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By Tina Bolin (tmbolin)
(Editor's Note: This article was originally published on February 16, 2008) I remember my mom going outside on warm, sunny days and doing what she called “piddling” in her garden. The flower garden, that is. Not the one that had to be planted to keep our bellies full. She could have had the crummiest day ever and step outside to pluck a few weeds or deadhead, give them a little drink or just look around and sing to her babies and all would be well with my mama again. I didn’t help a lot. But when I did we were closer than any other time. Her flowerbed was very small and only contained the tried and true standard plants. But she loved it. I never once heard her complain of deer picking blooms or of phlox mildew. She never over spent buying expensive varieties, soil additives or gizmos to garden with. It was not a job to drag the garden hose over and water or save her choice kitchen scraps for composting. She relished digging with her bare hands to plant something new. Hindsight has left me very melancholy about our time together as mother and daughter. How I wish I had spent more time working with her instead of watching her in that garden.
Going to the local nursery in the spring and summer was our favorite outing. Of course she would always combine this trip with the bi-weekly town visit so no to be considered frivolous. We would spend countless hours looking and wishing and on very special occasions even getting to buy something pretty. Most of mom’s flowers were given to her though. My older sister would surprise her with a hanging basket or a new plant every year for her birthday and again on Mother’s Day. These were her favorites. She never would say that for fear of hurting someone else but Carol’s plants were the tops!
I recall my mamaw bring mom a cutting from her Christ in the Manger plant one summer. She repotted it and hung it outside in an eons old maple tree. That plant was dubbed “Elsie’s Baby” cause she treated it like one! No one could touch or tend it except her. Dad had to be careful not to bang his head on the pot when walking by or it was his own fault. I over heard him on more than one occasion threatening to “cut that @$!# plants throat! One night in the late summer, mom came and woke me from a sound sleep I might add, and said there was something I HAD to see. Outside we went and there in that old maple, hanging from a trailing segment of ‘baby, was the most gorgeous white bloom I had ever seen. So we all just stood there, me, mom and even dad staring at this beautiful flower. Looking back that was one of the sweetest moments we ever spent together. Going back inside I heard dad mumble “glad that’s over”. But seeing how proud my mama was he didn’t dare speak very loudly! What do I remember about my mom and her flower gardening? She was happy! There was a love of all things beautiful in mom’s heart that couldn’t be hidden.
Now vegetable gardening was another story completely! My entire family considered this a necessary evil. It was a task that must be done successfully in order to ensure our survival. Was it fun? Definitely not. I remember dad and pa heading out around sunrise to plow the garden plot and then till it until it felt like sand. They came home hot, tired and grumpy. Next mom and I would go peruse the local co-op and nursery for the best buy on early crop plants. Kinneybeck potatoes for seed, cabbage, cucumbers, broccoli, cauliflower and a few tomato and squash plants were a must. Not an easy purchase on our limited income. But even during this onerous quest mom and I would make time to look at the flowering plants and wish away a few precious minutes. Then back to the house for planting what had been bought. Dad would drag out the hoes and fertilizer and off we would go. Not that I ever lasted the whole day. I complained more than I worked which eventually would earn me a one way ticket back to the house. Thank God. Then over the growing season there was hoeing, watering, spraying and then harvest. I didn’t participate much during this time. Seasonal allergies and such.(that’s my story and I’m sticking to it!) And last but not least was the canning and freezing which fell primarily to my mother. A hot and thankless job to be sure but she was always thankful for the bounty of the vegetable garden. Didn’t much like doing it but was ever so thankful.
So did I inherit my mom’s love of flower gardening? Yep. Am I good at it? You bet. Do I have even the remotest love for growing my own vegetables? Are you kidding me? That is considered by this country gal as work! I truly believe I have already passed on this mother-daughter gene or trait. My eight year old loves flowers! Trying to get her to go pick the cucumbers is again another story!
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