I am thrilled that very recently one of my grandson’s, Tristan, has discovered his passion for houseplants. He called me yesterday announcing that he wants to begin a balcony garden this coming spring. He asked for my advice. My two oldest daughters have shown only a vague interest in gardening and my youngest has positively no interest. Tristan, the only one of nine grandchildren who is interested in growing plants, says that it (this passion) has skipped a generation. However, my daughters are only in their forties, so I am still holding out some hope for them.
I have spent most of my adult life pursuing my own gardening passion, so I am grateful that at long last, I have someone to whom I can pass on my knowledge. My library, of which about two thirds is made up of gardening books, can now go to Tristan when I am gone, instead of being donated to a local charity.
I have also recently made a new friend who is a gardener. She is showing me how to save seeds and we are sharing plants with one another. This is a dream come true for me. Many times I have regretted not taking the advice of my mother’s aunt, to go to school and study horticulture. At that time, I was working in a carnation greenhouse – underpaid, because it was considered agriculture and therefore not required to pay minimum wage. Consequently, I am a self-taught gardener, having learned much through hands-on experience and a degree of failure.
I am often amazed at the frequency with which my plants thrive, as though they are responding to the love that I have for them. They are little (and sometimes quite large) beings that I surround myself with, so I never feel alone. Coaxing seedlings from their seeds fills me with a sense of bliss. In fact, my love for trees, for wildlife, and all of Nature affirms my reason for being alive.
Knowing that all I have accomplished in my waning lifetime (and all that I am still learning) can be shared with my grandson, lets me know that it has not been in vain, And who knows – it might skip backwards and latch onto the skipped generation.