Similar to photo albums, our gardens tell us stories
It’s amazing how we can remember the year our favorite song came out but struggle to recall a neighbor’s name down the street. The same may be said about our first phone number but yet when we scratch our heads trying to remember where we last set our hand pruners.
Memory is a fascinating subject. As with most of my writings, I’m just jotting down whatever floats into this brain so I’ll spare you the details of how short-term vs. long-term memory works (cause I don’t know!). We’ve all experienced that same frustration when a name we should be able to grab easily escapes us. And the harder we try to recall the worse it gets. It isn’t until we’re vegging to an old rerun of the Andy Griffith Show, clipping our cat’s claws (it CAN be done, so my wife tells me), that the name then pops to the surface like a beachball released from the bottom of the pool.
So, you ask as always, “Where are you heading with this, Garry”? Many of the plants in our gardens also bring back memories. Bloom fragrances especially. If you’re a Southerner, it might be the perfumy flowers of gardenias that take you back to grandma’s garden. I, however, am a sucker for the smell of a real lilac, not those lame ones bred to take the heat. Just a good old Syringia vulgaris. When I jam my nose into these flowers, I am immediately transported back to my childhood home on Evergreen Drive in Batavia, NY. I smile at the associated memories that come flooding back to me during those annual lilac festivals.
When our girls were young, I was once asked about my top parenting goal(s). Not an easy answer but after giving it some thought, in addition to teaching them about values and confidence, I responded “creating great memories that they could reminisce and share with each other as they grow older.” I guess this is why I kept a journal for each of them since the day they were born and gave them volumes when they became adults. I just don’t trust pure memory to recall the important details so I had to put these to paper. I still keep a travel journal for the same reasons. Someday I’ll be kicked back in a rocker, reading these and thinking “This guy had an amazing life!”
Back to gardening. Not only do our collections of plants remind us of times past, but often how and where we acquired them can be great stories in and of themselves. We have a pretty thick patch of hostas in a few spots in our garden. I remember grabbing these as a flat of plugs from the dumpster when I was teaching at The University of Tennessee. Now these aren’t the high-dollar variety but rather “garbage hostas” as friend and hosta expert Fred Anderson labeled them when he visited on a garden tour. “Garbage” from the dumpster, how fitting.
The power of plants just can’t be denied. “Horticulture Therapy” used to be an foreign phrase. Thankfully, today it’s pretty common as it has been proven that plants heal both physically and mentally. A vase of peonies with their potent aroma can open a door long shut for a person with dementia. The smell of mint and basil can be equally powerful. A person with Alzheimer’s may struggle to latch on to a family member’s name but this same person may share a long-forgotten story as they’re accompanied through a classic rose garden.
Our connections and memories of plants begin very early.
When we travel most of us can’t resist bringing back a sea shell, a drink coaster, or the ubiquitous fridge magnet (I’ve forgotten what color our fridge actually is). Is it because our homes seem incomplete without these souvenirs? No. It’s because we want to be reminded of a special time when we glance at these objects. Our gardens offer a chance to do the same. Daylilies, iris, figs, or peonies transplanted from a loved parent’s property give us a chance to remember and smile as we recall past chapters of the books of our lives.
Till next time,