Reflections

We gardeners tend to be sentimental folk. Even a photo of a particular plant can unleash a whole host of memories of gardens tended, plants shared and the work it takes to keep things growing.

Take lamium, for example. Mom had it in her garden and thanks to its habit of spreading, I regularly inherited slips for both my New York and Michigan gardens. The striking leaves and purple, yellow and white flowers quickly created a dense crazy quilt wherever I dug it in.

Spring is a season for bleeding heart. I remember from childhood a huge pink-flowering bush of it in a neighbor's garden. For whatever reasons, my own attempts to recreate that memory were never too successful. But just the sight of those Valentine-shaped blossoms are enough to produce a smile.

Flowers have that unique capacity to conjure up the best in human experience. Unlike pets that may nip or growl, plants just quietly grow to fill the space allotted them. More often than not, they eventually bloom, their own subtle way of keeping the species going. I can't contemplate a trip anywhere without speculating what might be flowering there. Gardens do that to a guy. Maybe it is why we enjoy them so much.