“Like most people she felt ambushed by time.”—Penelope Lively
There is a letter that the French writer, Colette, includes in one of her books. It is written by her mother, Sido, to Colette’s husband. I read it many years ago and found it remarkable; I recently came across it again and the sentiments concerning beauty, flowers, family, love, and especially time and aging, are profound:
“Sir,
You ask me to come and spend a week with you, which means I would be near my daughter, whom I adore. You who live with her know how rarely I see her, how much her presence delights me, and I’m touched that you should ask me to come and see her. All the same I’m not going to accept your kind invitation, for the time being at any rate. The reason is that my pink cactus is probably going to flower. It is a very rare plant I’ve been given, and I’m told that in our climate it flowers only once every four years. Now, I am already a very old woman, and if I went away when my pink cactus is about to flower I shouldn’t see it flower again.
So I beg you, sir, to accept my sincere thanks and my regrets, together with my kind regards.
Sidonie Colette, née Landoy.”
And then this week I heard that a gardening friend, still active at 90, was told by her doctor that she only has a few weeks left to live. But there is a basement of dahlia tubers and gladioli bulbs and packets of seeds. Maybe she will outlive the doctor’s verdict. Maybe one more season.
Time quietly passes. Suddenly, if we survive, we are old. I am there and most of my life is in the past. Ah, but the garden always points to the future, always another season, more seeds to sow, more pleasure ahead. I sit here writing on a gray, winter day near a windowsill crowded with blooming hyacinths, daffodils, and witch hazel, a jump on spring in New England. Pots of herbs are sprouting and I anticipate the garden to come. I will grow many of the same plants, either for sheer beauty or delicious eating, yet there is always something new to be thrilled about.
I ordered seeds of Craspedia globosa, an annual flower that I often admired in photos and this year it will be in my garden. It is native to Australia and New Zealand and has some charming local names like sun ball, drumstick flower, billy buttons, or billy balls. The plant has silvery narrow leaves, with two foot stalks topped by mustard yellow spherical blooms full of nectar for pollinators. They are perfect for cut flowers or dried for winter color. And, if you leave some to set seed, the birds love them. I love spherical blooms and will pair these drumsticks with some Echinops ritro, the steely blue globe thistle.
Another annual that I will plant masses of this year is Centaurea americana, a cousin of the blue bachelor button or cornflower of Europe. This centurea is native to the south central United States and northeast Mexico, and again the common nicknames give a clue to its appearance. The star thistle or shaving brush flower allude to the soft bristles of the flower and American basket flower describes the woven structure holding the brush. Last year I had a few plants. This summer I will grow a white version and a pink with a dusty rose color and dark gray stems.
We plants seeds and small seedlings and wait, sometimes patiently, often not, for fragrant blooms or peas or juicy tomatoes. It takes time. But time is a precious commodity, more so as the years add up. The garden is a perfect place to while away the time, to appreciate your hard work, to sit and watch the world go by, to watch the birds fly by, and time along with them.
“So come the storms of winter and then the birds in spring again,
I have no fear of time.
And who knows where the time goes
Who knows where the time goes.”—Sandy Denny
March 2023