The Transplanted Gardener

MY MOTHER

Irene Owens moved to Alamance County from Missouri seven years ago at the age of 82. She wanted to be nearer to me so I could help with my sister, Susan, who has special needs. Yes, at that advanced age, my mother was still a caregiver, not the one receiving care. My husband, Kenny, and I found her a nice little home in a perfect location on South Maple Street in Graham, close to us, Wal-Mart and church, with the added bonus of great neighbors. What more could we ask for?

MY MOTHER TOOK ONE LOOK

at the barren yard of her new home and her green thumb started twitching. The moving truck had barely left and the boxes were far from emptied when she started digging out a flowerbed extending down two sides of the house facing the street corner. Leaving nothing to chance, she had managed to bring daylilies, creeping phlox and tiger lilies from Missouri along with some blooming moss inherited from her own mother’s garden.

Using the special shovel Dad had shaped and sharpened for her before his passing in 2002, she dug into the hardened red clay, constantly extolling the merits of the rich black Missouri soil she had left behind. More than once I heard her declare, “If I was a little younger and had a truck, I’d go to Missouri and get me a load of good dirt.” Some people might be fooled by her diminutive stature and frail appearance, but I’m not one of them. If I didn’t keep an eye on her, she might be halfway to Knoxville before she let me know she was on a mission. So shortly after her arrival I had put the fear of God in her, “Mom, if you want to live, stay off the interstate.” So with the determination of a Missouri mule, she stabbed away at the hard ground.

BEAUTIFYING

two sides of her yard just wasn’t enough. Eyeing the small slope between her house and the yard next door, she told me, “I’ve a good mind to put a flowerbed right there.” She described what she had in mind, which sounded like a gargantuan project and one that would send a message of separation to her neighbor. Not to be deterred, Mom started digging and shaping and planting, filling the space with creeping phlox in bright pink, Rose of Sharon, candy turf, irises and a multitude of other beauties. Not only did it not separate her from the neighbor, who truly enjoys the sight, Mom offered to plant a few things in her yard as well.

Mom has always accused Kenny and me of “living in the woods.” She prefers open spaces like the farmland she was used to in the Midwest. It didn’t take her long to assess our property. “This could be a nice place if someone would do something with it.” Not one to take offense and recognizing an opportunity when I saw one, I proclaimed, “You’re hired!” And done something she has, with a perfusion of hydrangeas, daylilies, phlox, clematis, foxgloves, Easter lilies, roses and much more. While I thought I was moving my mother and sister here so I could help with their needs, she has truly been an inspiration,

not only to me but also to every appreciative flower-lover who happens to pass their place or ours. Seven years after leaving her beloved Missouri homeland, on any given day during the summer, at the age of 89, you might find her out in the garden with her trademark bonnet on, never quite satisfied, always seeing something that could be changed or improved. It appears she has met the challenge of North Carolina red clay with sheer grit and determination.

One day, while visiting her, I decided to take a little stroll through the yard before going inside. A passing car slowed, the window came down and an admirer

called out, “It’s amazing what you’ve done with this yard! You should be given an award for yard-of-the-month or something.” Even though I was tempted to just wave and say thank you, my conscience kicked in and I called back, “I’ll pass the word to my mother. She’s the green thumb.”

In gardeners’ lingo, it could be said that Mom was uprooted from all that was familiar to her and transplanted in unfamiliar territory. Much like the flowers she brought with her, Mom has taken root in North Carolina and continued to bloom quite beautifully."

STORY BY DIANE GODAIR

Photos by BROOKE BRISTOW

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