Growing plants are to my soul what oxygen is to my lungs. Jefferson or someone once said, I can’t live in a world with out books. While I agree wholeheartedly, it is plants that take greater precedence because they are a living creature.

I fell madly, passionately in love with flowers and plants when I married a landscape student. He worked one year in the field and never returned unfortunately. When first discovering the glorious varieties of flowers, I spent winter months in the bathtub, learning every facet and botanical knowledge from A to Z in a gifted Rodales Organic Gardening Encyclopedia. The knowledge thrilled me in ways words can’t begin to convey and opened up a world of passion, discovery and shepherding (but for plants). I started a small veg garden when my babies were small and couldn’t understand the lack of pollinators. I researched pollinator friendly plants, Ruth Stout garden methods and the horrors of GMO’s, Glyosphate, Round Up and monoculture. My degree is in fashion which I heartily abandoned to be a stay at home mom.

I read everything I could get my hands on, was gifted my first set of seeds at a plant swap and was off and running. We bought an old property that proved to be a fine fixer upper and discovered magical prophets of trees telling us of the history of the previous owners. We researched to discover we had an old quince tree and two cedar trees among the glories still standingin New York State I might add. It was nice to have a few bones left, but the quince no longer stands.

I soon learned annual borage was an excellent pollinator draw and enjoyed eating the flower heads as I shared with the bees that would soon come. An uncle gifted me their beebox and I researched for two years to learn all I could. My son developed anaphylaxis to bee venom, so we never filled the box. I passed it on to a girlfriend.

Along the way, the garden spoke to me, taught me what to do and not do, but most of all showered me with more bounty, beauty and peace to the soul than I could ever imagine. My marriage struggled and I was accused of spending too much time in the garden. But, it was the garden that sustained me in my hardest times. When depression hit, I was drawn to my garden, to walk barefoot upon the earth and let my soul delight in all mother nature offered. Working in the garden always yielded quite reflection wisdom and solace, a balm to my soul. Randomly at times, I would pray quietly, or be inspired to sing simply because my soul refused to stay quiet in such an oasis of comfort.

Two elderly ladies who I love dearly took me under there wing and mentored me in old methods, plants and encouragement. They shared plants which still stand in my garden and provide a living memorial to their love, guidance and steadfastness. They were my bosom friends. My grandmother passed around that time and long after affairs were settled and her property sold, I raced back to the property one last time. I walked the tiny property nestled in the woods and marvelled at my grandma’s old peonies, daffodils and bleeding heart. With my daughter in town, I went to the local garden store and bought a shovel. That would be the last time I would travel without one. Back at the property, I dug tiny pieces of my Grandma’s treasureasures and brought them back home to my house. I tended them carefully and soon they were happy and thriving. I remember grandma everytime I see each one of her plants.

This soon became a pattern. I left the butter cups to grow because they were dads favorite; he even named his first dog buttercup. He died when I was ten, but I remember dad when I see the buttercups pronouncing their smiley faces. The pattern soon repeated and I asked my dearest family member and friends to share a tiny bit of their favorite plant from their garden, so I could add “them”to my symphony. Everywhere I walk in my garden I remember exactly who gave them to me and the memories attached. I smile, I laugh, I cry and I give thanks.

Some of the greatest joys I have had is dividing perennials, sharing and coaxing others to start a garden, even maybe pressing the issue too far at times. I just wanted others to have the same joy, serenity and passion I have discovered. I’ve given thousands of plants away and built entire flower gardens for others trying to eliminate any roadblocks they may encounter. I had a case of the, “couldn’t help its”.

I learned time stopped in the garden, the hurried pace of life disappeared and one could learn so much by observing and just watching nature be operated by spirit law. How glorious it tends inspires me! (This offered good lessons in humility as well). Sitting quiet as the orchestra starts in early spring with snowbells, crocus, bloodroot, daffodils, hellebore and hyacinth. These declare spring is arriving and before I know it, new parts of the orchestra play their glorious part; the violets, forget me knots, crabapple, redbud, bleeding hearts and forsythia add to the tune. Won’t be long before peony dazzle, rhubarb offers up her tasty treats. Lilac, weigela, feverfew declare summer is soon to arrive. Iris stand tall in brief moments of glory, the fruit trees are nearly done sharing their lovely petals and nothing is so magical as the time when it rains blossom petals and dots the earth in perfect polka dots. Nature dresses itself in finer attire that any human I have ever seen.

