Revisiting An Old Friend In The Garden

 Finally, a way through to the peony 

Photo: Chronica Domus

I've been a naughty gardener and neglectful of my poor old white tree peony.  In the mad growth of the pink rose bushes, (unfortunately, the name escapes me), I've let them clamber and swallow up what was once a show stopper of a plant.  Just last weekend, I was wondering what on earth had happened to the peony.  It blooms magnificently and faithfully at this time of year, but not so this spring, or last come to think of it. Secateurs to the ready, I began the process of carefully snipping and cutting away at the roses until I found the thing. Poor old peony.  It was still there but barely, and gasping for breath.  I was shocked at its feeble size, reduced to a thin stick, with a few young leaves to crown it. One of the main woody stems had been dragged to the ground and pinned there by the ferocious ivy growing up the fence and now creeping along the ground.  It had done a cunningly murderous job of enveloping and suffocating the peony.  The evil ivy had to go, there was no doubt about it! Three hours later, having given the matter my rapt attention, I had barely made a dent grappling with the rope-like runners that had not only destroyed the peony but had also bound itself slyly around the base of the roses.  To add insult to injury, somehow an established blackberry cane had entangled itself into the mess.

Can you spot the pitiful peony?  

Photo: Chronica Domus

It was not all bad news in that lively corner of the garden.  An old friend was there too to keep me company in the form of a Japanese honeysuckle vine. I was given the creamy yellow honeysuckle as a gift from my dear friend John.

The first blossom on the Japanese jasmine

Photo: Chronica Domus

John was that rare breed of being that one may encounter in life if fortunate.  He was erudite, witty, creative, well-mannered, great fun and humble.  In short, an enchanting combination.  John did not have a garden but kept his small ground floor apartment's patio lush with containers bursting with healthy plant life.  It was a little oasis out there with something of interest in bloom throughout the year. John grew the honeysuckle in a trough but knew it would not thrive in such confined conditions. He generously gave it to me to see how well it would do in my garden.   I was not to know it at the time, but within a few short years of this gift, John was to shockingly die in a tragic accident. Each spring I am reminded of my dear friend as I catch the sweet fragrance wafting  from the blooms and carried by the gentle breezes.  I savored the first bloom of the year as I was at war with the ivy and it pleased me no end. The delicious smell was incredibly evocative and I was instantly reminded of the wonderful times my husband and I spent in John's cosmopolitan company sipping wine on his patio and partaking of his wonderful cooking.  Our fun and spirited discussions would often cross into the early hours of the morning.  I remember too a party John and I threw at my home for a mutual friend and his wife who were about to depart the country for a long-term job assignment in India.  John and I planned every detail; the food, the wines, the flowers, the guest list.  He promised to return the morning following the party to help put the house back together and deal with the aftermath.  Instead, looking not a little worse for wear and nursing the remnants of a lingering hangover, he appeared at my doorstep sporting his trademark wry smile, at noon.  After downing some strong coffee, we picked up exactly where we left off the evening prior and ended up relaxing on the sunny balcony, taking in the view, drinking the remainder of the chilled white wine and nibbling on leftovers, chatting and laughing as we relived the great success of the previous evening's festivities. Needless to say, I was left to clean up on my own after John departed for his home much later in the afternoon. What did I expect?  He was always so useless before noon and his first cup of coffee.

My friend John thriving in the garden

Photo: Chronica Domus

These honeyed memories of our friend John are what make the rambling honeysuckle my most sentimental and cherished plant.  It will uniquely insure his memory remains warmly with me for as long as it thrives and spreads in my little garden.  It has now been a dozen years since this jasmine left John's life and entered mine, and ten since his life ended.  As Voltaire wrote in the closing of his story Candide, "Let us cultivate our garden".  I take his words to be a metaphor for thoughtfully choosing to add elements of value to one's life and for pulling up the "weeds" which may sap one's strength and spirit.

Do you have an especially meaningful plant growing in your home or garden?  If not, consider sharing some seeds, a cutting, or even a small shrub or plant with your nearest and dearest friends and family members. The long-term rewards may surprise both you and the fortunate recipient for many years to come.