The Marigold Philosophy

I spent last weekend doing the last good garden clean up of the season. The weather was warm and sunny, there were still plenty of leaves for the kids to jump in, and I badly needed some fresh air and sunshine. We raked and shredded leaves, pulled out the last of the tomatoes, and mulched the vegetable garden beds for next year.

At the back corner of our house I grew several almost absurdly tall marigolds. They were supposed to be short French marigolds, but instead proved themselves to be very robust orange and yellow African marigolds (this happens sometimes when you trade seed. Luckily, I could never be accused of having an actual “plan” for my garden, so these things don’t bother me too much.) They were as tall as me by the end of the season, and their branches and blooms encroached on the nearby garden path, almost as if they were trying to reach out and trip us as we walked past.

The frost finally did the marigolds in, and I cut them down and sat, leaning up against our giant maple tree, cutting the woody stems into smaller pieces for the compost pile. As I did, the scent of marigold permeated my fingers, my clothes, and the very air around me. I remember someone once saying that if yellow had an aroma, surely the marigold would be it. I have to agree. Some can’t stand the scent of marigolds, but I find it oddly comforting. When I was a kid, my mom grew two plants: roses and marigolds. She had long beds of roses along two sides of our back yard, and our deck was always surrounded by orange marigolds. Whenever I smell a marigold, it takes me back to the summers of my childhood, sitting on the deck on my beach towel after getting out of the pool. I’d lay there in the sun (bad, very bad) reading Nancy Drew, and, later, cheesy romance novels with the scent of marigold hanging heavy in the heat and humidity. Maybe it’s strange (although less strange if you know much about me) but that is the most peaceful memory I have of my childhood and teenage years.

babyemgarden What I’m taking a long, circuitous time to say is that this is why gardening is such an integral part of my life. I don’t look at the garden as an aesthetic pursuit, and I’ll never be mistaken for a designer. My garden is made of memories, both the ones I’ve already lived and the ones I plan to make someday. How else could I bring together a fragmented past, a hectic present, and an extremely hopeful future?

My garden will never be a showpiece. Instead, it is a personal journal, cleverly disguised as a garden. Here, you see the marigolds I planted in memory of who I was; there, the lilacs that honor my daughters, the dogwood to honor my son. There’s the hydrangea my husband bought me after baby #1 was born, and the forsythias I moved after losing what would have been baby #3, a couple years before we were lucky enough to bring our third daughter into the world. The petunias that remind me of my sister, the daylilies that bring Grammy back to me. It’s all here, my soul laid bare for anyone to see.

This is why I make it a point to never judge someone else’s garden. This is why you’ll never hear me say that a plant is ugly or worthless, or that this plant should never go with that. It may be true that the person who planted them just doesn’t know what they’re doing. On the other hand, the combination of common orange daylilies and magenta petunias might speak to someone in a way none of us can imagine. To each his own. There is no right or wrong in the garden.

“In my garden there is a large place for sentiment. My garden of flowers is also my garden of thoughts and dreams. The thoughts grow as freely as the flowers, and the dreams are as beautiful.” ~Abram L. Urban

15 comments

15 comments to “The Marigold Philosophy”

Tatyana, November 18th, 2009 at 12:45 pm:

I love marigolds. I don’t love the color orange, but I forget about it when I see marigolds. I love their smell. Childhood, my mother, happy times – everything is in this plant. I like your philosophy. Thank you for this heartfelt post Colleen.

annie, November 18th, 2009 at 1:39 pm:

Just a lovely post. I also have the first flower memory of marigolds that my sweetest auntie ( who took care of me) grew on her little front porch .

Lindalou, November 18th, 2009 at 1:40 pm:

This is a lovely post and a good reminder to enjoy and not judge. Well said.

Laura Mathews, November 18th, 2009 at 2:09 pm:

What a great sentence in a warmly wonderful post: “My garden will never be a showpiece. Instead, it is a personal journal, cleverly disguised as a garden.”

The best gardens are exactly what you describe here. Thanks for finding the right words! Laura

BrownThumbMama, November 18th, 2009 at 2:15 pm:

What a sweet post! I, too, will never be a garden designer but plant the things I like that hold precious memories.

There are nasturtiums for my Gramma who is lost to me in the grip of Alzheimer’s, and a silver dollar plant for the Gramma who passed away years ago.

There is no right or wrong in the garden–well said.

MrBrownThumb, November 18th, 2009 at 4:36 pm:

Very nice post Colleen. This will probably be the first thing I use the new RT function for on Twitter.

Sheila, November 18th, 2009 at 5:43 pm:

A lovely post!

Colleen Vanderlinden, November 19th, 2009 at 7:13 am:

Thank you, Sheila!

Colleen Vanderlinden, November 19th, 2009 at 7:13 am:

Thanks, MBT. I’m not loving the new RT feature though. Think I’ll still be sticking with Tweetdeck…

Colleen Vanderlinden, November 19th, 2009 at 7:14 am:

Thanks! I agree, it’s a nice way to garden. Like a living scrapbook

Colleen Vanderlinden, November 19th, 2009 at 7:15 am:

Thanks, Laura! I’m so glad you liked it.

Thanks for stopping by.

Colleen Vanderlinden, November 19th, 2009 at 7:19 am:

@Annie — Thanks so much! I think we’ve “talked” about marigolds before, haven’t we? Thanks for stopping by!

@Lindalou — Thank you!

@Tatyana — Welcome to In the Garden Online! Thank you so much for commenting. I tend to agree about orange — not my favorite color, but I seem to end up planting orange flowers nonetheless

Kelly Senser, November 19th, 2009 at 2:01 pm:

I’ve vivid memories of collecting marigold seeds with my grandmother. The scent of the flowers always reminds me of her. A gift I cherish. Wonderful post, Colleen.

Shawna Coronado, November 19th, 2009 at 3:51 pm:

Awesome post – you rock! And I love marigolds!

Shawna

Helen at Toronto Gardens, December 5th, 2009 at 3:57 pm:

Our mum grew marigolds, too, so it has the same positive associations for my sister and me. Glad to share in your philosophy.

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The Marigold Philosophy

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15 comments to “The Marigold Philosophy”

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