My mother has been a constant influence in my life, even in death. She gifted me many things I didn’t appreciate at the time – how to eat peas in polite company; why you shouldn’t wear brown shoes with a grey suit in the City; the best method of hanging wall paper with a particularly large pattern repeat; and how to enjoy the ineffable loveliness of a garden.
Dad was all for using me as forced labour, to grind me into a Soviet-style apparatchik who’d dig the party line and plant potatoes to feed the proletariat that lived at our house. Mum wasn’t into forced anything but all about joy and love. She wanted me to understand how the Chinese proverb about doing something you will love a lifetime was correct: you create a garden.
Gardens are a labour, sometimes of love and sometimes they just are. Like my Latin homework seemed to be, they are never finished, always a work in progress. Mum worked on the horticultural equivalent of a good cheese board: you take a plate of cheeses and crackers; you find you’ve finished one of the cheese/crackers but not the other so you take a little more crackers/cheese; repeat. She’d buy materials and seeds and have too much for whatever project it was; she’d buy something else to make sure she used the first surplus and now had too much of that; repeat.
When we’ve moved, Mum’s first interest was the garden, the potential and she’d supply us with a constant stream of small gifts to help give effect whatever plans we had.
I can stand looking at our garden and think about Mum, imagining her bent back, the murbling from the transistor radio that was her constant companion and the trug of tools and whathaveyous that went with her everywhere. But if I really want a reminder then spring is the perfect time.
Because these
She adored hostas and some of these are direct descendants of hers that burst forth after a dormant winter.
And these…
Fritillarias, with which she started us off with seeds, shortly after we moved in.
Happy days….
TanGental 
Why haven’t slugs eaten your hostas?
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That reads like a bad translation of a russian guide to the appropriate etiquette at a Romanov orgy
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Lovely garden and a beautiful story. Thanks for sharing both.
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Pleasure John…
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Hostas grew well in Vancouver too and I loved it when they burst forth every spring. What a great way to remember your mom.
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They do the job in ways a headstone never can
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Lovely. We have recently started looking to purchase our own home here in Germany. The main requirement being that the home has a garden. I would live year round in a tent if it allowed me to have a garden again. Yours is beautiful, and such wonderful memories to go with it.
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I hope you get that dream. I so never want to move and am determined to hang on as long as I can but one day I’ll be watering them with drool so time to move on… that’s probably tipped into the too much information section.. soz
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Enjoy every moment for as long as you can!
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I love this piece…both the memories and the photographs. I never considered growing hostas in pots, and this is a great idea!
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They work brilliantly and it’s easier to keep the snails at bay
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Fond memories. No slugs have eaten our hosts either. How do you eat peas in polite company?
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My guess would be either one at a time, or with other foods that enable the peas to stick together on your fork, mashed potato is my go-to for the slippery little buggers. 😀
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Squidged into a paste on the back of the fork… always was weird…
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Now that’s just criminal! 😀
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So many rules, so many broken
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Apparently using the back of the fork and pressing hard is the way forward. See Tangental’s comment. Jackie also uses the aid of mashed potato. Her father taught her
“I eat my peas with honey,
I’ve done it all my life.
It makes the peas taste funny,
But it sticks them to my knife.”
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OK, my tastebuds just informed me that if I ever do that, they’ll revolt, and it won’t be pretty! 😀
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Back of the fork and press hard…
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Thanks a lot. I’ll remember that for next time I’m in polite company
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Such a nice way to remember. I love my hostas too.
Seems like a strange thing is happening on WordPress for me. I follow you, I know I follow you but yet when I came here today the follow tag appeared. This has happened on several peoples sites today. Any ideas of what’s happening?
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No it happens to me. It doesn’t seem to affect the notifications I get.
