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I am so glad
I went with Jenny to the Gardening Club. I am still excited because
I really believe it is going to add a whole new dimension to my
life.
The club meets at Ronald Wilson's home,
about a 30-minute drive from where we live and in a lovely neighborhood
that I've hardly ever visited before. When Jenny said that his
garden was magical, it was an under-statement. It's quite breath
taking. Except for the chrysanthemums, my garden is almost bare
now and I thought this was true of all gardens in the fall. The
path to his front door is bordered with rose bushes, still blooming
in a riot of color; cream, yellow, pink, red and a wine-color
that is so dark, it's almost black. The perfume sends your senses
reeling. So much for that old song: "The last rose of summer."
He has some wonderful plants, including very old-fashioned ones
like mignonette and hollyhocks, that my grandmother loved; and
even gladioli are in bloom. I never associated them with this
time of the year. Just near the house, he has a whole wall of
sweet peas climbing a trellis in every color imaginable; purple,
violet, blue, orange, lilac, and crimson.
There are only 12 of us in the club, mostly
couples. I didn't know anyone except Jenny, but they made me very
welcome and invited me to visit their homes and said they'd give
me cuttings. It seems to me that people who care about plants
and nature are very gentle. I felt instinctively drawn to them
all, which is unusual and found myself asking questions without
any shyness. You couldn't tell if they were rich or poor, academics
or less-educated. Most of them were around my age, mostly retired
folk, and they had evidently been meeting every week for a few
years. Even though I am truly a rank amateur, I didn't feel the
least bit uncomfortable.
After we tramped around the garden admiring
the display, we went inside for a cup of coffee. Ronald made it
for all of us and put out plates of cookies from a packet. We
all paid a nominal sum for the refreshments. One lady had baked
a marvelous apple cake with fruit from her tree. Considering Ron
(which everyone calls him) lives alone, he seems very capable
at hosting us. We sat in a pleasant room that lacked a woman's
touch, but was nice just the same. There were a few framed photos,
presumably of his children and grandchildren.
His talk focused on planting bulbs now.
He began with a lovely quotation: "If Winter comes, can Spring
be far behind?" He seemed to smile at me as he said it, and
I found myself blushing, something I thought I'd outgrown as a
teenager. It seems that if we want beautiful spring flowers, we
must prepare now.
He told us about irises. I never knew that
Iris is the ancient Greek name for the goddess of the rainbow,
or that there are more than 250 species. The roots are rhizomes,
a thick, fleshy underground stem that spreads by creeping. As
he talked about freesias, anemones, daffodils and tulips, I wanted
to rush out and buy all these bulbs, and was already planning
where I would plant them.
Jenny had to leave early for a dental appointment,
but I wasn't shy in that group of kindly people. After the lecture
everyone started to drift away and I also began to put on my scarf
and gloves. I was very surprised when Ron asked me to stay for
a few minutes. He wrote down my name, address and phone number
and offered me a few bulbs he had stored away "to get you
started." What a lovely, generous gesture. His smile was
so warm that it seemed to melt the ice that had lodged in my chest
for so long.
He told me to call him any time if I had
any questions about the garden. "Or anything else" he
added impulsively, and held my hand a little longer than required.
I left smiling, and drove home with his optimistic quotation repeating
itself in my mind: "If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?"
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