Originally published 4/14/16
Although her roots are literally the farthest thing you can be from Southern in the continental US (Minnesota and Washington state), my mom embraced all things Southern when we moved here in 1969. Everything from grits and biscuits on the table to the pineapple motif (the Southern symbol of welcome) on the yard flags to the things planted in the yards - dogwoods, hydrangeas, magnolias and, my favorite this time of year, azaleas. It has just occurred to me that not all other geographic regions have the same beautiful spring that we have in the deep South. (I had a similar realization a few years ago when my family vacationed in Branson, Mo: people who live there cannot drive to the beach. How do they survive?) I hate to think of myself as provincial as I have traveled a bit, but my roots are firmly established in South Carolina, and I am used to all things South Carolinian. Like azaleas in spring.
That's me, in front of an azalea bush in my mom's South Carolina yard. I'm glad to be home this week to see them.
But where we live in Tennessee, there are very few azaleas. There are mostly rocks. Which has affected me more than I thought it would, and I've found it somewhat unsettling. Though the trees are greening, and our seasonal mountain view is disappearing, I feel like I have missed something - spring. Because I haven't seen any azaleas blooming.
You see, in South Carolina, most yards have beds of azaleas. Our house on Spencer Circle had them; they marked my Parker Drive house in Sumter; the West Hillcrest cottage in downtown Greenville was flanked by them; and our home on Hunting Hollow had a bed full.
Here's Jackson in front of our neighbor's stand of Azaleas on Hunting Hollow. Aren't they glorious? It's very similar to the house I grew up in, complete with pink azaleas in the front bed.
My mom fully indoctrinated me to the Southern landscape, and it shows in their yard today. In addition to the azaleas, there are certain things that a Southern yard must have:
Magnolia: The large blooms have a delightful smell, but it's the shiny leaves with golden brown unders that every Southern woman must use to decorate her home at Christmas. My mom plants magnolias specifically for Christmas decor. Another plant that smells good is the Gardenia. My mom has always had one in the yard. It will be covered this summer in delicate white blossoms that smell heavenly. You can float one in a teacup and it will sweeten an entire room.
One thing Southern gardeners do is share plants. When we left Hunting Hollow, my mom came and took a bunch of our plants. We couldn't take them with us; they simply wouldn't fit in the truck, and I didn't know how they would fare in Tennessee. I walked around Mom's yard this week, and was a little nostalgic about the yards I used to have. The dark green hostas may have come from my yard on West Hillcrest, then to Hunting Hollow, and now to Traveler's Rest.
I have recently planted some ferns and hostas at Stone Haven, our home in Sewanee. We are shrouded by 50-foot hardwoods, so shade tolerant plants are the only thing that will survive. Deer are also an enemy of cultivated plants, so I've planted hostas (deer candy) only near the house and in the fenced backyard, and Lenten Roses (deer repellants) at the bottom of the stairs. We'll see how those work out. I haven't found a gardener to share plants in Sewanee, and we're not encouraged to dig up ferns on the Mountain Goat Trail, so I have purchased my plants from local growers, not a big box. I feel like that's a way of sharing, too.
I like to plant perennials (all of these plants sleep in the winter, and re-emerge in the spring) because they serve as a constant reminder - and a surprise, if you've forgotten where you've planted things - that life renews itself.
Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me. Psalm 51:10
It's hard to be a Christian. To be under the constant pressure of trying to be a good Christian all the time. It's just not possible. I think there's a common misconception among non-Christians that Christians are good people, and that they're good all the time. And I hate that. Because it makes them hate us, and call us hypocrites. Well, of course we're hypocrites, because we're human and we're doing the best we can. And sometimes, we don't do our best.
So we have to ask God for grace and forgiveness, and for a clean heart, and a right spirit. That's the beauty - and point - of Christianity, that we try to get it right, and when we don't, God's grace allows forgiveness, and we get to try again. Now, the extent to which the individual tries again speaks to his or her personal commitment to being a better Christian, so that may be wherein the criticism lies, but I still think that most Christians try to be good every day. It's just so dang hard.
Spring reminds me of that, of the constant renewal that we all undergo. It's been a relatively mild winter, but bare and bleak on top of the Holy Mountain. Few evergreens make for a brown and twiggy landscape in the winter. The craggy rocks are always visible, and the brown leaves coat the forest floor. Now, green weeds are poking through, ferns are perking up, and the hostas and punching through the leaves. It gives me hope.
Color comes back. Birds are singing. I run outside. We are all renewed.
But I am glad to be home this week, at my parent's house in Traveler's Rest, where there are azaleas.
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