The First Jean Marie
The Hon. Jean Marie de Montague and I were out in the garden yesterday – she in her Sunday best and me in my old gardening togs. We had a lot of rhododendron company. Mrs. G.M. Leak has had her full contingent with her for a while, now. And then there are a few lovelies to whom I’ve never been introduced – the delicate white blossoms in the northwest corner, and the nodding pink blooms near the chicken coop.
But it is the Jean Maries who really announce to us each year that Spring has finally arrived in all its glory. I count on their arrival by May 12th – my father’s birthday. He planted them – scores and scores of them – for exactly that reason. He loved their color and delighted in thinking they were putting on a show just for him. Yesterday’s bright red blossom promised that, despite the persistent cold and rain, this year’s show will be right on time.
Mrs. G. W. Leak
They have twelve more days. Even though all the other Jean Marie buds in our garden are still tightly closed – no color peeking through at all – I heard the promise from that one beautiful blossom. She was loud and clear: “Here I am! I’m the first one! The rest are on their way!” And all in spite of what Nyel refers to as the ‘gardening philosophy of our advancing age’: Benign Neglect.
The Honorable Ms. Marie demanded no apologies from us, though. Nor did any of the other determined bloomers that surrounded me as I worked. Even the apple trees, loaded with blossoms, seemed welcoming and forgiving. They, like all the other glorious bursts of color, were insistent that I look up at them and away from the bindweed and buttercups clotting the beds. Between the blooms and the sunshine, it was a guilt-free gardening day. Almost.
I like buttercups, and forget-me-nots. They are so friendly, requiring nothing of us.