Nature as Healer
From Appalachia to the Gulf South
The memory is a living thing—it too is in transit. But during its moment, all that is remembered joins, and lives—the old and the young, the past and the present, the living and the dead. —from One Writer’s Beginnings, Eudora Welty
When I was a pre-schooler through 3rd grade, I lived with my step grandparents in rural Ohio just across the river from Wheeling, WV. We lived on a dirt road in a house that nestled right against a hill where groundhogs often roamed in the summer and where we sledded in the winter snow. As much fun as sledding was, it was summer I loved. I spent, what seems like now, all my days outside playing in the “crick” across the road or following my “Grandpap” around the yard watching him plant flowers or do odd jobs. When he cut the grass way up on the hill, I would take him a jug of ice water - it was a big hill with lots of grass! He taught me the names of many flowers he grew: bachelor button, sweet william, zinnia, hyacinth, morning glory, and others. There was a meadow next to the property where wild tiger lilys and Queen Anne’s Lace grew. It was like looking at heaven, I thought. In the evenings, Grandpap and I would sit in the porch swing and watch the rabbits hop across the yard and listen to the whip-poor-wills’ mating calls . He’d tell me stories or sing little songs like “Froggy Went a-Courting”. I felt safe and loved. I’ve never forgotten my time there although, because of circumstances beyond my control, afterward I never had anyone to talk with who shared these memories.
All of this to say I had a gardener’s love of nature instilled in me at a young age. I don’t have a particularly green thumb but I like to putter and experiment. New Orleans is a great environment for tropical plants but I miss the flowers of my childhood in Ohio. Although I plant seeds every spring, results are hit or miss. I have tried without success to grow cosmos which I keep hearing is so easy to grow. Huh. Morning glory and moonflower are easy to grow - I have some growing right now and can’t wait to see blooms. Puttering around the garden is calming and, in a way, feels safe. When the chaos going on in the world feels too heavy, sitting in the garden reminds me that nature is always available even if it’s ever-changing. Plants and trees are always there, growing, living, demanding nothing.
As a pre-teen and teen I lived on a red dirt hill on a back road in the Mississippi countryside. We didn’t have flowers but we had a large vegetable garden every summer and a big yard of grass to cut. I admit, picking vegetables and cutting grass was not my jam. Mississippi summers are hot and humid even in the early morning and late afternoon.
My nature getaway in those days was the woods. There were lots of woods around us and I would take walks among the pines, oaks, and other trees because I loved it there. Deep in the woods it was cooler and it was fun to find wild maypop, muscadine, and blackberries. In the spring I would seek out native jonquils and wood violets whose scents were clean and primordial. When I was upset, walking in the woods was a natural destresser and a haven. I remember lying on my back under a huge oak that must have been a couple of hundred years old, looking through its leaves rustling in the breeze to splashes of blue way, way up, listening to birds tweet and whistle. It seemed the ground absorbed my teenage angst and frustrations like a drawing salve. The depth of quiet was tangible. I think of it now and a calm settles over my body, a release. That level of peace can’t be found here in the city with the sounds of traffic always in the background but my little garden tries and does a pretty good job. But, oh, do I miss the woods!
These days I’m outside watching green things come up in all my pots in the side garden - what we refer to as my secret garden although it’s no secret. But it is secluded from the street, a space enclosed between a privacy fence and the brick wall of my house. I like to rearrange the pots as things grow, get larger, and the colors pop through. It’s a lot like how I move and rearrange lines in the stories and poems I write. There’s always an enhanced perspective as the story evolves, just like when plants grow.
March 30 is my birthday and I guess that’s why I’ve been reminiscing for the last few days. At this point in my life there are few things I want or need and I can buy them when I do. But I had been wanting a particular variety of buddleia, a dwarf variety in purple. My husband spent more time than he should have looking for it online, ordered it, and it arrived today. He is relentless. I had given up looking for it, saying oh well. I’m glad he didn’t. When it blooms and the butterflies come, it will be another thing of beauty to add to my healing memories.
Happy Belated Birthday, Charlotte. Such a lovely post. You reminded me of my own childhood in the country, watching bats fly around at night, catching fireflies, admiring our neighbor’s garden. Our neighbor was like a surrogate grandfather to me. He didn’t teach me to garden, and I now have only vague memories of colors, but his love for his garden was tangible and it was often a feast for the eyes.
Such similarities as I left the many gardens and gardeners too in the Midwest, still lucking out growing much on the Alabama coast. Sounds like a heartfelt plant on your birthday, it can hold many new memories. Oh Mississippi, I love taking Hwy 45 back home and the many wildflowers planted. Goes on and on!