What is a garden? My mother and grandmothers grew flowers but never referred to them as a garden. They called them flowerbeds. I grew up thinking of a garden as just a place to grow food, a vegetable garden. I can still see my paternal grandmother, Margerite, bent over in her garden, picking vegetables then placing them in her upturned apron.
I remember sitting with her in metal chairs in the front yard, shelling “shelly” beans. I will never forget the delicious meals she prepared from the food she grew for us to eat on all year long. “Garden to table” before it was a hashtag.
It wasn’t until my trip to France that I learned that when the French speak of a garden, they are probably referring to an outdoor living space that would more likely contains flowers than vegetables. The French don’t have the perfectly manicured and weedless green lawns that we Americans strive for. Their yards seem to have a planned casualness about them. Bushes are planted willy-nilly throughout the yard. Patches of flowers are planted here and there, not contained within a mulched bed. Flowers and bushes alike grow in the middle of gravel paths and into them. Mismatched pots of vibrant colored flowers are scattered everywhere. Doorways are often rose-draped.
My maternal grandmother, Gladys, would have loved that. She grew climbing roses and always had a bottle of rose-scented eau de toilette on her dresser.
When the French plant a vegetable garden, it often contains a scattering of flowers throughout. My friend and neighbor in France, Monique, let me help her plant her vegetable garden, which we fit into her existing flower garden. I counted it a privilege when she asked me to keep it watered for her while she and her husband, Jean Louis, were away to Italy for a couple of weeks. Monique’s garden was the inspiration for my own.
As soon as I was back home, I set about designing my French-inspired garden, keeping in mind casualness and low maintenance. Once I had settled on the design, I sketched it all out on a large chalkboard, which I still have hanging in my bedroom as a reminder to finish the garden as designed. Then the real work began. It has taken several years and is nearly complete. I had many helpers along the way, but have worked on each and every inch of ground.
“How fair is a garden amid the toils and passions of existence.” Benjamin Disraeli
That certainly holds true for me. My garden is the place I go to when something is troubling me. It is the place I literally ran to when I heard about the sudden death of a friend. It is the place I have raised my voice to the heavens, asking, “Why?” on more than one occasion. But it is also the place where I thank God, the place where I praise Him in song, however off-key. It is where I petition Him or ask for forgiveness while pulling weeds. Symbolic, yes? And always, after working in the garden, I sit in my porch-style garden swing which is hung from an 18’ tall branch, making it glide more than swing upward. As I glide, I close my eyes and listen for Him. Often there is a sudden and strong wind that blows through and I take that as a sign that He is with me, literally there with me.
“One is nearer God’s heart in a garden than anywhere else on earth.” Dorothy Gurney
My garden is also my place of refuge from the modern world, a place where I can disconnect from my phone and my schedule, a place to unwind, to daydream, or just to zone out. I recall one Sunday after church, during a particularly stressful time in my life, that I sat out in that swing for the entire afternoon. What I can’t recall is one single thing I thought about during those hours. I just sat there enjoying the view, the breeze and the sunshine. Many evenings I am out in the garden late, not realizing the hour until I try to walk back to the house, finding it too dark to see. Often, my husband will ask, “Where have you been?”. Silly question.
“Castle or Farmhouse, it is the garden that makes it feel like home.” Unknown author
I grew up in a very old farmhouse. My mother did her best to make it a nice home for her family. She built and installed a window box under the window beside our kitchen table so that we could enjoy her flowers up close while we ate. She also planted a line of gladiolus along a dilapidated shed that was in view of that window to pretty it up. She loved to photograph her flowers, zooming in close to show the intricacy of the patterns and colors. She would sometimes capture a tiny insect living his best life on that beautiful flower.
Gen 2:8 Now the Lord God had planted a garden in the East in Eden and there He put the man He had formed.”
Adam belonged in a garden and apparently, I do, too. My three-year-old grandson once said, “Grandma, let’s go to your garden. You belong there.”
I agree, Isaiah, I agree.
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