Inspiring Gardeners
The first inspiring gardener was our elderly landlord in Hopewell Junction, NY. He hoed his huge vegetable garden every day. We enjoyed talking garden talk while watching his plants grow. In Columbus, Ohio, we were neighbors with our priest, an amazing gardener whose flowers decorated the altar every Sunday. His hibiscus were the size of platters! From him I learned about pass-along plants. Many of my gardens since have been started with pass-along plants from friends’ gardens. And when I move, I leave a plant behind with a friend.
With every move my gardener’s library filled with books and dreams for bigger gardens. Our home in Atlanta was on a wooded lot and became my first wildflower garden. More books; Master Gardener Class. Past 80 at that time, my friend Mrs. Zimmott, was a wonderful gardener with many old-fashioned plants that were new to younger me. My dear friend Regina turned her entire yard into a garden filled with vegetables and fragrance. From her, I learned the joy of being alone and quiet in the garden and how gardening becomes a lifestyle. I helped her plant flowers on her husband’s gravesite.
When we moved to the mountains gardening took on a new dimension. This garden was not flat! It was wooded, rocky, total shade, and on a steep mountain slope. I built a 90-foot waterfall, dug ferns, and created unique garden rooms in the rhododendron. I featured only native flora with many water features. Sharon and David who owned The Lily Pad were passionate about aquatic plants and inspired me with their knowledge. I met a wonderful gardener, Elmo Crowe, who passed away a few years ago. His entire mountain property was terraced with hybrid day lilies he’d developed and named himself. His little garden shed sat on the hill overlooking his garden. It had two rocking chairs. He sat in one and waved to cars passing below encouraging visitors to come see the garden and have some lemonade. Several hostas and day lilies in my garden were started by Elmo. We rocked, watched the birds, and enjoyed his garden for many hours, while he taught me about the flowers.
My friend Vytas Sarka whose story I wrote in Rock and a Hard Place, has a mountain garden reminiscent of gardens in Lithuania filled with color and ornaments he’s made of rock and wood and found things. Vytas is a seed-tender. If you like something in his garden, he likely has its seed in his pocket which he’ll give you along with instructions. Vytas taught me a lot of old garden lore. And he’s still gardening, inspiring me to believe I’m not too old for this yet.
Now I’m in a new planting zone on the Coast. The dirt is a different color and texture, bugs are bigger, heat is hotter. Thankfully, my son Jeff who is a landscape designer and his wife Laurie, a master heritage gardener, are only two hours away because I have much to learn about my new garden. More books! It has good bones and was first planted around 1770, probably with kitchen herbs and potatoes. I’ve taken the local garden tour to be inspired by the many local gardeners, some of whom are even older than me. I’ve visited the famous Eyre Hall in Virginia where Laurie is the curator/gardener. I’ve pulled ivy, poison ivy, green thorn, and poison oak, yanked saplings, trimmed limbs, relocated edges. I’ve pulled undergrowth, hauled misplaced bricks, and raked detritus from many seasons. I’m almost ready to begin the fun part.
I noticed Sunday that Saint Fiore is still sitting on the garden wall at St. Jude Church. I placed him there twenty years ago when I first dug and planted the church garden. He’s old and mossy, but the patron of the gardener still oversees the garden. The most important thing I’ve learned from all these old gardeners is one is never too old to enjoy digging in the dirt, and it’s the best season to smell the roses.