My father's roses

"In all things of nature there is something of the marvellous." Aristotle said that. I am not much of a gardener, but I think he was right.

When we moved into our home there was a lovely garden already planted in the back yard. The previous owners had done a beautiful job, and probably without knowing it, they had put a lot of things in the right places by feng shui. I loved the lavender, the curve of the path and the shade of the big tree out back. I added a few symbols and kept the lights on out there all night. I did not plant anything. I did not really know how to prune. I just enjoyed looking at it.

I used to wonder when the gardening bug would bite.

My dad

For as long as I can remember, growing up, my dad worked seven days a week, fourteen hours a day. I do not remember him ever having time for a hobby.

When I first wrote this, he was retired and well into his seventies, and his pride and joy was his garden. I would never have guessed it as a child. The roses in particular were magnificent. He also grew a fantastic assortment of vegetables and the best prune plums ever.

My mom was very proud. His roses were famous, and she was always telling me, "Come and see how beautiful your dad's roses are." It made me smile to see how proud they both were of it. That they had the knack for nurturing things was no surprise to me at all.

Out of nothing

I think once you get to a certain point in life you can finally see how miraculous it is to grow a garden. Out of nothing you make something beautiful, with no paintbrush and no chisel, only determination and love. Like any relationship, it is the attention that makes it work. That, and I believe the garden feels the joy in your touch.

My dad found his in his seventies, after a lifetime with no spare time at all. If your own working years left no room for anything, that is worth remembering.

You have to water them

Every spring I was determined to learn. And every year I heard my mom: "Fay, you can't just buy them. You actually have to water them!"

I knew better, of course. But life always seemed to get in the way. What I came to see was that I might be cheating myself out of a moment of the marvellous, the chance to watch something I had planted with my own hands grow into something beautiful.

Sometimes I thought the gardening gene had skipped a generation, because Gray could wield a hose fairly well. Perhaps one day he would be the one saying, "Mom, come over and see my garden."

So that spring, once again, I meant to find out whether I was ready for the real joy of planting a garden. And if all else failed, I was an expert at bamboo in water.

From the archive. First written for my journal years ago, and rewritten for life after 50.