Spring - the garden beds are gone but the memory lingers on

Today I bought a geranium plant. In the scheme of things and being that this is Spring, it's not an unusual thing to do. Condo living is great but it's missing one vital component. I'm missing my garden.

While shopping at the supermarket, the front of the store was devoted to wooden display racks filled to capacity with annuals and hanging plants. Since it was an unusually warm sunny day, people were feeling the need to get down and dirty and feel the earth beneath their fingers. I know exactly how they feel.  Somehow, placing the plant on my still empty balcony gave me a feeling of kinship with gardeners and brought back memories of my garden.

Let me state for the record that my garden was not a display out of House and Gardens. Far from it. In fact there were more deaths than there were survivors. The wine-colored iris's growing in a bed on the side of the house could always be counted in the survivor column. They were my pride and joy because they required little care. Neighbors and people passing by frequently asked the secret in acquiring the magnificent display. Nothing - absolutely nothing other than separating the roots periodically. Mother Nature did the rest.

It's those rose bushes that tug at my heart. At this time of the year, I would be pondering whether the two remaining hybrid teas made it through the winter and/or whether they should be pulled. They were frequently in the in-between stage making a decision on their viability difficult. I've always been of the belief that roses in particular make slaves of their human caretakers having to primp, preen and fuss over them and in the end, they thank us by croaking. It was always touch and go and in a good year they would give me three roses each. In a bad year, they were afflicted black mold on their leaves but I loved them dearly. They are frequently in my thoughts.

I miss digging my fingers in the earth and feeling the soil sift through my fingers while preparing a home for new flowers and annuals. Our front lawn was composed primarily of dandelion leaves, which gave it a green shade and in dandelion season, the lawn was a mass of yellow flowers. It was an un-winable war trying to erradicate them and in the end, we conceded victory. In retrospect, perhaps we should have tried making dandelion wine or dandelion salad, since dandelion leaves sell at the supermarket. Had they asked us, we would have gladly donated ours for free.

It's been five years since we sold our house but the pull of the garden still seduces my senses. It's obvious to onlookers that we were gardeners since we embelish our balcony with hanging plants in addition to filling planters that we had brought with us, with annuals. There is no way I could part with my "pussycat" planter with the smiling black cat peeking out from behind trailing flowers. Neither could I leave the hand-made wooden planter behind given to me by my next door neighbor. In the end, you takes your planting as you get it. Meanwhile, there's always the geranium.

"In joy or sadness, flowers are our constant friends."

- Kozuko Okakura

Once a gardener - always a gardener

In as much as a move to condo living is a welcome change Spring is the time of year that I miss my garden most. Normally, I would be joining the throngs of gardening enthusiasts at the garden centres stocking up on top soil and supplementing their gardening tool collection. It’s always surprising, at least to me, how people are willing to pay for – well – dirt in the desire to enhance their chances of a visually spectacular floral display and vegetable output. When you think about it, there is dirt virtually everywhere you look but gardeners have to have special dirt. Drop by any centre and an entire section is filled with bags of top soil of every type and purpose. Thinking back, adding top soil worked for all the gardeners in our neighbourhood but for whatever reason, disappeared for us with the first rain. There was also the reoccurring problem with grub attacks that didn’t help the situation. See what I mean? Once a gardener – always a gardener.

The question as to how we enjoy condo living is inevitably followed by, “do you miss your garden?” My stock answer is yes and no. Definitely miss the experience of getting down and dirty with my hands in the soil and no to having to mow the grass. Never told anyone until now but dandelions supplemented the sparse blades of grass and gave the lawn the green shade it wouldn’t have otherwise had.

Conversations with friends and acquaintances who are gardening enthusiasts enjoy regaling me with their plans for the coming season. I

“So how do you like condo living?” actually means, how could you give up your garden followed by, “we could never give up our house. We love growing things.”

Hey! I always did and still do. The change is in the way to grow things. Actually, can’t really call it gardening any more. We’re plant raising now. Upon moving into our condo in early summer four years ago, we purchased two Grecian-looking urns that were filled to over-flowing with a wide variety of annuals. The end result was nice and in an attempt to be organized, we even kept the plastic information sticks as a reminder which plants flourished. Unfortunately, the following year they were nowhere to be found and it’s still guess work. Some things don’t change.

Have to admit, though, I do still love looking at the seed displays and mentally select the species that appeal to me. There is the occasional conversation with strangers at the displays but the discussion stops at one point when the talk turns to flower beds and veggies. Seems that container gardening doesn’t make it with some people. It’s also at this time of the year that I experience pangs of loneliness for my two surviving rose bushes, a hybrid tea and a floribunda, whose life force always hovered between life and death. In a good year, they produced two roses each. Wonder if they’re still in the land of the living or tease the new owners into believing they’re worth the trouble. Reality returns with the quick reminder of the frequent visits to the composter and the plethora of plants that received last rites.

In the choosing flowers, we still have differing views on the selection process for the window boxes and urns, centering on species and color schemes. I like to stick to two main colors while my husband prefers a wide variety of...everything. The truth is that he’s color-blind and is in denial.

“Nature doesn’t pick color schemes,” he will assert in defence of his choices, “so why should we?”

Last year, though, we did agree to stick to three main shades. Three is better than eight – let’s leave it at that. At present we’re in discussions focusing on the cultivation of tomatoes in a pot and whether or not there is a space for them, physically and aesthetically. Once that issue is settled, I’ll broach the subject of herbs. The barbeque still needs a corner.

(Paintings courtesy of yours truly, are available for purchase)