My Mother's Garden (Writers In Their Garden)
My mother possessed a formidable green thumb cultivated during her Jamaican childhood by a pivotal membership in the 4H Club and by an early, artistic appreciation of the beauty of her native surroundings. After we moved to our bungalow in Pickering, Ontario she planted a hedge of dazzling Sutter’s Gold at the foot of our porch. She dug a triangular bed on the front lawn and filled it with dark, velvety roses. On steamy summer afternoons the combination of their deep red and intense perfume combined to make me swoon. With the help of my grandmother, she built a charming rock garden that tumbled down from the back fence, festooning it with fluttery purple and white flowers, shards of ceramic and giant conch shells scavenged from a Jamaican beach. One corner of our backyard was scented throughout the season by a bed of mint. And outside my basement bedroom window exploded an endless supply of cherry tomatoes that I devoured like candy all summer long.
Even though I delighted in my mother’s garden - the bright flowers that attracted butterflies and ladybugs, the fragrant fruits and herbs, the soothing backdrop of emerald grass, and even lumps of soil that might disconcertingly transform into a hopping toad - she could never convince me to participate in her favourite past time. It was only as an adult, after I began to read author Jamaica Kincaid’s garden columns in the New Yorker, that I developed an obsession with flowers. As always, language stimulated my intellect and imagination.
Over the years I have come across scores of writers, like Jamaica Kincaid, who possess passion for the gardening life. In the next few weeks I will share a few of my previously published articles on individual literary gardens. Perhaps my favourite was the garden Erika de Vasconcelos (My Darling Dead Ones) planted at the home she shared with husband Nino Ricci (Lives of the Saints) which I visited in 2001. It divided into various rooms and included a stunning treehouse- more like a tree cottage- that Nino had built for their children. Another extraordinary garden belonged to author Judith Kalman (The County of Birches). Her steep backyard descended several metres in a series of lushly landscaped terraces. Walking through felt like travelling to the center of the Earth. I also spoke to the late Bonnie Burnard (A Good House) about her garden, which she described as an act of community. Finally I want to remind you of a book I return to each spring for its wonderfully idiosyncratic approach to gardening: Jamaica Kincaid’s My Garden(Book). I hope she will inspire you as much as she inspired me.
Enjoy!
Donna
