Gardenias

A meditation from the garden

I am not a great gardener: to begin with.

There is no doubt whatever about that. Mind! I don’t mean to say that I know nothing of the ways with soil, sun, and the satisfaction of healthy plants. But don’t imagine from what follows that my little plot of earth on the planet is bursting with lush vegetation or profuse blossoms. Yet, I have at least one claim to fame – or at least one part of my front garden that makes me smile – the gardenia bushes.

How lovely the aromatic greeting is when you walk out the front door mid-morning or approach it from the walk any summer’s day! The heady fragrance doesn’t require a dip to the bloom to infuse your olfactory senses with its delight, rather it rises from the plant to your nose like a rebellious antithesis of smoke from a fire.  The first week of summer vacation (about mid-May in Alabama) the glistening white blossoms begin to unfurl, and I squeal with delight like a little girl, making sure everyone in the family comes and appreciates their beautiful contribution to existence.

The mention of the gardenias brings me back to the point I started from. There is no doubt that I am not a great gardener. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate.

When we moved into our beautifully trimmed brick home ten years ago, two dreadfully kept cedars adorned either side of our front steps. Their aroma was fine, but the prickly profusion was not the mood I wanted to set for guests upon arrival. They seemed like two grumpy old men you are afraid to approach because they might pinch you. So, in the inaugural spring of our residence, they were the first to go! In their place, I planted foot-high gardenia bushes on each side and held my breath watering them generously into the soil. Bit by bit, they enlarged their territory and thrived most summers… that is, they thrived for thieves.

Yes, thieves! Little did I realize that the gardenia’s scent and graceful petals attract not only well-deserving bees, but also devious little dogs. My dogs. Gardenia flowers smell, look, and taste wonderful to these canines. My gardenias bloomed abundantly, but if I didn’t get out at first light before the dogs were let out, they were never mine to enjoy.

Halley and Comet, our rescue pup and labrador, considered them a sweet snack rather than a fragrant friend. They paid no mind to my freshly planted annuals either and trampled the daffodils in March. Putting up a “No Dogs Allowed” sign didn’t help. My pokey not-so-little puppies ignored my pleas. There was only one solution… protect my patch of plants with an invisible force field.

I dreamed of it for a long time and this year it became a glorious reality. The invisible fence man came, saw the situation, and conquered the canine assault. It didn’t take long for the fiends of fine florals to realize that when I held up the mulch rake and authoritatively stamped it before me on the sidewalk that morning in April, I meant it when I declared they SHALL NOT PASS.

(Don’t worry, they still have the entire backyard for frolicking.)

So! This summer, each morning after my kids depart for swim practice, I push the front door open and take a deep draft of the dreamy scent: bloom after bloom bursting forth. Hark! the herald angels sing.

Yet, now that my dogs don’t devour them for dessert, I have noticed something about the flower: its life is brief. Each morning, I am greeted with delicious new blossoms, but also with withered versions of their younger selves. I sniff a few of the fresh white flowers and snip off the deceased. Crumpled in my hand, I inhale them one last time before tossing them under the bush to decay.

Sniff, snip, and surrender.

It has become a habit this June.

… each bloom, a sweet and swift token of joy.

This habit is a reminder of brevity to be sure. Last summer, I was preparing to embrace a new role as mother-in-law/love to my son’s sweet wife, this year I am preparing to embrace a new role as Nana to their first child! Last year, I was getting ready to tutor my second son’s senior class, this year I am getting ready to release him to college life. Last year, I was ordering books for my youngest daughter’s last year of elementary school at home, this year I’m ordering books for her first year of junior high with our co-op….you get the idea. And I would bet you have similar comparisons of this summer to the last yourself. Each day we delight in new blossoms of fresh experiences and snip off the situations that have withered.

Some days I dwell on the joy of new things.  Some days I sink a bit into the melancholy of things passed. But I believe each emotion lends deeper meaning to the other, so I am doing my best to embrace the rise and fall of these feelings as a rhythm to my days.

I am not a great gardener. But I am growing. I am learning to rid my home of what I find prickly and unwelcome… to be patient as better things grow… to protect the lovely gifts of life from being gobbled by thieves of so many distractions… and to form habits of watering and welcoming new things amid letting go of withered seasons. In this way, I hope to become as good a gardener, as good a friend, and as good a woman as my good old home can know.