Sadness and Joy

 My mom died last week. She was a rare individual who dared to dream despite setbacks in life. I was lucky, we loved each other tremendously, even with our shared stubborn streak. I was lucky, she taught me to see nature and appreciate subtlety of color. She is the one who woke the childhood gardener in me. I was lucky, she loved me unconditionally. I am still lucky.

It was bittersweet, then, when she would come to visit us here at Chickadee Gardens because she could not physically walk around and see it all. Only from the windows did she experience our garden world and would repeatedly exclaim/ask: "What's THAT green thing over there?" and we would all chuckle because, really, how many green things can one see out our windows? Thousands. We played along and would do our best to identify what tickled her fancy. And give her a much-appreciated cup of decaf.

She loved the garden despite not being able to move around in it. Most of my blog was for her and people like her who might not have the opportunity for whatever reason to be in a garden. She was still a gardener, make no mistake about it. She had a love of the humble daisy, the way the concrete patio looked when wet after watering the pots, moss on the forest floor, the smell of sweet peas and daphne, fresh strawberries, random weeds that have a simple beauty, a forest of sumac in her backyard that she cultivated carefully over several years, her prized Podophyllum peltatum in her back yard, the many trees she planted decades ago on her humble suburban lot that are now sentinels in that neighborhood, masses of wildflowers that stretch on for miles as seen on a country drive on a summer day. I could go on.

This post is for her, a walk-about on a very sad day for me but thinking of my mom and hoping she is walking alongside. I want to show her all the bits and bobs in my garden that she might enjoy on such a warm June day and appreciating all that she pointed in my direction throughout my lifetime. I am humbled by the magic she worked to open my eyes to the world. 

The magic of evening light was an event to be celebrated by my mom.

She was a lover of ferns and foliage, a love that probably came from growing up in the Pacific Northwest. Pyrrosia and Adiantum x mairisii were plants near our front door that she certainly saw and appreciated.

Big, fluffy grasses evoke memories of drives in the country, something we did often when we were kids. It was an adventure, something we could do as a family with very little money. Just the four of us - her, me and my two brothers. Times were tough for a single mom with no money in the 70's but, man, she made our childhood epic. We were tight. I remember field after field on our way to the beach for the day, or on the way out to Mount Hood. This, Stipa gigantea, isn't one we necessarily saw but it has the same spirit.

More grass with Daphne 'Eternal Fragrance' at its base. This is the last flower she smelled, from this very plant. Even though she couldn't talk in the end, she smiled a huge grin when she smelled this in the bouquet I brought her from the garden.

The edge of the meadow garden she was able to see from her car as she drove up our driveway. "What are those wooden things for?" I can hear her asking. And I'd tell her. Again. "For decoration, that's all." Before I could finish my sentence she would be on her next question. I did my best to answer all her questions but I think she asked just for the sake of asking sometimes rather than the knowing. Her curiosity had no bounds.

A rose grown from a cutting in her garden - a groundcover rose that is incredibly floriferous. We bought this together on a splendid trip with a dear friend out to Heirloom Roses in the early 2000's. We have lost the name but it's alive and well here in our garden, as it is in hers, too.

Always an artist and an appreciator of lines, this is a composition she would appreciate. Olearia 'Dartonii' in a sea of drought-adapted plants. She always wanted a fabulous garden, I gave her one when I lived with her as an adult in the early 2000's but truth be told, it was too much for her to maintain. Still she dreamed and would enjoy going to local nurseries fantasizing about growing all her favorite plants, perhaps in a small cottage garden at the beach.

Eremurus and other sun lovers were sadly something she never saw in person.

Textures along with silver foliage were always a big hit with Mom.

The shade garden and its mossy path is where I fantasized that she could walk through, but as it is at the top of our property up a slope, it was never to be. 

The chicken coop and the sign. She was an artist from whom I learned. And she was a huge appreciator of farm fresh eggs.

A newish bed near the chicken coop is one that especially evokes her spirit for me as this is where I was, weeding and planting, when we had our last long and meaningful conversation on the phone. I have been carefully planting it with a few woodland favorites and I will always think of it as Mom's garden.

Tree dahlia, Dahlia imperialis, would have really impressed her. I mean REALLY. She would have gone on and on about it for days had she been able to see it in person and all of its 15' of height.

Bright color in Salvia 'Brilliant' that she would appreciate. As it's a hummingbird favorite it would also be one of hers. Her love of wildlife, birds and nature, ran deep. She was a lover of PBS, Nova, Nature and all things science, arts and music. She watched all of the David Attenborough programs (as well as British murder mysteries) with such joy and would often give us kids DVDs of her interests such as these. She played piano and sang in Sweet Adelines as a young woman. She was an accomplished artist in her own right.

Penstemon 'Rich Ruby', another hummingbird favorite that she also loved in mixed bouquets I'd make for her from time to time.

Delosperma 'Alan's Apricot' is just about the best delosperma I have grown. She would have loved it, describing it as "brilliant pink stars" and would have done a painting of it in her younger days.

Umbillicus (Chiastophyllum) oppositifolium 'Jim's Pride' also by the front door is a sweet little plant in my fern table that she liked. 

Aruncus dioicus, goatsbeard, in the shade garden would be one of those woodland plants that she would want to make bouquets from.

Not quite periwinkle blue, but close enough. That was her favorite color. Hydrangeas like this will always take me back to my childhood and our summer vacations every year at Arch Cape on the Oregon Coast. There was a hedge of these at the cabin we stayed in, they always grow so well on the coast.

Oregon wildflowers, this is Aquilegia formosa, our native columbine, were close to her heart. She would have loved these in the garden. She was always pointing out little flowers here and there when we were out on some adventure or another as kids. Of course, we'd roll our eyes and feign interest while she would wax poetic about how pretty they are. I guess it sank in after all, Mom.

A lovely, unknown hardy geranium with a blush of pink; right up her alley.

Silver foliage of Brunnera 'Sea Heart' would have astounded her that there could actually be silver on those leaves. She lived in Anchorage, Alaska, as a young woman and was a sucker for anything silver, white, winter-scape, icy looking, etc. Every year our Christmases were color-themed based on her whim. Silver and white and mirrored decor won out more often than not.

The edge of the labyrinth garden, full of brightly colored flowers and a bit of drama. I really wish she could have seen this in person.

A beautiful and fitting card from my dear friend Mary. The garden, though I have been unable to really dive in fully, has been a solace for me this past week of heartbreak. I want to at least be in it for it is here that I feel her the most.

A mossy path leading off to the woods of heaven where I truly hope she is able to explore to her heart's content, free of pain.

Deanna Kathleen Bown Paulat, rest in peace. A beautiful woman with a beautiful bouquet dropped off by our friend Julie, thank you so much. 

Taken six years ago on her 80th birthday at Wildwood Forest in the Mount Hood National Forest. A party in the forest - so Deanna. She picked the place, we dined among fir trees on a drizzly September afternoon. It was magic, just like she was.

We are heartbroken. She was an incredible woman with the spirit of a warrior and rarely complained about the years of pain she endured. In the end, her body gave up on her and that's what broke me more than anything. It doesn't seem fair to have that happen to someone who loved the world and all its natural beauty and to not be able to walk among it. But the joy she gave us is so worth celebrating. A mingling of profound sadness but also profound joy. I will celebrate both.

Hug your loved ones and tell them you love them. That's really all that matters in this life.

That's a wrap for this time at Chickadee Gardens. As always thank you so much for reading and commenting, we do love hearing from you. And please forgive if my frequency of posts is a bit erratic in the near future, I know you understand.