There's magic to nurturing. Young plants, like young puppies, do weirdo things. A stem shoots off at an awkward angle; a lanky leaf curls the wrong way. Maybe it's all in slow motion, but it can be like watching a newborn calf learn to stand or a lanky teenager who hasn't learned to use his body gracefully. The awkwardness and the potential are captivating.
As a nurseryman, I see the early stages of a plant's life. I nurture these plants, guiding them through their initial stages of life. But rarely do I get to see them in their full, mature beauty. It's a different kind of loveliness that can sometimes be a little heart-wrenching.
But since Tom and I get to know our customers, I occasionally see things mature in their gardens. Last week, one couple we've felt an affinity for ordered some plants— yet again. Since I found myself with some work in Hilton Head Island, I offered to drop off their plants, hoping to see my babies in their garden.
Theirs was a typical dark forest drive. Maritime forest makes a dense canopy of live oaks, sweet gums, bay trees, and palmettos. In those coastal forests, my small body feels the power of the trees. I grew up climbing those trees, swinging on massive fox grape vines, and understanding their immovable, architectural solidity and their power to protect me from the sun. But headed down that lane, I wondered how my sun-loving perennials could possibly thrive here. What if the plants look puny and sickly, and don’t even have an ounce of potential for grace? I’ve never been here; what if this turned awkward?
What would I say?
Maybe the classic, "Oh, I know you are proud of that!" Or I could bring it back to puppies, "Yes, I always had an affinity for sickly runts, I mean puppies, too."
I stepped out and noticed the path toward the front of the house, the water-facing side. That path made me want to walk down it for two reasons. First, I realized they lived right on the ocean, so there would be sun, and second, the path. Look at this path:
Barbara did the path herself while Sheldon brought her bags of sand and cement.
This path led to a grand view that was hard to ignore, but when there are cool plants in the ground, I can rise to the occasion and zone in on ground level. At first, I thought, 'Look at that!' and 'Over here!' Oh man, look at these:
When I saw Crinum 'Menehune,’ my racing mind reached a rubber-burning, screeching halt. I felt a little lump in my throat. Dramatic, I know, but understand y'all, this was a moment akin to when a young fella is reunited with his long-lost dog. That was my Menehune, and it looked better than any I have ever grown— luscious, full-bodied, plump ebony, beautiful, and mature. I looked at Barbara, who said, "You told me to plant her in a rich wet spot. So I did. I planted her right where I knew there used to be a tree in this low spot. She loves it here.
Crinum x ‘Menehune’ is grown for her burgundy, almost black leaves that reach about 18 inches. In full sun, the leaves get so black they actually shade themselves and slow down photosynthesis, making the leaves shorter.
As I stood there, surrounded by the vibrant beauty of a garden I had unknowingly helped create, I felt a profound connection. With the trees whose brothers I’d once climbed, with the interns who help grow our plants, with this couple who understand their soil, space, and selves, I sang. These plants, once tiny and fragile in my care, had flourished under Barbara's loving hands and had become part of the tapestry, the chorus of her garden.
I’d love to keep and nurture every plant I grow. But then, I would have missed this moment when the shade and doubt opened to sunlight and the beauty of watching someone grow in ways I never dreamed of. There may be awkward moments, a tug at the heart, a bruised ego, or something like a stem shooting off at an odd angle. But given opportunity, these new directions can lead to unforeseen beauty, creating a garden - or a world - that's more diverse, resilient, and magnificent than any single vision could have imagined.
I met this artistic couple at your farm a couple years back. We enjoyed our peach gazpacho together. Nice to see their Menehune thriving! That spiky pic on the right looks like the Rattlesnake Master Eryngium I got from you (still going strong, btw).
Thanks Jenks!
OMG that path!!! So cool!