Tall Garden People

My garden is strewn with Tall Garden People whom I absolutely love.  They arrive with  youthful energy early in the spring, and there they remain, gazing from their ruddy faces, guarding and shading the plants, and later feeding all visitors with tasty, high protein morsels they’ve made from the sun they’ve harvested all summer with their broad, out-stretched arms.  They are the Mammoth Sunflowers that climb easily to 15 foot, and open their eyes to conversation in early July.  “Oh - just sunflowers,” you say!  But each one of them is so unique, with such character in their faces and in the way they stand and bend with the sun and rain. You can be in the presence of a Garden People, gaze into her golden, craggy countenance, and carry on quite a conversation!  The personality of each shines through with just a little time, and you can learn their history, and their likes and dislikes.  

Ol’ Charlie grew to 12 foot tall in my very first garden.  He was a stalwart kind of fellow, steady, though leaning badly with age.  The squirrels climbed his long, thick back to get into the bird feeder, so I took to wrapping the first 2 or 3 feet of him with duck-tape, sticky-side out.  It worked, actually, and he bore my odd approach to the problem rather patiently.  He passed his future on to progeny by winter, and I still have some of the seeds, faithfully planting them each year in the early spring.  And I have his long, firm stalk in the garage, using it on occasion as a lengthy and strong support for the bean trellis, or for gourds.  I don’t want to wear it out, though.  No, I want a little remembrance of some kind to keep around.

Yesterday I got to talking with another of the People.  I’d seen her rising early in the year by the Brandywine and snow peas, but hadn’t taken much time to get to know her because she’s always facing eastward so that engaging her in conversation requires climbing through the Delicata Squash at an awkward angle.  Anyway, I became so intrigued by her wizened, languished fronds that I finally made the effort to pay a visit.  I thought at first that she was male, with her rugged build and the fuzz around her nose, but no, female she is, and strongly so.  I looked up into her large and sculpted face, which was surprisingly earnest with a rich intensity, and I made a halting effort to commune.  She didn’t NEED my time, I could tell, but was a little curious, and WONDERED at me like “WHERE have YOU been all this time?” 

“Well, I made the mistake of planting you on the EAST side of the garden so your BACK is TO me all the time,”  I answered.  “I planted myself,” she reminded.  And I concurred, remembering how the Garden People HATE for me to transplant them from one spot to another to such an extent that I’ve finally decided to let them choose for themselves where to grow!  They spring wherever they will from seeds cast about by critters the prior year.  Nonetheless, I stubbornly insist on moving a few of them around early each spring, when all they own are tiny green palms to raise in protest, amid a futile attempt to bring some order of color and arrangement to the garden.  But I’m always rewarded with moaning and wilt, and then they demand I water them incessantly.  I have to haul the heavy bucket a full 50 yards from the house DAILY until they finally perk up again.  Even then, some of Ol’ Charlie’s progeny that I rearranged this spring have only grown to 5 feet tall.  I was careful, too, moving them when they were only inches high, and taking lots of soil.  But, no, they don’t want to be moved.  Have a certain idea as to where they want to stand, and aim to hang onto the view.

ANYWAY, back to Almirah (pronounced “Al-MIRE-uh”).  Yeah, I asked her name, rattling off several possibilities in succession, and craning to hear her reply.  Almirah is intelligent, deep, and funny as hell.  Ornery, too, which takes some getting used to.  But getting to know her is VERY well worth the effort because EVERYTHING she has to say is extremely important.  I look forward to speaking further with Almirah.  And Ramsey, and Doane, and...