AT PLAY AMONG THE HOLLYHOCKS

 

From Linda Lee Greene, Author/Artist

My kid cousins Rosie and Connie squeezed in beside me as I, the eldest and budding adolescent, stood at the screen door at the back of the farmhouse, the three of us near to gagging with dread over our morning slog to the outhouse. To camouflage and soften its nasty presence, years before then Mommaw had planted in front, at one side and at the back of it, a lush, sun-loving garden of flowers that turned up faithfully year after year as thick as a jungle—some of them as tall and even taller by a lot than the roof of the privy. At the height of the season, the garden was so dense as to be nearly impenetrable. From our vantage point at the doorway, the path to the outhouse almost lost itself among the profuse maze of towering plant life.

In the heat of that dawning summer, under a cloudless, parchment-like sky, the garden hummed with an army of bees busy at daylilies, columbine, bee balm, and delphiniums. Butterflies on wings as flamboyant as the flowers floated from a trumpet vine that scaled one wall of the outhouse to bleeding hearts to zinnias to coneflowers. Open-faced hollyhocks sweetened the palates of whizzing hummingbirds, and giant sunflowers clattered in the breeze. I didn’t know until decades later that sunflowers were introduced to the western hemisphere by the Spaniards in 1510, and are grown worldwide primarily for their edible seeds that are also pressed into oil. I have no recollection of our family consuming sunflower seeds or using them as a source of oil. Boy, did we miss out. While the average height of sunflowers is about 12’, the tallest one on record was 30’1”, grown in Germany by a fellow named Hans-Peter Schiffer.

All along the length of the path, snowy petals of Shasta daisies drifted to the ground and laid a carpet at their feet. In olden times, “daisy” was spelled “day’s eye,” which was a metaphor for the sun. Glowing white petals and bright yellow center, each one was a little fragment of the sun and a spotlight that led the way to our outdoor toilet. This was no yellow brick road to 1939s Kansas, but rather a remote track on a lofty knoll of an Appalachian foothill in 1950s Southern Ohio. 

  

Most plentiful in Mommaw’s flower garden were the hollyhocks. And they were our favorite of all the others. Grown so widely and abundantly in every imaginable nook and cranny across the globe, they have earned the nickname, “alley orchids.” Evidence shows that wherever hollyhocks grow, children have made hollyhock dolls from them for almost 200 years. Rosie, Connie, and I were no exception. Later in the day, and each of our dress tails pulled up to form a pouch, we collected frilly hollyhock blossoms and buds and entertained ourselves creating beautiful flower dolls. How sweet it would be to see children of today lose themselves in play among flowers in a garden.

Here's how to fashion a hollyhock doll:

1. Cut a fully opened hollyhock blossom from the stalk of the plant and turn it upside down to form the skirt.

2. Pinch out the pistil and stamen.

3. Push the pointed end of a toothpick through the center of the blossom with the blunt edge at the bottom. Thread on as many other blossoms as you wish, which forms a multi-layered skirt. (Toothpicks were not available to us. We retained a long stem on the bud, instead, or we used long, thin sticks found on the ground or cut from trees.)

4. Slice from the stalk of the plant a flower bud or seedpod for the doll's body. Thread it onto the toothpick (or stick) until it sits on top of the skirt

5. Leave about 1/4 inch at the top of the toothpick (or stick) to secure a second bud or seedpod, which is the doll's head. Push it onto the toothpick (or stick) until it rests above the body.

6. Once the bud or seedpod for the doll's head is in place above the body, experiment with different colored flowers to create a fashionable blossom/hat, which requires another toothpick or stick pushed into the head at a saucy angle.©

***

“5 Stars…Multi-award-winning author Linda Lee Greene’s GUARDIANS AND OTHER ANGELS …is about 2 families living in Southern Ohio during The Great Depression and the beginning of WWII…The author does an amazing job intertwining fact and fiction as she takes us on a journey through her ancestor’s experiences…sharing letters…from her ancestors. I…thank the author for her exquisite descriptions of the various landscapes, which painted such a vivid picture…creating a feeling of peace and tranquility. This story brings to life family spirit. It reminds us of the strong bond…that is shared through good times and bad. It is a story that I highly recommend.”

