GARDEN HAPPENINGS

ALL IN GOOD TIME

"Mom, why is there a green bean floating in the macaroni pot?" My ten year old is always observant with what is on the stove at dinnertime. "I just want to taste the first green bean from the garden," I answered, feeling rather foolish.

I had planted my Royal Burgundy green beans in a bare spot in the garden. I learned the hard way, that green bean seeds rot easily. There were now only four little plants left, blooming sparsely and growing ever so slowly. It is almost the end of summer, and I found the one little pod hanging there, slender little morsel, just begging to be picked.

So it happened that this lone pod was plopped in the boiling pot, for Tommy to find churning among the elbo-macs. It was a tiny appetizer to dinner, this little bean. I thought that only the starving had to split a green bean, but Tommy wanted half, and we voted it delicious.

I guess some things, like that first green bean, are worth the wait!

-Fran Pike

This is a poem my mother was inspired to copy because I was born in the month of March. She saved it for years, and recently gave it to me. ---Fran

March is when it rains in the winter and snows in the spring-and I'm consistently amazed at both. I expect better of March; a prompt advance of seasons from blizzards to blithe spirits neatly accomplished.
Surely, the calendar would not deceive me! On the wall, the new leaf shows 31 tidy squares of days, with the vernal equinox, the 21st clearly inked in red.
I react with joy. "Look at this, children!" I call. "It's spring, almost."
The kids roll their eyes at me across the generation gap. Spring?
An oil truck is spinning its wheels on ice in our driveway. Spring, she says!
The boys are wheezy with bronchitis, and my daughter needs new boots.
Spring, almost, and not even the cat is in love! Groaning, the kids go back to watching television.
In the pasture, the old horse leans dolefully into a north wind! Pale mounds of slush rise between her ears, icicles braid her mane. The gentle rain comes down as sleet on lots of melting snow. Where are all the butterflies?
Twenty days from now, I think. Sighing, I want for some signs and omens. By the thin light of early March.

Elise gave me a funny look as I took out my little book of photos. In it were pictures of flowers, instead of the expected family faces. Like most proud parents, I take lots of pictures of my own family. But each day, after my two boys leave for school, the children of the garden beckon. Living in my back yard, they wait for my attention, in a different kind of world.

Shining in the sunlight, they display their personalities. Veronica, wears her blue spikes, while the Black Eyed Susans are the show-offs in the border. Sitting by the fence, Bouncing Betty's pink ruffled blooms depict her cheerful disposition. Joe Pye looks handsome, with his mauve-colored crowns and he seems to blend with just about anyone. Rosemary, who chills easily, will be moving from the garden soon, as Fall breezes in.

Perhaps the favored children in the family would be those who mind their own business: Buddleia, with her clouds of blooms (she plays with the butterflies), and the billowy grasses with her fuzzy seedheads. She likes to tickle human faces, but is otherwise well behaved. Also, the blond head of False Cypress "Golden Mops" brightens an otherwise dull corner.

Sometimes good looks don't mean a lot when it comes to unruly behavior. Ribbon grass is one such naughty child; an invader, showing up where he's not wanted. When push came to shove, I had to banish him from the garden. Then there's mint, who likes to run wild through the garden. He plays hide-and-seek with me, as I try to find the others he has covered in a forest of spearmint-flavored greens. It's a game that I don't like to play.

Some grow at different rates; the lanky ones need extra training. These need more attention, but do so well in the garden that they're worth the extra fuss. I discipline the Moonflower and Passion vines to grow up in a respectable manner. Although they sometimes resist, guiding them in the right direction is an easy thing to do. Moonflower is my party girl. She likes to stay up all night, wearing her irresistible fragrance and donning a formal white "dress."

Then there's the messy ones that I always have to pick up after. Hibiscus irritates me by discarding her spent blooms, like clothing, on the ground for me to pick up every day. When illness strikes, my problem child has got to be Rose. She is always ill with Black Spot, and drops her leaves all summer long. Medicine is expensive and not always the best solution for Rose, who tries to blossom in spite of it all.

When it's haircut time, a pair of scissors and a few minutes takes care of Garlic Chive, who, at such time, could use a bit of deodorant. I leave the pompous mop-heads of Annabelle hydrangea, as they look their best with big hair. The rest get a clipping when their colors fade. Removing plant seed heads helps with birth-control, as the girls can be quite promiscuous.

Take some time to get to know the characters that make up your garden. Like the kids, they will mature and grow, and with the right amount of nurturing and love, bring joy to those who know them well.

A gentle breeze is blowing. A small leaf and a larger leaf seem to dance to the music of an unseen orchestra. Back and forth, around and around, the sun is shining on them, giving them a reddish-brown glow. But suddenly, a gush of wind sends the two dancing leaves on their separate way, into the unknown.

O Dandelion, yellow as gold, what do you do all day?
"I just wait here in the tall, green grass, 'till the children come to play."

O Dandelion, yellow as gold, what do you do all night?
"I wait and wait, while the cool dew falls, and my hair grows long and white."

And what do you do when your hair grows white, and the children come to play? "They take me in their dimpled hands, and blow my hair away!"

The Earth has come to life today.
Spring is here, hooray, hooray.
The flowers are happy.
They wave delight.
The sun shines bright with all her might.
So fly little fairy, fly, fly, fly.
Fly through the meadow and touch the sky.
When you get to where your going,
Remember this day.
The day the Earth came out to play.