Crepe Myrtle and Forsythia

I used to fancy myself a super potential gardener. At one time I was dynamite with house plants. But I’ve discovered that I am not reliable with those, poor things. Nevertheless, I love nature and thank God every day for the trees and plants that surround me, especially the flowering ones.

Unlike people who have lived in one area all their lives, my flora connections are somewhat geographically patchworked. While I think fondly of the orange and avocado trees growing in nearly every yard of our neighborhood in Orange County, California, and the long lines of eucalyptus trees planted as windbreaks for the orange groves there, the first flower I chose as my own was in Rhode Island.

I noticed one that always bloomed in late March, often through the melting snow in time for my birthday. What could be more beautiful than the arching yellow fronds of the Forsythia bushes over the new spring green grass? Since I was 14, that has been my own personal flower. Wonderfully, I have planted and it has flourished all around my yard here in coastal Virginia. Here, it blooms a bit earlier than in New England, but spring comes sooner here.

If Crepe Myrtles bloomed in California or Rhode Island, I never noticed them. The first one I recall was in my former mother-in-law’s front yard in Arlington, Virginia. It was such a beautiful burst of color shattering the hot summer sun. Hers was ringed by a planting of multi-colored flox among the rocks beneath. On the drive to a vacation in Dewey Beach, Delaware, Crepe Myrtles were planted nearly the full length of the median strip along the highway. I now have a row of Crepe Myrtles all along the property line here in Urbanna, arching over the full length of the yard. They create a tunnel of shade from the driveway nearly to the creek below, stopping at the giant, ancient Hickory tree which overhangs the rest of the yard. It seems such a short time ago that they were little shrubs. In fewer than 15 years they are as tall as the house and create a breathtaking tall hedge of pink, especially as seen from the bedroom balcony.

My neighbor planted a magnolia tree just on the other side of this hedge. I don’t remember ever seeing one of those before visiting my parents in Louisiana. My favorite version of this tree is the Tulip Magnolia which I first saw in a neighbor’s yard in Lynchburg, Virginia with its bright magenta blossoms covering the whole crown. Too bad they never seem to last beyond the first pounding spring rain.

There is an absolutely magical tree that I first saw in Lynchburg and that lines many yards here in Urbanna, too. I call it the Fairy Tree because the blossoms of the Mimosa look like thousands of fairy-sized feathery pink tutus. I am amazed every single time I gaze upon them.

I planted in my yard two other flowers that just make my heart sing. The Prairie Fire Crabapple tree I saw for the first time at a nursery in Williamsburg, Virginia. I had to have one in my yard. Mine had its most showy season ever two years ago, absolutely regal in its presentation. Then, I went outside one day and discovered the tree had suddenly, practically overnight, withered and died for no discernable reason. But, springing up from the surrounding ground came a new tree which is now a willowy eight feet tall and has shown a few promising blooms. Let’s hope this one survives and flourishes.

Covering one side of my grandparents’ broad, shady porch in Spartanburg, South Carolina was a most magnificent purple Wisteria vine. Not only did it have gorgeous blooms, but it produced incredible long velvety green pods. As children we stuck toothpick legs into them to make dinosaurs. Later, in Lynchburg I found a huge old Victorian house draped in the most magnificent Wisteria I had ever seen. I used to drive all the way across town just to see it until a new owner chopped it down and that fairytale castle was no more, just a pretty old Victorian house among many others. And then we traveled to France, to Giverny, and walked Monet’s gardens with his fabulous bridge covered in purple and white Wisteria. You know I HAD to plant some to climb up to my bedroom balcony.

Since Cloyde died, the Bamboo which some idiot planted 50 years ago has swallowed the entire side yard by the marsh and most of the bank descending to our dock. The Redbud Tree I planted there is barely making it. The Gardenias and Camelias that we planted are doing fine. Some of Cloyde’s Azaleas and a few of the several dozen Rose bushes he planted are blooming. The groundhogs eat his Hostas as soon as they fill out, and all of the Rhododendrons planted beneath the Crepe Myrtles have died.

I simply cannot keep up with the gardens we were still creating. I cannot keep up with the house we never quite finished. But, I always see the great potential here. My rose-colored glasses are intact. All I need is time, money, and help to complete and maintain this wonderful house of dreams, none of which I have. It is wearing me out, but I’m not yet ready to give up this dream. I’m sure there is a way….