Having watched Nova's "First Flower" program about the Mother of Gardens, western China, specifically the incredibly biodiverse and scenic Hengduan Mountains--I was as excited as the botanists at the plurality of different flowers everywhere which have been transplanted into our gardens over the centuries--I am even happier with my Lauritzen membership. On my first spring walk yesterday, I came across the flower Grandma Koftan had in the middle of her garden so that I specifically associate it with her. Here is, first, a white version and then one of the patches of this descriptively named bleeding heart.
And, of course, from central Asia into the 16th-century Dutch mania and money-maker for centuries, the tulip, still probably the most profitable bulb in gardening.
Dad's backyard pride was with two of these, the flowering crab. I still remember his planting them with fish around the root ball by his Sioux friend's (Ray Frazier) instruction.
Pink and white magnolias above daffodils and then a magnolia with such large blooms, like huge white butterflies on its leafless branches, that it looked like a theatrical prop.
And, finally, another reminder of Center days, the spicy scented clove currant, a thorny row of which separated us from our neighbors to the east. It also grows wild in the woods around Center. We called it the gooseberry bush for its bitter little green berries, which Mom tried to make a pie out of, lots of sugar required. The yellow-flowered fragrance came in my bedroom window; and, passing it yesterday, I was back in my childhood home. Proust can have his madeleines; I have my own aromatic bundle of memories.
Leave a comment