Just Another Flower in the Garden - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg

In the Garden:

Though aphids eat hibiscus leaves
its flowers will still bloom -
with blossoms big as dinner plates
on lofty stalks they'll loom.
Some lilies that we thought were pink
burst out in scarlet red,
and since I've seen them all abloom
I'd not choose pink instead.
I've other lilies also -
some yellow and some cream
that sport bright fuchsia centers
and blend with colour scheme.
Coneflowers are so healing,
and here they are profuse.
I ought to sit here daily
and put them to good use.
Oh garden you're not perfect,
I've noticed mildew spots,
seen weeds and damaged flowers
and work unfinished - lots.
The snails munched on my hostas -
their leaves are ragged now;
the pink hydrangeas - how they thirst!
Their heavy heads they bow.
Yet in this imperfection
is feast for hungry eye,
and languid scent of lavender
my nose cannot deny.
I close my eyes and feel it -
a breeze upon my face -
my senses all respond to
the magic of this place.

- By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, August 13th, 2014

My garden is a lot of work. I spend hours weeding it each week, and it still never looks perfect. When I inspect my efforts carefully there's always some weed that escaped my eye. I give it a good watering when the local bylaws tell me I can, and a splash of water from my trusty old tin watering can between times, but too often it looks dry. It struggles to be healthy - aphids and snails and powdery mildew constantly conspire against me and my plants. It can be extremely frustrating to put so much effort into something that never achieves the pristine perfection of gardens seen in magazines.

When that sort of frustration sets in I give myself a shake. That kind of airbrushed, colour enhanced glossiness is an unrealistic goal for my garden, which does the best it can with less than ideal soil, an inexperienced gardener, watering restrictions and weeds that can't be sprayed away. In spite of its many disadvantages, my garden grows and blooms and gives me pleasure.

Some of the things that I thought I didn't want in my garden - like the giant red lilies that we thought would bloom pink - have ended up being things that thrill me most. The twisty trees that I love so much were a last minute substitution for the landscaper's first choice, which was on backorder. She was hesitant about putting them in, but I can't imagine any other trees filling those spots so nicely.

In contrast, some of the things we were initially excited about haven't lived up to our expectations. The new trees we put in along the back fence are thirsty little guys - not at all well suited to an area that often battles summer droughts and has watering restrictions permanently in place. If I had unlimited resources I'd replace them with something heartier. But then again, if I had a ton of money to work with I'd have hired professionals to come and tend the garden for me, and I'd have sprinklers on timers to ensure that my plants and trees get every ounce of water that they're allotted.

I've come to see gardening as the perfect analogy for life. We don't always get what we think we planted - and sometimes that makes for wonderful surprises when we discover unexpected hidden abilities and rise to challenges that we could've never foreseen. We constantly re-arrange things to achieve maximum satisfaction and highlight the best and brightest aspects of our lives. We battle invasive weeds and pests and fight to build strong roots in what is often somewhat inhospitable soil. Life is a lot of work - and it's not always terribly gratifying.

The more time I spend in my garden, the more aware I become of the fact that I'm just another small plant in the vast garden of humanity. I'm just a single green shoot struggling to break through to the surface and enjoy some sunlight. I'm a tender young planting trying to get established in a patch of soil that has rocks that threaten to crush my roots and weeds that threaten to strangle them. I'm a fragile green shoot opening my leaves to the sun, sending out hesitant buds and hoping they'll bloom before the bunnies arrive to nip them off. I'm a lily in full flower, a hydrangea looking for water and the woody shoot of old growth patiently waiting for new buds to take hold on me and prove my worth.

Some flowers will thrive, while others barely survive. Some will wither and die without blooming. Some will be choked by weeds. Some will wither from the root. Some won't survive the weeds that overpower them. Some will suffer from too few nutrients, or too little water.

Every one of us, as flowers in this common garden will face multiple challenges. We'll expect ourselves to bloom longer than we will. We'll be impatient with the constraints placed on us - curse the bad soil we were planted in, the rain for not falling generously upon us, or the sun for not placing us in the spotlight. We may feel neglected by those we've counted on as caretakers. None of us want to be a host for aphids or sport black spot, but it happens. And in spite of these blights in our lives, most of us will manage some bloom time anyway.

Every flower wants to be the most perfect specimen in the garden. Every flower can't be the most perfect specimen in any garden. And that's because gardens are made up of all kinds of flowers, perfect and imperfect, straggling, struggling and staggeringly beautiful.

Real beauty, in any garden, comes from the contrasting shapes and sizes and colours of the plantings. A rose will always be bigger than a violet, but the larger size and flashier nature of one doesn't detract from the beauty of the other. A lush, gorgeous garden is full of differing flowers all blooming at different times, ceding their place of prominence to those who bloom later. Tulips don't compete with asters - they don't need to because each knows its place and season. The ornamental grasses have their place among the blossoms, and the bright foliage of some plants more than compensates for their lack of flowers. When all are sown together they can all be part of a glorious riot of colour and texture that could never be achieved if each was expected to stand alone.

The happiest flowers understand that they're all part of a garden - no more important than the plant next to them. They don't allow themselves to compare their fading glory to the fresh shoots that are just coming on. They just bloom as brightly as they can, for as long as they can.

Enjoy the sun, soak up the rain, and remember, fellow flowers - there is beauty in imperfection. Fading flowers have their place, and the blossoms that persist above the mildew deserve to be admired.

Bloom on.