Garden Peace.

Wakefield, RI

I do not by any means have a green thumb, lets just preface that before going further. I admire those who have the ability (and the patience) to make things grow; whether its in a garden or keeping the plant on the kitchen table alive. I will say my one orchid is alive and well, Thank you very much. My Grandmother had several gardens in her back yard, they were magical. Every year I would wait for the flock to creep across the rocks and the foxgloves to spring up and the roses to bloom. I learned the names, but never the task of making flowers grow, hence the tinge of envy towards those who can.

I distinctly remember the smell of potting soil as a child. It meant that there was work to do in the gardens. My grandmother's hands were caked thick with dirt; as she would cup my cheeks, I could smell the rustic, musty-ness of the earth. The sides of her house were painted yellow with Forsythia, the beginning of the Pied-Pipers trail to the her enchanted backyard. It is not surprising that anyone who has that same power I am instantaneously drawn to. I recognized the peace that flowers brought my grandmother, and in the years since her passing have come across only a few who appreciate and love what it means to know the delicateness of growth.

I spent the good part of this morning talking with a friend about flowers and gardens. She has that wonderful gift of creating and arranging and making things grow. I have found it fascinating that the love and care that she has taken with flowers has filtered through the rest of her life ( Ohhh the patience one must have with an 8 month old. Saint-like). She gives wonderful advice, and people would be wise to take it. So, while talking to her I sat in a jungle of peonies, violas, English ivy, and dahlias. They span the width of the house and up it. It is the most peaceful place I know of in the state of Rhode Island. My parents have worked feverently to grow and create what it is today. Naturally, I only found it fitting while on the phone with my green thumbed, flower-loving friend, to sit amongst them, as if we sat with friends.

So, what is is about flowers and gardens that I feel so connected to? I definitely feel no pull or desire to plant anything, I have this problem of forgetting to either (a) plant the flowers at all and (b) becoming extremely frustrated with the speed at which it takes flowers to grow. I am a picker, arranger and appreciator of the flowers. However I feel a deep kinship with those who do have an understanding of time and patience.

Back to my phone conversation...
I listened to the timber of my friends voice as she spoke, reminiscent of my grandmothers ( with the addition of a southern accent), there is not a quiver about it that would suggest uncertainty. She has an old soul, a wisdom about her that gives her patience to do what she loves...and she loves a lot of things. But my personal favorite is to see what she creates with color. Flowers. It was the first thing I knew about her that was not surface knowledge. It peaked my interest, simply because it is something I cannot do and wish I had the gift for. I understood that this was her outlet, much like photography is mine. I have seen her mind at work, the wheels turning to design a masterpiece. Is there not a collective sigh, when someone sees flowers? They represent peace. Whether is peace of mind or world peace they have come to signify innumerable things. So, prior to the conversation with my friend, I would have never pondered the reasoning behind my true love of gardens. They draw in the best of me, the best of the people around me simply because they are tools of love. Peace.

And wouldn't you know, my friends name is Heather. A flower. One of the most abundant because of its large number of seeds that spread themselves all over the hillsides. With roots a strong as oak trees and a scent as definable as honeysuckle. Coincidence she carries the ability to love, advise, and spread her gift?

Spread Seads.
Spread Love.
Spread Heather.