Grandma’s flowers
Don Coldsmith
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
I ONCE READ a charming essay by a journalist who was recalling an incident in her childhood. Her father, working the old family farm, noticed a thriving rose bush in a fence row at the site of the original homestead. He was driving the tractor with a “bucket” on the front and scooped up the bush to replant in the newer dooryard, in memory of his early childhood. The rose still thrives, with newer generations enjoying its beauty each spring.
I found this a touching story, since a few years ago I noticed such a rose bush in a fence row in our own pasture. Whatever dooryard existed when it was planted is long gone, but the unique open blossom, with flat petals of an unusual color intrigued me. We now have several plants around the place, descendants of that unknown homesteader’s determination to bring some civilized beauty to the raw frontier.
I know of several families who treasure such plants, sometimes referred to as “heritage” varieties. You just don’t find such varieties in modern nursery catalogs, unless they specialize in heritage flora. Color, form and growth habit are unique in many of these plants. Somehow, they convey a mental picture of the journey west, from Ohio or Indiana or even Massachusetts, a covered wagon drawn by oxen, maybe. All the family’s possessions packed inside, the bare essentials for beginning a new life on the frontier.
Mama couldn’t bring many of her treasured reminders of the civilization left behind. But, she would carefully prepare a few cuttings or rooted “starts” of the old rosebush from her own childhood. With loving care, she would shelter, coddle, water and protect these memories.
Her husband might tease her about such effort to preserve something as non-productive as a rose bush, but he’d understand. Maybe, even, help her plant it beside the modest cabin he was building for their home.
It wasn’t just rose bushes that our ancestors brought west. I noticed one spring, in driving some of our older country roads, several places with iris blooming along the ditches. Pale yellow, blue and an occasional clump of bi-colored blooms. In some of these areas it was apparent that a dwelling once stood there. Maybe, even, the slumping ruin of a structure that once was home.
The old place where we live, in a 1960s house near the original site, is surrounded each spring by the beauty of a grandma plant that we know only as “sweet rocket.” It suddenly bursts into bloom in April, on stalks two to three feet tall, a blaze of brilliant purple, lasting two or three weeks. It thrives in the fence rows, in odd corners, trails through the woods west of the house and around the barn. Then, by mid-May, it’s gone. The plants will have dropped seed, however, which sprout in the fall. I’ll confess, we mow around the new seedlings along the edges of the lawn. We’ll enjoy them when they rocket into bloom next spring.
There are several plants that everybody’s grandma used to have in her garden, not often seen any more. Most of them haven’t naturalized or gone wild like the roses, iris and sweet rocket. I can remember how fascinated I was, as a small child, to look closely at the larkspur in my grandma’s garden, to see a tiny rabbit’s face in each blossom. Another favorite was “butter-and-eggs,” which is probably around under another name, but pretty scarce. It has two shades of yellow in each blossom, appropriate to the corresponding commodities mentioned in its name.
There were other grandma plants in the memories of several generations. Most grandmas had a few tomato plants, among which were the tiny yellow pear-shaped variety, wonderful to eat in the garden, and also made into jam, (much like strawberry jam, but golden yellow).
Then there was the “frog plant.” My grandpa would pick a fleshy leaf, bruise it carefully between finger and thumb and blow air into the stem with a wheat straw. Behold, a remarkable semblance to a frog’s puff-bellied contour. The plant? A sedum, I learned later.
Author and columnist Don Coldsmith lives in Emporia.
madpoet (anonymous) says...
We have a climbing white rose we brought up from my grandparent's house in Winfield. It's older than I am and still going strong. We've tried unsuccessfully to get starts off of it but haven't given up yet. We've tried 3 methods to no avail but I'm determined to reproduce so my sister can have one at her home in Missouri. Every May I watch it bloom and remember my grandparents.
May 26, 2009 at 2:32 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
create (anonymous) says...
Why don't you contact the Lyon Co. extension agent. I'll bet she'll have a suggestion you can use. In the meantime, you might like to try mine:
Take one of the old canes, and while it is still attached to the plant, bend it over to some nearby soft ground that you have cultivated with a bit of potting mix. Use something like a long staple made from a coat hangar to hold down the cane in the soil. Cover it with some soil. Do not cut off the cane yet. Then leave it alone except to keep it moist. Give it a couple of months for roots to form. Once a strong root system has formed, then and only then should you cut that cane from the mother plant. I've done this before with other roses, and instead of stapling to the ground, I stapled it into a large pot filled with potting soil. Another thing you can do is scar it a little then dust it with some rooting hormone before stapling down. Whichever style you use, let me know how it works.
May 27, 2009 at 9:03 a.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
madpoet (anonymous) says...
I've tried both those methods. I may try it with a pot instead of the ground. I've done it with and without growth hormone. No luck so far. I last tried one I found in a book where you put a cutting in a potato, bury the potato and put a jar over it and leave it until the following spring. They died. Sigh. Thanks for the help, though.
May 27, 2009 at 2:56 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
create (anonymous) says...
I read an article on the gardening forum where the potato trick was bogus.
Are you using an old cane? You should be.
Last resort -- take a deep breath, turn around three times in one spot, release your breath, take a swig of cold beer, grab your tools and try again.
Thanks Observation.
May 27, 2009 at 7:11 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
seriouslyfolks (anonymous) says...
My grandma used an old cane when she tended to her flowers and the dangedable thing broke and she fell into the daisies and broke a hip.
May 27, 2009 at 7:30 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
create (anonymous) says...
seriously, hilarious!!! My first big laugh of the day.
Observation -- Roundup? OMG!
May 28, 2009 at 9:49 a.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
madpoet (anonymous) says...
I'll try an older cane and see if that helps. Thanks, create.
May 28, 2009 at 10:54 a.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
Weltha (anonymous) says...
create says- Last resort -- take a deep breath, turn around three times in one spot, release your breath, take a swig of cold beer, grab your tools and try again.
Common, madpoet, I wanna see ya doing this as I drive by one evening on my way home. lol I promise I will leave my camcorder at home.
May 28, 2009 at 11:11 a.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
create (anonymous) says...
You're welcome, madpoet. I'd really like to see this work for you. Nice having fun with you too.
May 28, 2009 at 3:42 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
create (anonymous) says...
"...put a cutting in a potato, bury the potato and put a jar over it and leave it until the following spring."
Everytime I think about this, it sounds like a still of some sort for making moonshine. Maybe it's the part about the jar because the jar acts like a greenhouse which provides warmth. Warmth plus potato starch plus time equals ... hmmmmm.... maybe some wodka eh?
May 28, 2009 at 9:14 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )