Hand-me-downs

Some of my favorite plants are those that came to me from the gardens of family and friends. They make a walk through my gardens a walk among friends, reminding me of those treasured connections and the stories that go with them.

Most prominent because they are now in bloom, are the day lilies, from my mother’s suburban flower border on Long Island, and before that, from her parents’ postage stamp yard in Queens. In addition to adorning the yard, the edible flower petals make lovely additions to salads and stir fries.

The fall-bearing raspberries, irises and lily of the valley all came from the western Massachusetts gardens of my cousin Norman. The garlic had its start there too, some “garlic generations” back. It was in Norman and Eva’s house as a child, waking in my sleeping bag on the living room floor and looking at the Berkshire hills out their living room window, that I got my first taste of small town life. And each year, during their annual October “Ciderfest,” I get to visit and view the season’s remains of Norman’s labors.

The cheery sundrops, here hiding among the firepokers, were dug from my friend Randall’s  fabulous gardens while he was living in nearby Danby, along with the lemon balm (whose leaves make a wonderful tea and salad addition) some unusual hostas, and a purple globe allium I have never found in a garden store. Randall -- now in London with, I’m sure, equally fabulous gardens that I have yet to see -- showed me how to use a chain saw and pointed out the chokecherries growing at the edge of our woods, sharing stories of the jam his mother used to make from them.

When I look at the sweet woodruff and pulmonaria (lungwart) growing along the gardens’ back edge and into the woods, I think of Betsy who passed away some years ago. The plants she dug for me from her gardens thrive, continuing to spread.

The Jerusalem artichokes, with their edible tubers and October-blooming flowers came from Frank’s family’s former farm, still his home, near Skaneateles Lake; the perennial sunflowers from Mary Kay’s yard in Ithaca (and before that, from her parents’ farm), and the pink rugosa rose, with its large rosehips for tea, from Margot’s extensive gardens on Ithaca’s West Hill.  

Each of these plants has now been handed-down from my gardens to others, in some cases, many others. My mother has some of Randall’s lemon balm, allium and sun drops in her foundation beds on Long Island; my friend Neisha, some of my mother’s and grandfather’s day lilies at her new home in nearby Groton. My cousin Michael planted some of Frank’s Jerusalem artichokes at his western Massachusetts home. Thus, the links, and hopefully, some part of the stories, continue on. 

Photo credit: Garlic by Dan Hittleman.