Bowled Over

This evening, my husband Doug and I went to view a garden on the Hamilton Spectator's Open Garden Tour. The house was located in our neighbourhood, so we headed over just after we'd eaten dinner.

The homeowners, Andre and Sophia, had clearly put a great deal of work into their front, side and back gardens - The front and side garden spaces were very well-manicured and contained a variety of familiar perennial shrubs mixed with annuals; however, their back garden was the showpiece of the property.

There, the homeowners had combined evergreens, shrubs, rosebushes and groundcovers; perennials and annuals; supplemental ivy on the fences, wisteria over a pergola, clematis growing on a gnarly tree, and large colourful pots containing herbs and tomato plants.

It sounds like a lot of diversity; however, the garden was not overcrowded, and the gardener's plan clearly worked.

Sophia, with her plant knowledge and obvious vision; and Andre, her willing assistant and the muscle she says she couldn't do without, are a formidable team. Their collaboration was evident; not only in their garden's appearance, but also in the way they easily worked together, showing their garden off to their visitors.

I've never gone on a garden tour before, but this positive experience already had me thinking that I'd like to do it again.

Just as we were signing the guest book before heading home, Andre said to us, "Take a plant," and at first Doug and I were confused as to what he meant. Looking around, though, we noticed several pots lined up along the base of the garden shed and we realized he meant for us to take one.

When Andre repeated, "Take a plant," my husband suggested, "Take the one with the red flowers." So, I did. At home later, I discovered that the plant we'd chosen is a Maltese Cross Campion, a hardy perennial popular with hummingbirds.
  
In going on the Open Garden Tour, Doug and I really only expected an opportunity to see the handiwork of someone else, and maybe take home some inspiration. Receiving a tangible gift from the homeowners, especially something from their own garden, was an unexpected and lovely surprise.

Once again, I'm bowled over by the generosity of strangers, and the reminder that kindness grows where it's least expected!

A Compromise

The following, is a poem I wrote in Rondeau poetic style. I had a lot to say; so, I embellished, and created a double Rondeau. I hope these words will inspire old-fashioned compromises and encourage tolerance and generosity, both near and far away.

A Compromise

A Compromise is what we need

Let sharing take the place of greed

Abolish hate – small-minded blight

Embracing bold, diverse insight

Perhaps with understanding, we’d

Make sure that everyone can read

Hence, equal prospect to succeed

With thought, a scholar soon could write

A Compromise

Condemn not one-another’s creed  

Let tolerance prevail, I plead

End stench of war; as one we might

Rid all lands of this evil fright

Brave nations all could intercede

A Compromise

A Compromise is what we need

The hungry we still need to feed

Starvation, such an awful plight

It shouldn’t be a child’s birthright

That injudicious rulers, breed

Contempt for lucid thought – Indeed

Through their own actions, oft’ mislead

Most valid efforts to ignite

A Compromise

If we, at once, will all concede

With motives just and envy freed

This world could transform overnight

And warring factions reunite

Accomplishing with lightning speed

A Compromise

© Nancy Haigh Gordon

Father's Day

Father's Day hasn't been a day I've celebrated for a good number of years, as my dad passed away Thanksgiving weekend in 1998.

He was mildly wild in his youth - skipping school, smoking, playing pool, and hopping freight trains; growing out of all but playing pool, as an adult. Fiercely loyal, my dad kept most of his friends all of his life.

He was well read, even though he quit school following grade 6. Years later, while working and raising a family, he returned to school at night, and earned his grade 8. My dad never stopped trying to educate himself, and others. He could often be found quizzing the neighbourhood children using the Reader's Digest, Word Power section.

He began his working life with The Singer Sewing Machine Company, where for 25 years he served as salesman and later manager. Then, my dad made a career switch to Real Estate for another 25 years, working as a salesman and eventually a broker with his own business: Ross Hunt Real Estate.

Upon retirement he became involved in environmental and social causes. A natural born artist, my dad studied painting along with his mother and younger sister, and always carried a sketch pad and pens with him in case a subject inspired him to draw.

He loved garage sales and flea markets, and had an uncanny ability to gauge prices. He never paid full price for anything of value. In fact, following my birth at the Salvation Army Grace Hospital, my dad often joked that I was the most expensive thing he ever bought at the Salvation Army.

His quirky fun-loving nature made my dad wonderfully entertaining, especially with babies and young children. Two generations owe their ability, to sing silly songs like Chickery chick, cha-la, cha-la and fold paper airplanes, to my dad.

The picture below is of me and my dad, the first summer of my life. In it, I'm wearing a clean hanky he'd tied around my head to keep off the sun. It's one of my favourite family photos.

Father's Day continues to be bittersweet, even 18 years later, as each year I'm reminded of all that he's missed. Mostly, I wish my Daddy had lived long enough to see my girls grow up, and to meet and know his grandchildren.

Mighty Gardener

My mother has often reminisced about summers, long ago, when I was a very little girl; and, how she would frequently find me in the tomato patch, eating tomatoes right off the vine.

It was a love affair that's lasted a lifetime ... big red juicy tomatoes; though, not the little grape or cherry varieties.

When I grew older, I developed a passion for tomato sandwiches, only in summer, mind you. Tomatoes, warm from the garden or farmer's market on soft fresh bread with whipped dressing and lettuce and a sprinkle of salt and pepper. It makes me salivate, just remembering.

I haven't grown my own tomatoes for several years, largely because I disliked traipsing way out behind the garage, and often forgot the required maintenance that produces a good yield - out of sight, out of mind, don't you know; however, a memorable conversation this last winter with my Uncle Lodge - himself, a mighty gardener - put me in the mind-set to give growing tomatoes another try.

My tomatoes are thriving this year in a planter box on my back deck railing ... closer to the house for tending and eventual picking. It's a trial location I hope will work out well for both the fruit and this not-so-mighty gardener.

So far, my plants are strong and growing quickly, already producing a dozen or more healthy yellow blossoms. Tied to a wooden trellis with bits of old nylon stocking, I can see the plants from where I sit on the family room couch, so I won't forget to water and fertilize.

Uncle Walter [Lodge] Kraweski

Eating home-grown tomatoes this summer, on or off the vine, seems a long way off right now; but, I live in hope.

Thanks, Uncle Lodge for the much needed pep talk!