Flower Power

One night not long ago, I had a dream. I was thumbing through a garden magazine, and I spotted a layout entitled “Flower Power.” Under the heading was a resplendent garden meticulously weeded. The papery poppy petals were crimson and shiny with early morning dewdrops, and the tall larkspur standing behind did not flop but stood straight and firm.

In fact, in this magazine and in my dream, there was no drought  Light showers arrived periodically on odd-numbered days. Suddenly, an urge hit me to cut these pictures out and paste them in my own garden, hoping to duplicate that pretty garden.  But when I awoke, I found myself tearing the magazine in shreds and padding it around my climbing hydrangea for mulch.

   

Although some dreams might appear depressing, some can become powerful motivators, which this dream did. It allowed me to shoot out of bed the next morning refreshed and eager to begin my early summer gardening chores.

I want to give you a little hint here. Gardening, besides weed pulling and hair pulling, is all just a matter of how you dress. The better you look, the more it doesn’t seem to matter when you’ve failed. So when I march out the door, dressed to kill in my Smith & Hawkins garden clogs and $150 of mail-order attire, all those growing things better darn well recognize I mean business.

By the second week in June, I can measure my success. For me, success is when the flowering population has all learned their place.They must line up in military fashion. Short ones in front, tall ones in back and those with a dismal and shaky future by the compost heap.

I confess I am not always kind to them. And there are times I unassumingly stroll over and yank one out just because she doesn’t fit in with the others, or because it’s so crowded you can’t see who’s who, or because she’s the wrong color or hue.

The ones that don’t succeed in my lousy soil (I am not a soil-tester type) and lack of water are just out. I don’t even plant more of their relatives, because I conclude it’s a bad species that will never be able to withstand my daily regime.

I think often about that ubiquitous expression Flower Power, and wonder who really has all this power--the gardeners or the flowers? And if the flowers, as all the magazines seem to give credence to, have all this power, just maybe we, the gardeners, better start being a little nicer to them or suffer the consequences.

For example, what if the more flowers I plant, the more power they exert? Then one day they’ll form a mutiny; the roses leading the way with their sweet scents luring the other pretty petals to dutifully follow.

Every little bloom will line up behind the ‘All-American’ roses with the violets close behind because they all know I’ve stepped on them one too many times. And they’ll be chanting: “Roses are red; Violets are blue. See how you like us stepping on you.” They’ll drag me out of bed at 9:30 AM and pour water over my head. They’ll force food down me even when I am not hungry. Then they’ll trim me down to nothing, chop me off at the roots, and stuff me in the ugliest vase they can find.

Everyone will remark how pretty I look, but it will be short-lived. They soon hurl me in the garbage a few days later because they forgot to use the preservative that was under the kitchen sink to make me look fresh one day longer. And now my petals are shriveled and wrinkled and my stems droopy, and I start to smell bad sitting in that water for four days straight.

I sweat when I have these dreams at night. I wake up pledging to be kinder, not so impatient, respectful to the dirt and the bees and the rain and the weeds. I tell myself that one day down the road, my dreams will cease, and what difference will it make who has the power when we are all, in the end, just a big dust ball anyway.

It is possible to share power. Water us regularly, don’t overfeed us, give us plenty of sunshine, and say a nice word occasionally. We can all live harmoniously given the right conditions. I have recently practiced this simple philosophy and you’ll be happy to know, I am having many more pleasant dreams lately.

Copyright 2015: This essay was originally published in Grit Magazine and reprinted in At Home in the Garden published by Guideposts.