Good-Intentions Garden Chronicles
I went into motherhood thinking I’d create one treasured moment after another in Maggie’s childhood. The house we bought in North Carolina was bordered by brilliant azaleas and pink and white dogwoods. It looked like a fairy squadron descended on us each spring. I decided we should establish beautiful gardens for an equivalent ground game. We began a garden journal. Five years and four pages in, I surrendered. I hadn’t accounted for the perils wrought by our blue-eyed Siberian husky Ananya or the countless squirrels and rabbits.
I meant well. Indeed I did.
October 2004: In the first weekend of October, Maggie and I planted tulips in our front garden around Lady Chang, the Asian statue Maggie rescued from a scratch-and-dent bin. “She looks sad because she’s lost something,” Maggie said. “Maybe our tulips will help,” I answered. Maggie drew a picture of what she thought the tulips would look like. Note the rabbit. Wise beyond her years, she already suspected what I hadn’t considered.
Spring 2005: Tulips bloomed. Lady Chang brightened. Maggie sat on the rock beside her and discussed her improved attitude. Unfortunately, we got only one pink blossom, so it must have been the preferred flavor of the chubby squirrels and rabbits. The pretty miniature tulips planted by the rocks cascading to the driveway were untouched. Either they were bitter or tougher to dig up on an incline.
December 2005/January 2006: By September, Ace Hardware had rows of bulbs for planting, but I failed to feel enthusiastic, not being a natural gardener in the first place. Plus I clung to my disappointment about the lost pinks. I kept hoping Maggie would forget. In November, she pointed out that we’d never bought any bulbs. Finally I felt I shouldn’t surrender her to my lagging interest and said, “Let’s find twelve.” Maggie studied every label and pressed for fifteen. I agreed. We planted them in the patio garden.
Spring 2006: While we’d discovered the squirrel and rabbit activity in the front yard, we forgot about Ananya in the back. She loved to chase the critters who threatened her territory, meaning fragile stems didn’t have a chance. We managed to see five blooms. Even when we spotted a squirrel munching on a tulip and shooed it away, it returned to finish dessert when we weren’t on high alert. And Ananya was inside.
Spring 2007: We gave up on adding more bulbs around the patio in the fall. Ananya predictably trampled the yellows, whites, and pinks. Squirrels ate the whites and reds, except for one red tulip, a lone soldier on the battlefield. The front sprouted a few purples that I bought on sale in the fall and poked in the soil at the last minute. Mostly we got leaves but no blooms because the rabbits shopped them like a grocery store. Even Lady Chang seemed at a loss for words. I understood.
Spring 2008: It wasn’t meant to be. We were about to get a red tulip until a squirrel munched it like an appetizer. The front saw some miniatures and purples. We’d planted daffodils that fall, only to realize the bulbs had been squirrel-jacked and re-buried in the woods in the natural area. They bloomed. Barely visible from the house.
Spring 2009: No miniatures. I think they heard we were moving to Minnesota in August. So why bother? Some purples popped up to say good-bye. The patio garden was grief-stricken, unable to rally after losing Ananya. (At thirteen years old, several issues were insurmountable, and she had to be put down.) Although her paws took their toll on them, she created an exciting show they hadn’t wanted to miss. Some leaves came up, looked around for her blue eyes, and told the blooms not to bother. It was a pale spring. Even the azaleas were droopy.
As hard as we tried for a show-stopping garden, it was all journey. We earned no blue-ribbons. Maggie claims she doesn’t remember any of this, nor does she recall drawing these pictures.
That’s the thing about parenting. You create sound and fury about all kinds of things along the way.
But only for yourself. A lot of the time.
Maggie remembers Ananya and Lady Chang well. And playing under the three Japanese maples by the patio.
She remembers being happy there.
And that’s plenty.
