Columbines
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| me, 2017 |
My grandparents lived in White Rock, New Mexico, which is a little bitty
village about 40 minutes up the mountain from Santa Fe, near Los Alamos
and about a thousand little ski resorts. We drove up there several
times a year when I was a kid, most often in the spring and summer. I
spent countless hours there wandering the little streets, gawking at all
the alien trees and the huge mountains, and touching and smelling all
the flowers that were planted within arm's reach of the sidewalks and
streets.
One of the houses a couple of streets over from my
grandparents' house had columbines. And I mean, they had
hundreds of plants, all over the yard and in the traffic strip, so that walking past that house you were
surrounded
by columbines in every color and shape.
Best of all was a tiny,
cheerful sign with flowers painted on it, which said, "Pick some!" I
did, on every walk, and every walk ended high atop the tallest slide at
the local playground, watching the evening thunderstorms roll in over
the mountaintops, with fistfuls of graceful, cheerful columbines piled
in my lap.
Clematis
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| also me |
While I love all Clematises, especially Sweet Autumn, 'Romantika' is my absolute favorite, simply
because I have gotten to know one of them, and it's been a constant friend for nearly twenty years.
I bought it when I was 22, and grew it in a container where it clambered around an upside-down tomato cage for nearly six years, moving with me from apartment to apartment. When I bought my last home in 2004, I planted the vine in the ground for the very first time, and there it stayed for twelve years, wrapping itself around the post on my back porch each year, each year growing longer vines and larger flowers.
I could always count on 'Romantika' to come back bushier and brighter, every time it was cut back for the winter - or if it got out of hand and I had to shear it back to the ground to start over, which I did at least twice a year. This plant above all others, I wanted to bring with me to the new place - it had stuck by me for so long, longer than people, or places, or any other possession. It was part of me. So I cut it back one last time, intending to dig up the root ball once it recovered and started growing again; but it never did. I was heartbroken to see it finally go, especially at a time I was letting go of a place I had anchored to and wanted desperately to keep a little bit of it with me. I hope to find a new one soon (the original came from
Joy Creek Nursery in Oregon). It won't be my same old friend, which sheltered me from the rain on the back porch, hosted many families of lizards and birds, and shone a thousand different shades of green in the morning sunlight -- but it'll be just as beautiful to look at and sit under.