 

Purchase URL of GUARDIANS AND OTHER ANGELS: http://goo.gl/imUwKO

 

#FlowerGardens, #gardening, #PerennialGardens, #outhouses, #AttractBeesandButterflies, #AttractHummingbirds, #HansPeterSchiffer, #SouthernOhio, #AppalachianFoothills, #HollyhockDolls

A Garden: Nature’s Springtime Wardrobe of Many Colors

 

 From Linda Lee Greene, Author/Artist

 

Surveys reveal consistently that by a wide margin, green and blue are the favorite colors of all of humanity across the globe—green in its call to the spirit of land and all of its contours and accessories, and blue for the sky and water—in essence, those colors most suggestive of our Earthly home. One of the most popular ways we get up close and personal with this magical blue and green orb that anchors us to the cosmos is by way of gardens.

Artists, artisans, and photographers heed in their work this “call of the heart” on the part of human beings, this spiritual yearning for Mother Earth, to run our fingers through Her hair, metaphorically speaking. Claude Monet’s revered paintings of his sumptuous gardens at his estate in Giverny, France are famous examples, canvases revelatory of his singular engagement with his world, underlain principally in effervescent greens and blues. But we don’t have to travel to France to find inspiring gardens. They are everywhere within easy reach of most of us. Two special gardens near me come to mind:

Located on the southern outskirts of my home city in the Midwest region of the USA is a particular garden designed and tended exclusively by an elderly female gardener named Shirley. When I knew her, she was well into her nineties, and although her husband and contemporaries had passed on, this spritely soul sported replaced knees and hips, new body parts she put to good use every day the weather permitted, digging and pruning and dead-heading in her enormous perennial flower garden. It was a garden in which she and statues of Buddha, of Saint Francis, and of Heaven’s Angels greeted their visitors upon their arrivals and departures. While she hedged her bets in the diversity of her garden statuary, sometime during the passage of her era, attending to her garden became Shirley’s reason for living.

The other one is found a distance north of my city on an eastern embankment of the picturesque Scioto River, designed and tended solely by a woman of advanced years by the name of Teresa. At the time I knew her she was mourning the recent death of her husband but also searching bravely for her own footing in the world. Teresa was subdued then within the contours of her tragedy, but this petite bundle of Italian exuberance wouldn’t be down for long. Anyone could see this in the messages throughout her garden, one of layer upon layer of sloped, visual feasts of plants tumbling the hillside to the very rim of the river. At the garden’s summit, the portion of it closest to the house, was a sweet, little fountain-pool hosted in its center by a statue of a tiny angel. It came to my mind intuitively that therein resided Teresa’s memories, dominated by her husband by virtue of their many decades together. Teresa’s garden was a veritable memoir of her marriage, enshrined in the bearing of that teeny concrete garden angel, as well as in the poppies, hollyhocks, black-eyed Susans, and other flowers nestled among a grand selection of trees and bushes.

Gardens inspire some of us to extract their meaning on canvases, in photographs, in crafts; for others, they provide a reason for living. For still others, their gardens hold their memories. If you are like me, this spring provides an opportunity to resurrect a garden that fell to neglect last spring in the pandemic’s lockdown. There are as many reasons to experience gardens as there are plants comprising them, and whatever your motivation, the time is nigh to get back to it with abandon. In the warm days to come, give your spirit wings in a garden, nature’s springtime wardrobe of many colors, a sartorial splendor set against Earth’s fundamental blues and greens.

!!COMING SOON!!

Linda Lee Greene’s next book:

A novella titled

GARDEN OF THE SPIRITS OF THE POTS

A Spiritual Odyssey

#gardening, #gardens, #MidwestGardens, #PerennialGardens, #SciotoRiver, #ClaudeMonet, #GivernyFrance, LindaLeeGreene