Musings & Threads. Master Gardener.
Master Gardener.
Lydia, May Apples & Bleeding Hearts
That adage about April showers bringing May flowers held some meaning for me this past weekend. Sunday was a glorious Spring day—it seemed that nearly everyone was hit with Spring Fever, and was out in their gardens evaluating, cleaning, mulching and just enjoying the fresh air and sprouts popping up everywhere. People on the North Fork take their gardening very seriously—like very, very seriously. I have been told by many, that they are Master Gardeners. I have no such credential, however, when we built our house nearly 20 years ago, I wanted to make a beautiful garden that ran the length of our driveway, and I had a totally blank slate. Over the prior winter I pored over gardening books, and sketched it all out. The first Spring we followed the plan, planting many perennials. But the second year, we were able to fill in and create what has become a lovely garden, that in the miraculous way of nature, blooms in order… purples, pinks, white and yellows. And all different shades of green and shape of leaf. We paid attention to height, heft, sun/shade. We did okay—in fact while we have added new things year to year, much of the garden is still from our first and second Spring plantings.
One of the plants that is still with us is a big, hearty bleeding heart. I had never seen one before moving to this area. When we planted our first garden, as trite as it sounds, I wanted to plant one in memory of my husband’s parents.
I checked on the bleeding heart on Saturday, and it was looking young, and maybe 8 inches high with no sign of flowers yet. On Sunday later in the day, we had a little rain off and on, and then Sunday night into Monday morning there was a deluge! When I came back Monday afternoon I could not believe my eyes, the bleeding heart had grown another 6 inches, at least. I think for sure it is on track to bloom in 10 days or so, which will be very special, as it is the anniversary of both of their passings—the same day, but 7 years apart. Yes, really.
It is always bittersweet to see its beautiful heart-shaped blossoms swaying on the graceful, arched branches.
Barry’s Mom was truly a Master Gardener, although of course she never said as much. She just had a way with plants, colors and textures, and instinctively enhanced a fluid natural landscape. It was a talent, and a passion. They lived up in Greenwich, and their back yard was a feast for the eyes and all the senses, as the scents of the foliage, and various colors and weights of the leaves rustled at different heights and rhythms. Lydia showed me how lovely a shade garden can be, and helped me develop a love of hosta, astilbe, ferns and May apples. May apples were a favorite of hers. And each year, after the snow melted away—by early March—we would walk together to the shade garden and share the beautiful foliage and large flowers that seem to have been dropped out of nowhere.
It was our second Spring here, when I was plant shopping with a friend and came upon a group of plants in the perennial section of a local nursery. The sign in front of the grouping said, “A MUST for any shade garden.” They were May apples! The last time I saw a May apple was in Lydia’s garden. So, of course I decided I MUST. I planted it in the garden with the bleeding heart. Each year it spreads a little more. And, it is always there to greet me at the end of winter.
