns, and spring breezes greeted me. I smiled at the roses blooming along the walk. The theme of my garden is “love and memory”, and I’ve tried to select the roses based on two criteria; will they do well in my climate, and are they a good fit based on their name (and to a lesser degree I consider their appearance, growth habit, and scent). Each rose in my garden has its own character. Some are related to each other. Some are apparently incredibly tasty (to the deer that wander through), others are less so. Some are quite thorny, though I’ve tended to avoid that painful challenge mostly. Nearly all of them are very fragrant.
Any time I am in my garden, I find my thoughts wandering to love, and fond memories of friends, loves, and life with my Traveling Partner. It’s a lovely way to step away from the routine, and one of the most delightful advantages of working from home; I can take my break in the garden.
Every visit to the garden is a brief moment of rest, even on the days when I’m in the garden laboring over this or that (usually pulling weeds, of which there often seem many! lol). When I was a kid, gardening seemed to me rather more like “labor” than “rest” pretty reliably, and I faced my share of that work with considerable reluctance and some resentment – I could be playing! Wandering! Reading! Funny how my love of my garden developed in adulthood – and before I even had a “real garden”, still limited to plants in pots on rental balconies or patios. I smile, thinking about my very first roses – they were already in the landscape of the first home I ever owned, and I frankly tried to kill them (unsuccessfully). I was so impressed with their robust resilience, they were ever after a metaphor (for me) of beauty and survival and strength. I have, since then, always owned roses. Some in pots traveled with me over decades of living. When we moved in here, my oldest rose, with me longest, was Nozomi – which I’d had with me since 1993.
My garden-as-a-metaphor delights my heart as well as my senses. The three roses planted in memory of my recently departed Dear Friend are unlikely to bloom this year. I plant only roses that are on their own roots (no grafted roses), and they are often quite “young” when they are planted. I try to give them a good start on building a strong root system, and I sometimes pinch off buds to prevent flowering the first year. That hasn’t been necessary for these three – they are not yet trying to bloom. I’m eager to see how they do as they mature. So far, “Celestial Night”, “Rainbow Happy Trails”, and “Whimsy” are strong and lush. I selected them with my Dear Friend in mind, to always remind me of her humor, her joy, and how she inspired me to live life eagerly and joyfully. She taught me much, and loved me dearly. I miss her greatly, but in the garden we are together, again, at least in spirit.
When I first moved to California, many years ago and quite early in my relationship with roses, I had the good fortune to meet Ralph Moore in person, at his rose nursery in Visalia. He taught me a lot about miniature roses, and as I was still living in rentals at that time this was useful knowledge; minis fit in pots much more easily than larger climbers, vast sprawling ramblers, or large old garden roses. One of my first minis was “Sweet Chariot”, although the one in my garden now is not the one I originally purchased, which I rather foolishly planted in the ground in a community garden plot. It became so well-grown in that spot I couldn’t repot it at all, and I left it thriving there. It was some years after Ralph Moore’s death before I was able to locate a nursery that had Sweet Chariot for sale – but it was one I sought eagerly for all those years.
…There are metaphors buried in these details…
I sip my coffee and think about the garden, the roses, love, and memory. There are far worse ways to spend my time. In the garden, I’m often able to “let things go” and “catch up with myself” in a way I sometimes find difficult to do otherwise. Other times, the garden is simply the pure joy of being, in an uncomplicated way, surrounded by flowers, herbs, and veggies, listening to the breeze and the chirps of curious robins checking things out and looking for a tasty bite. Sure, I could find these experiences elsewhere – we find or make our own happy places – this just happens to be my way. My path. My garden.
…Where do you find your joy?..
There’s work to do in the garden (there always is). Weeds to pull. Bolting greens to pinch back. Peas to harvest for supper, later. Roses to deadhead, prune, and train. Tender herbs to pick and dry in the sunshine. Flowers to admire. It’s not a free ride, this sort of joy – it takes care and time and attention to cultivate a beautiful productive garden. There are choices to be made – what varieties? What vegetables to plant, and when? Does this or that spot need some kind of … object? A gazing ball? A wind chime? What will add a moment of wonder? What will feed the bees and butterflies?
I find the garden a useful metaphor. There are verbs involved. There are opportunities to succeed, to fail, and to begin again. It’s not about perfection so much as sufficiency, beauty, and balance. There are aesthetic concerns, and also practical concerns. There is learning what is “enough” and what is more than I can manage on my own. There is learning to ask for help, and becoming more self-sufficient through practice. There is love, and there is memory – and it’s all in my garden.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a lovely day to be in the garden. It’s a lovely day to begin again.
Evening Light 