Siberian iris soon join this symphony of beauty, with hosta and fern unraveling her gorgeous coils as if to unfurl melodies of texture and grace. Asparagus soon demand cutting, and the birds beckon for fresh water or a bite to eat. Squirrels dance from tree to tree to the tune of the symphony. The vinca supports with its unpretentious abidence and spring phlox make way to summer phlox. Feverfew remains constant and poppies delight with sudden bursts of color. Soon, garlic will be harvested and hung to dry.

It is the half way point, the intermission if you will, in the orchestra each year. Golden Glow burst announcing their arrival, while larkspur softly Grace the stage, trumpet vine has stretched her winter arms and will soon show her rings of orange to feed the hungry Hummers. Yarrow steadies herself soon to play her part while even primrose shares a moment too. Echinacea, zinnia and Dahlia trumpet loudly that summer has gone and fall approaches fast. Rose of Sharon soon bloom and ready themselves for the busy pollinators to work their magic. It won’t be longer before the years symphony ends, one last burst of bright and beautiful color before it is time to rest and sleep through winter.

A garden is not only a symphony, it is a sanctuary where Yahweh declares his glorious gospel in repetition in every blade of grass and cycle of plant. There is life after death! Even sunflowers were made in such a fascinating way to turn their head and follow the sun, and bows it’s head in perfect reverence after having it’s head filled with seed. A famous person once said, never are we closer to God than in a garden. It’s true. He set up the first garden to feed man and sustain him in every way possible. My garden is a reminder of all this. It has nurtured, sustained, fed and taught me so much. It accepted my tears, and keeps its constant pattern when life made my head spin.

When my husband left after twenty five years of marriage, I kept the house. I needed my garden more than ever. The roof needed replacing, the garage foundation was crumbling and the bare minimum updates were now stretched at the seams. I didn’t care. I needed my one constant and abiding sanctuary. The giving tree? I had 3/4 of an acre of heaven that would feed me, give me something to stay focused on when I thought my heart would break over my fractured family. My garden taught me forgiveness. She came back to perform her orchestra year after year inspite of me. I’m not the conductor just a servant. Where would I go? My grandma was here and dear friends who have passed and far too memories to leave behind. I want to keep this at least as long as I am allowed. I want my now married children to buy places of their own and come back and take as much as they can to their place. Let the symphony play on. Let the music and joy continue and carry the memories adding new as they grow. I simply couldn’t leave this behind. All of nature cycles. Plants produce seed and continue and perennials often live on longer than the gardeners and Shepards of plants and botany.

I have been very sick the last few years with Lyme’s and more. I’ve not been able to work or really work in my garden, but I’ve been blessed to sit and admire her beauty. I pay good deals of money to keep the minimum managed for it is all I can do. My heart is grateful and I pray to possibly work in it again. I pray that the kids buy a house and come for car fulls of plants before I run out of money to live on and have to sell the place. Disability process takes time and I find moments of joy in painting watercolor, flowers of course! The first one I ever painted sold for $50 just by word of mouth. I don’t have talent. I paint from passion and long abiding love for plants.

It would be wrong of me to ask to be considered to receive the seeds and book from Alla. I could be here less than two years who knows, but I had to tell you what inspired me about Alla. Her nonstop and abiding love for her plants in the middle of complete chaos in her life in the midst of a warzone. She has ” love in the midst” (nigella flower). That ancient and constant true love that transcends time and challenges. It was born in her, her parents sacrificed to feed her passion with the camera as well as her husband and she cultivated her very own sanctuary and orchestra. If she doesn’t save the antique plants who will? It is similar in principle to when collectors of art tended and hid paintings to be saved from destruction during wartime so others could enjoy in the future. Sometimes these sacrifices caused lives, but we mesmerize at the beauty preserved and displayed years before.

Many animals are extinct, rainforests are pillaged and I never really realized that plants could become extinct as well. When I watched your show, This soon became tangible when I saw your team helping you to collect heirloom roses from collectors. Someone must Shepard these and keep them going. I see you doing this with the roses and I see Alla doing this with Clematis. She is sending the seeds out into the world to keep it alive and share that innate passion and joy. To do all this in the midst of war and being a caretaker to sick family is noble and beautiful beyond words. She, is manefesting “love in the midst”. I don’t expect to be considered or chosen, but wondered if I could send you some seed from my love in the midst nigella so you could mail it to her for me. Or, if you are able to share her address, I will mail her a letter and some of my seed, telling her she has bosom friends she has never met. I would send love and encouragement for her bravery and compassion. I would tell her she has inspired me.

Thank you for listening to my letter and my reasons why Alla inspired me. Part of me wanted to send pictures of my humble garden, so you could see my heart. It is a wonderful thing you are doing Erin. You are a bosom friend. If I ever regain my health and strength, I want to take your course. I live vicariously in your cutting garden. Thank you for sharing it

Truly,
Traci