We raised our family in Lincoln, Nebraska, in a beautiful, circa 1900 two story home, complete with a gable of windows jutting out over the large front porch where the swing welcomed long hours of quiet relaxation. Our home resided on an avenue where large oaks and maples graced our view and separated us from our neighbors across a wide expanse. They provided the most spectacular visions after heavy wet snows and freezing ice storms that coated the limbs and sparkled in the morning sun. It was at this house that my gardening juices began to flow, and I would spend hours of the day planting and experimenting, planning and digging, and trying to duplicate the wonderful memories I had of growing up with the heritage of perennials and vegetable gardening. What I know about flowers and edibles I've learned by trial and error, but mostly amazing success. There were a few who were able and willing to teach me, but I read what I could and learned what I could from personal experience, which, I think, is always the best way to learn.
The adventure began when my husband's mother was thinning out her Bridal Wreath Spirea, and I was thrilled to receive enough to line most of the lot line on one side of our house. Then two of my children came home one Arbor Day, Nebraska, remember, with Russian Olive trees to plant. I had no idea what a Russian Olive tree was, but soon learned to call it a favorite. Its delightful spring perfume is almost overpowering! The vegetable garden came next, and along with the Black Walnut tree and raspberries that were already there, we began our years of fresh produce and lovely flowers.
I did finally tire of the work that accompanies the vegetable gardening and decided one day to change the area that I had grown tomatoes and potatoes in to what I thought of as an English garden. I think there is nothing lovelier. You can have the crisp lines of manicured lawns and landscaped order, but I prefer the cacophony of color and disarray, and I call it quaint and refreshing. I began in the center with a large planting of red canna. I had never really liked canna, but I thought the tall center would be a good start. Then I began to try everything I could get my hands on, just to find what I wanted to keep and what I didn't. My favorites over the years were nasturtium, poppies, bachelor buttons, iris, lantana, foxglove, daisies of all colors and sizes, cone flowers, garden phlox, cleome, hollyhocks and peonies. During the summer I scattered annuals here and there to intensify the color and vary the heights.
Along the side of the house where one of the Russian Olives had been planted and along the row of spirea, I lovingly created a "retreat". There I had roses and iris along with a bench and some decorative items for interest. Whenever we hit a garage sale I watched for the water pumps and old tools and a sundial, and of course, bird houses.
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| Rhubarb |
After our family grew up and went on their way we decided to leave the huge old place to younger folks who were more inclined to lots of yard work, and found our lives confined in the splendor of a brick home, (ah! no more painting!), with a smaller, manicured front lawn (hmm), and a steeply pitched back yard that had very limited possibilities for an old gal like me to think about. At the top of this pitched yard, behind the garage, was a small area big enough to plant some rhubarb and a tomato or two. I was happy.
Today I am limited to mostly container gardening. I even plant my tomatoes and lettuce in containers. My advancing age and limiting health problems have successfully sidelined me from the playing fields of wildflowers and hours of fun in the sun, or even the shade, for that matter. I have pots scattered here and there that are close enough to the house for easy tending. I have a rhubarb plant stuck off in the corner for periodic breakfast and pie fruit. And, best of all, I have a neighbor right across the street who has created the most beautiful English Garden right in her front yard. What joy! I have this gorgeous garden perfectly situated for my inspection every day, albeit from across the street, and I don't have to lift a finger. No green thumb to worry about any longer. The green thumb is on her hand, and all the hard work is on her back, and all the time, I'm smiling. Sometimes getting older ain't so bad.