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Geoff, it’s heartwarming to read of the lasting gifts you’ve received from your Mum ❤
Indeed, gardens are "never finished, always a work in progress." But for me, as it must've been for your Mum, a garden is a work of love that brings endless joy 🙂
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Oh yes… happiness was a trowel and her trug
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What a life lesson(s) she left you with. A garden is sublime, A garden full of hostas even more so. When my guy and I moved to our ‘new house’ back in 2000 – first time in NE – a new friend brought to us 30 hostas from his just-deceased mom’s house. And he helped us plant them. Win/win for both.
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Wow! Now that would be worth seeing…. mum would have swooned at the thought of so many…
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*That’s* why you have so many fritillarias! What a lovely legacy for your mum. And I’m jealous. 🙂
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Yep, sprinkled with affection… always helps them grow
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My mother was a gardener, too, Geoff. I’m not into it as much as she was but certain flowers always remind me of her, like bleeding heart and dahlias. She raised four children and helped my dad run a potato farm. When I think about her taking the time to grow flowers, I realize she truly loved it. Nice reminders of wonderful mothers.
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Yes that must be a bit like selling coal to a miner… mum loved bleeding hearts too. Ours are just out in the last few days
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Ooh! I like the Fritillarias.
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They are super. Seeds just forming…
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I am always drawn to your posts when they include gardens and of course The Dog. Happy times. The presence of bulbs in early spring is fun. Reminded me that I could never remember where the heck I planted them all, so when they reared their happy faces I was pleased to see that they had survived!
Happy Spring Gardening, Geoff and Co.
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Thanks… lots of colour this year which makes spring v special…
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Lovely on all counts!
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Sweet. You want more Pearl btw.. I’m up to 23 chapters and 65k words… all v raw natch…
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sure thing
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😗
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So nice, Geoff. Really lovely. Hope my boys write something nice about me someday. (I think I have some work to do, first!)
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Regular prompts help…
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My husband’s mother was an avid gardener and passed her love on to her son. He loves expanding plantings every year. He collects seeds from plants he finds in the wild and marks with little sticks so he can return when they have gone to seed. He learned that from his mother too.
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I understand that urge… mind you stick tend to encourage the dog to pee which has a rather negative impact on seedlings…
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Hadn’t thought of that.
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beautifully fresh
your mother continues
blossoming 🙂
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Thank your
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What a lovely tribute to your Mum, Geoff. I hope my children remember me with such kindness.
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I’m sure they will
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Fingers crossed. 🙂
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What a beautiful way to remember your mother. It’s much the same way as I remember my grandpa.
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It’s lovely that it keeps recurring
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The love and care your mother put into her garden and her children was evident in your book, “Apprenticed to My Mother.” Loved that book and the garden looks fab. Kudos to spring for arriving on time, despite climate change, global warming and the rise of authoritarianism worldwide. At least some things can still be counted upon to show up and provide beauty and enrichment for all. :0)
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Yep mum would have a word or two with the weather gods if they even hinting at buggering up her hostas…
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Lovely in every way, Geoff!
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Thanks Jennie
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You’re welcome, Geoff.
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My mother liked a bit of a garden too, or at least I think she did, it was probably the only time I remember her being even moderately happy.
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Ah that sounds rather poignant.
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Aye. I think both my parents quickly regretted emigrating from city life – London, to the wilds of a completely undeveloped parcel of land in backwoods Australia … but my mother regretted it the most.
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That’s too painful… my uncle and aunt emigrated to Australia twice, once in 1960 and once in 1972. First time they ran a pub outside Wagga Wagga, second time they spent a year regretting it. Both times my aunt chiselled away until they came back. My uncle always hoped he’d get back…
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What a lovely post, Geoff. Your mother sounds sweet and wise, and sometimes I think it’s the gift of people who love to nurture and make things grow. Hostas are a favorite of mine too. Happy Gardening. It’s one of the best parts of spring. ❤
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Yep, .loving it here this year.. thank you Diane
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Love that garden, love your mum 💜
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Love returned…
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💜, such a great teacher
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