Geraniums… The Old Lady Flower

Years ago I was helping my oldest daughter with the flower gardens around her new home. The new cabin I bought had been owned by a landscape architect and the yard was full of flowers. We split a bunch of the overgrown plants and did quite a lovely job filling in the beds around her house. It was really quite beautiful. Unfortunately years later when she bought a new home, she decided to rent out the old house. The renters didn’t wreck the place but they did something I had never seen before. When they moved out they dug up all of the perennials and took them with them. It wasn’t just the money, as the plants were worth well over a thousand dollars if she had to buy them. It was more the disrespect that was shown. We worked together on that yard for quite awhile and there was a lot of sweat and love surrounding that home. My daughter and I had developed a somewhat rocky relationship and gardening was a time when we were at peace with each other. My heart broke for her when she told me about the theft. She had created something like art and it was all torn away. Yes it could be replaced, but that didn’t matter. The beauty was stolen as was the joy.

Of course a garden isn’t complete without a multitude of pots placed randomly around the yard. Or maybe that’s just me. And so there were trips to the nursery for pots and annuals and all the things we needed. While we were shopping, she told me what plants she liked. She didn’t know all of the names but she explained them to me in detail and I was able to figure it out. Some things weren’t the best for pots. So I steered her towards and away from different plants. One thing she was adamant about was geraniums. She didn’t want any geraniums. None. I love them so I asked her what the aversion was to this beautiful flower. Apparently, in her mind, every home that had a lot of geraniums was owned by an old lady. Old ladies always had a ton of geraniums. To be fair, my mother always wintered her geraniums inside and they got long and leggy sometimes but most just got huge. That also may have influenced. My Mom was an old lady. I couldn’t help but laugh but we didn’t buy any geraniums that day. I knew I would have a chance to discuss the geraniums with her as we planted.

I am sitting in my front veranda in my wicker rocking chair, typing away and occasionally sneaking peeks at my front garden. There are 8 pots on my verandah all of which contain geraniums. There are trailing lobelia and petunias with spikes (dracaena) in a few. A smattering of pansies, marigolds and verbena along with a few trailing plants. They just get more and more lovely as the summer progresses. But scattered through out the front walkway border there are a multitude of geraniums. Interspersed amongst the perennials there are tons of annuals to keep the garden alive with color as the perennials bloom at different times. I think back to that day and the way my daughter decided geraniums are not for her. You know there is a life lesson there somewhere. Why do old ladies love geraniums? Because they are old ladies. They’ve learned a thing or two in life. They know that geraniums are very drought resistant, are versatile, come in a multitude of colours and are easy to propagate making them cost effective.

Amateur gardening is very much a learning experience. It can be extremely rewarding as well as frustrating. One of my most favourite summer jobs as a University student was working at a tree nursery. They also sold perennials and annuals and that was my favourite part of the job. Caring for the plants and learning how to plant pots. It was an education unto itself and nurtured in me the love of gardening that my mother had. Yet most of what I have learned has been trial and error. I have planted things in areas where they have flourished yet some things just do poorly. So I move plants around. My garden is accidental as I don’t plan. Mid summer I take a look and decide what I like and what I want to change. I make notes so in the spring I can change things. Alas, my good intentions are stymied as I often can’t find the notebook come spring. And so I muddle through. Two pots on my front veranda are on side tables. Every year there is a geranium and a wave petunia. This year I changed it up as the petunias can get a little overwhelming. I put a geranium, trailing lobelia and a pansy in each pot. These pots get a great deal of sun and heat from the glare off of the white house. So the pansy needs lots of water and the heat just destroys it. The geranium can go forever without water. And I put them together although I knew what might happen. And it did. Shrivelled pansies,

This is just life. There is a wisdom to be gained from those who came before whether it is gardening or just living. Those who have struggled through the same stages of life and found ways to cope or to minimize their struggles. They find out what works through trial and error. But they also turn to those who came before. Knowledge is passed along. Now there are a couple of things that go along with this. As young people start out in life they are idealistic. And energetic. They want to take on the world. And that is fantastic. The world moves forward with the innovators who are looking to improve the planet and society. But without understanding why the older generations made their choices, they may cast aside the wisdom that was already acquired. There was no need to re invent the wheel when it just needed tweaking now and again. I am often a little embarrassed when I think back to my younger years. I really thought I knew everything. My parents were so old fashioned. They weren’t hip and young and with it. Things were different and they were has been’s. And yet, when we did ask for advice, it was good advice. When we needed help, they helped.

As I navigate the last third of my life I see myself through different eyes. I now understand I am an extension of my parents. I have the luxury of having their wisdom passed along. The practical items like how to install drywall. I was mudding when I was twelve years old. There is a wall I built myself between my kitchen and dining room. Because he taught me those skills. He taught me how to build a campfire. A lean to. How to fish. Thirty years ago he built a deck onto the back of my house. Two years ago I replaced it. Myself. My mother taught me to sew and I made my kids clothes back when money was tight. She taught me to cook. I am not a great cook but I can do the hard stuff. Like gravy. And buns. And frikkediller, which are Danish meatballs. She taught me how to care for my babies. What to do when they are sick. It goes beyond the physical things though. They didn’t have much money so while Mom showed me how to make the money stretch, Dad showed me that you have to treat yourself sometimes. Mom taught me that loving yourself was more important than worrying about what the world thought. Dad taught me that old friends are important even if they piss you off sometimes. Mom taught me that reading equals knowledge. She wasn’t educated but she was one of the smartest people I knew. Dad taught me that honesty and integrity are the only true measures of a man. Mom taught me that silence is often the best form of defence, although I am not often silent. Dad passed on his faith in God and the importance of doing your duty. Mom shared insights and explained God in a practical sense. Through their stories and their examples they showed me what is important in life. And what isn’t. And while I stumbled a lot through the last sixty odd years, they were always there to pick me up. Encourage me. Now, as I face the future, they are gone but part of them lives on through me. They created a foundation and it grew stronger and stronger over the years. I built on what they gave me. And I learned more and more to become the person I am today. I am grateful for those two old uncool people. And so, I will plant geraniums. Lots and lots of geraniums. Because old ladies know a thing or two about flowers. And life.