The Gardener’s Dilemma: To plant or not to plant.

Posted on Jan 17, 2013 | 7 comments

Santa Fe Honey

Santa Fe Honey

I remember standing at a farmers market in Santa Fe New Mexico in front of a table lined with jars of amber and gold honey. I was surprised at how much honey the high-desert produces, given the dry scrub covering so much the hilly terrain.  The bearded beekeeper in a cowboy hat explained how nearly all of what I saw as “scrub” bloomed, and the bees flourished. He was sharing samples and the tastes were spectacular.

Like the honeys in any region, the different waves of flowers throughout the seasons created different tastes, bouquets, high and low notes, like wines. “But the very favorite honey of my customers, hands down, is autumn clematis honey.” He shook his head slightly, “You can just open the jar and you smell flowers.” He closed his eyes as he said this, as if he was inhaling the scent just now. Before I had time to speak a single word he answered my next question, “I just get it in the fall and I sell out right away, so I can’t offer you any. But people are asking me if I have any the rest of the year.” That was 2010 and I’d never even contemplated keeping bees.

Bucking Bee Honey, Santa Fe, New Mexico

Sweet Autumn Clematis blooms in September and October across the Ozarks and as I drive through town I spot the big green mounds of vines on fences covered up with so small frilly flowers it looks like a blanket of white foam. It is a weedy green vine unremarkable for most of the season. Come autumn, it explodes into a starry blanket of creamy blossoms with a delicious scent. I think back to the Santa Fe honey. That trip was in 2010, before I ever contemplated keeping bees.

These days I look for good things to plant for my bees. I looked up Autumn Clematis only to find that is not native to the US can be invasive/opportunistic in some climates and I’m not really sure if it is a problem in the Ozarks. But then there’s Virgin’s Bower (Clematis virginiana) also called woodbine, which is less showy but native. The native variety has an added bonus of being good for songbird food and nesting materials, though I’ll have to find a special spot to plant it given that it loves a moist setting…. But this is all part of the pleasant mental wrangling gardeners engage in for fun when it’s too cold or wet to dig.

But the thought of new plantings immediately runs into another, one that says I may not be here to see it. By the time it blooms I may be breaking new ground yet again on the home we hope to find when we move back to the Blue Ridge Mountains in the next year.

 

Ahhh, the gardener’s quandary: If you know you are going to be in a place a relatively short time, do you bother to plant things you will likely never get to see fully grown, or bearing fruits or flowers or shade?

 

I once read a story about a Quaker gardener, a woman, who lived in a town about to be invaded by German troops in World War II. At least that’s the way I remember the story began. Just before she left her home to escape to a neighboring country, she was planting seeds in her vegetable garden. I don’t remember what. Neighbors thought she was crazy to be planting just before leaving and said, ‘You won’t be here to eat it!’ Her answer something like ‘Whoever lives in this house next, they will need to eat.’

Oh those beautiful Quakers. This story has stuck with me for decades, the compassion of this woman willing to plant food she would never eat. Another way I’ve heard this belief is that ‘true wisdom lies in planting trees even if you will never live long enough to sit in their shade.’ It’s very hard to remember to lift up my attention from my wants, wishes and worries and to think of this land going on into the future without me. But when I do, it feels right. And oddly, I feel better—lighter—about how long I will be here. As a hospice nurse, I can’t help but note the larger echo of that realization.

So let me plant more stuff I may or may not be here to see bloom. If only for the reason that when the wash of white frilly flowers appears in some future autumn, bees will arrive at each bloom. There will be nectar for them.

Not clematis, but welsh onion blooms. Not sure how that affects the honey! :-)

Not clematis, but welsh onion blooms. Not sure how that affects the honey!

Are there any quotes or stories that inspire your gardening? I’d love to hear them if you leave a comment (look above or below this post for the “comments” link – the position varies depending on how you are reading this). Also, if anyone knows the source of the Quaker gardener story, I would love to find it again. Special thanks to www.beautifulwildlifegarden.com for some of my favorite online reading.  —A Larrapin Garden. Where posts may be boom or bust depending on the season. If you subscribe here you’ll get one weekly email with selected posts. You are also invited to get related miscellany wherever you like to ramble online: Facebook [brand new page…needs your “like”] | Twitter |Pinterest | Instagram.
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7 Comments

  1. My family never gardened, though we lived on a number of farms. One of my memories of magic was when we moved onto a small farm outside of Tontitown in the middle of summer to find a full garden ready to pick, left by the oldtimers who sold us the farm. Corn, cucumbers, tomatoes — for years I thought gardening was that easy! Now I know what a gift it was.

    • Liz, this is a great story of yours!! Would it be wrong of me to wish you would write that up and share at HOWL? 😉 Why no, of course not. So I hope you will!

    • I realize I probably shouldn’t have said that as you might not comment here again for fear of more creative solicitation. I take it back (but still wish!!!)

  2. Leigh, this is such a lovely post. I love the “wash of white frilly flowers”.

  3. Even more interesting about the Quaker woman’s story is that she did not know whether whoever might be living in her house would be friend or foe. After all, she was being forced to leave her garden and those very people who might have killed her had she stayed might be the ones who ate what she planted. Now that is generosity of gardening and spirit. There’s always the quote, “Wherever you go, plant a garden.” And I’m sure that holds true for when you’re leaving, too. Besides, it would be so much easier to look out and see all that green and all those flowers and believe that it will go on. Because it will.

    • Thank you Mendy. Your words inspire me as always.