Late Bloomers and Other Garden Metaphors
We are always eager to see the first signs of spring—the daffodils and tulips and flowering shrubs and trees – that signal imminent warm weather and undiluted sunshine. Fiery pinks and vivid yellows explode in front of our eyes and white pears bloom in elegant profusion, creating a delirium of spring fever. But the growing season in New England will continue for another five or six months before the first frost lays down any new shoots. It is after all the hoopla of spring’s and early summer’s showy blossoms that late bloomers arrive, taking a little longer to make roots and shoots, and to muster their strength for blooming. But once they finally establish themselves, they seem to bring much more to the game. Among the brightest lights are asters, mums, sunflowers, sedum and late roses that can be appreciated in abundance long after the earlier blooming bulbs have turned to seed. These late blooms have staying power: in fact, they are often dried and placed in arrangements that look beautiful all winter long.
If you are a gardener, you know something about living in the moment, as well as in the past and the future – concurrently. That is what a gardener does: appreciates and cares for what is there, plans for what is to come, and knows what was there before – the history of what worked, and what did not. That perspective is always open to receiving information, processing it and creating something new, no matter what point one might be on the time-continuum. For example, U.S. Poet-Laureate (2000) Stanley Kunitz was 95 when he received that honor, and in his 70’s when he wrote the poem “Layers,” (see page 3) included in his last book “The Wild Braid: A Poet Reflects on a Century in the Garden” (2005). Anna Mary Robertson ‘Grandma’ Moses was 76 when she began painting her well-known homespun country scenes and age 80 when she took the art market by storm. Before she died, at age 101 in 1961, she had completed 3600 paintings in only three decades!
I am reminded of two conversations recently with two different individuals over the age of 80. Last night, a friend – a tiny lady with an awesome personality – recited the aforementioned poem, “Layers,” at a dinner with other friends. At 90 years of age, she recalled the poem from memory and related its advice, to “Live in the layers, not on the litter” to her own life, layered with losses as well as accomplishments and dreams, to the group at the table. In another conversation, a Cadbury Resident revealed how he had awakened that morning from a dream in which he was backstage at an opera, just before the curtain rose. He awoke before seeing the opera in the dream, but was so moved by the feeling of anticipation that he sang opera to his cat, and continued singing it while walking in the park that morning. That sense of joyful spirit permeated his day—and no doubt his cat’s too!
According to the New York Times’ obituary, poet Stanley Kunitz, who wrote “Layers,” ‘insisted the secret to his longevity was his attitude: “I’m curious,” he told People [Magazine]. “I’m active. I garden and I write and I drink martinis.” ….Of his work he told People: “The deepest thing I know is that I am living and dying at once, and my conviction is to report that self-dialogue.” ’ And thereby hangs yet another garden metaphor.
