Hardy blooms a reflection of life

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We who garden in New England are blessed to live among an abundance of old farmhouses, many of which were built before the turn of the last century and reflect the common architecture of the Colonial or Victorian eras. Many of the flowers that brighten the facades of…
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We who garden in New England are blessed to live among an abundance of old farmhouses, many of which were built before the turn of the last century and reflect the common architecture of the Colonial or Victorian eras. Many of the flowers that brighten the facades of these homes and farms have grown there for generations. They are as dependable, as hardy and as substantial as the foundation of the house itself. Hollyhock, foxglove, delphinium, peony. Bee balm, lily, phlox, bleeding heart …

Rugged old farmhouse flowers tell a story. They speak

volumes about the lifestyle

of another period and they

mirror the lives of the people who cultivated them. Ancient flowers like hollyhocks have

survived in the garden so long primarily because they readily self-sow and thrive with very

little help from the gardener.

Root cuttings and seed from

some farmhouse flowers were brought with the colonists from England. Others were taken from the wild and cultivated around the home. Once planted, they probably didn’t receive much pampering.

On two large tracts of land in my hometown, the story of the hardy farmhouse flower is evident. On Frye Mountain, wedged among the towns of Montville, Morrill and Knox, dozens of old farmhouse foundations remain on what is now a state-owned game preserve. In another 1,000-acre area called “The Kingdom,” many other foundations can be seen. Both areas were once thriving agricultural lands, but through the changing of hands, and with farms lost to fire and the exodus of people to cities in wartime and during economic downturns, the landscape has dramatically changed. Trees now grow where farm crops were once cultivated, where homes were built, lived in and loved, and where roadways bound thriving communities together.

Yet evidence of the residents’ lives remains: old wells, outhouse pits, stones laid for foundations of homes, ells, barns and

outbuildings can be easily distinguished. In most cases they

can be seen through the forest mainly because of the flowering plants that have withstood time and an environment that has shifted from an open, sunny, cultivated landscape to a shady, wild, untended forest environment.

Perhaps tough old day lilies line the foundation of where a house once stood. Or maybe lilies of the valley grow in the shade on what used to be the north side of the house. Lungwort probably rims an old, hand-dug well. Valerian grows near where the outhouse used to stand. Lilacs grow in a mass in front of stones that mark where a magnificent barn was raised.

The skeleton of an old garden isn’t sad to see. It’s encouraging that there are so many plants that require so little attention.

Why do we continue to belabor ourselves with delicate needs of fussy plants when these tough-as-shoe-leather perennials require little more than simple appreciation? The answer is simple. We couldn’t live without the constant color of the petunia or marigold. And we shouldn’t. But likewise we shouldn’t live without the exceptional ease of the primrose, violet, daffodil or dame’s rocket. We should indulge in the lily, iris, lupine and honeysuckle.

Who knows? Perhaps after we’re long gone, our garden

will remain. Maybe 100 years from now our home will

be deserted or moved, but the flowers will live on. That,

too, isn’t a sad thought. What

better to leave behind than the remnants of a thriving garden? Someday someone might pass

by, and, taken by the beauty

and fragrance of a tiny, pure white blossom of a lily of the valley, get down on their hands and knees to take a better look. Maybe they’ll brush away the layers of leaves that have gathered around the small, struggling leaves. Perhaps they’ll wedge their fingers down into the soil and lift the plant by its roots, take it back to their garden and plant it with love.

Maybe, just maybe, they’ll wonder about our lives and they’ll bring that which was once ours back to life.

Diana George Chapin is the NEWS garden columnist. Send horticulture questions to Gardening Questions, RR1, Box 2120, Montville 04941, or e-mail them to dianagc@ctel.net. Selected questions will be answered in future columns. Include name, address and telephone number.


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