Sometimes I think I inherited the gardening gene, it's in me so strongly. I am not the best or most natural gardener at all. But I do love cleaning up an area, seeing things grow, and planting seeds just to see what happens. Oh, yes, and buying half-dead clearance plants and lifting specimens from the side of the road, parks, or friends's gardens, with permission, of course.
When the Stay-Home-Stay-Healthy order came from the governor I knew gardening would save me. Imagine last year if we had bought a condo!! The good Lord knew a condo would not give me the work opportunity, creative outlet, and joy that our own little quarter acre would. And it certainly has.
My grandfather was a gardener, albeit possibly a reluctant one. When I was a child Grandpa Paul still lived on the property where he built the family home on a modest lot in Los Angeles. That lot had a small water feature in the back and various flower beds, including one where he once recycled a poinsettia after Christmas.
(Side note: have you ever seen a full-grown poinsettia? Check this out; it's what I remember in front of Grandma Mary and Grandpa Paul's front bay window. Here's a photo that shows one kind of like it. Grandpa's was younger and prettier.)
Auntie Paulette, in 1971, shared her garden in Montana with us. She and Bill grew everything! It was a fabulous little homestead. I think that may be one of the biggest inspirations I had ever seen. She inherited the gardening gene for sure. I think my brother Daryl has it, too. He brings plants back from the dead, plants new specimens in the yard, and shares his multiplying Amaryllis bulbs and other plants.
Anyhow, the gardening gene skipped my mom, and I don't even know if it's in the other side of my family. I do recall my dad mowing and planting things in our bare yard. One funny recollection that repeated itself a few times in my childhood is when my mom would complain to my dad that he mowed over the tomato/rose/other-important-plant and my dad pretty much ignored her. She eventually gave up, and he continued to maintain the property the way he always had. A true gardener would never have given up.
As a high schooler I had some vague interest in houseplants and herbs, and as I grew up I became interested in gardening as a way to become self-sufficient and healthier. Thank you "Diet for a Small Planet" and my Home Teacher (from the Church). Growing herbs and following Sunset Magazine's "Herbs" book was a preoccupation in my first apartment. Even raising tomatoes and some herbs in the small yard of our little duplex in Northridge was really rewarding when Zach and Tim were tiny people.
One of the first things I did in the summer of 1989, when we relocated to Washington state was to learn all the wild plants I saw in Edmonds, making sure to learn the poisonous ones (there aren't many) so the kids could just play outside without too much worry. The library was the best place for that at the time, and I used that wonderful Edmonds library from the second day I lived there. I have actually purchased different editions of those library book, and they're still invaluable.
Anyhow, back to Grandpa Paul. He was born in 1913, the son of a Nebraska dirt farmer who wasn't particularly successful after the loss of his wife in 1924-ish, and later during the depression. While talking to my mom about Grandpa Paul's gardening, she explained that he knew how to grow food, but he hated it because he had to survive on it when he was a child and the memories weren't particularly happy ones. During World War II, however, Grandpa did his duty and grew a very impressive and beautiful Victory Garden as a token of his patriotism during a very unusual time. After the war, though, he stuck with flowers.
Great Grandpa Wilbur was the poor farmer in the 20s and 30s--and maybe more--who had to grow food for survival. Later in his life he lived in Porterville, CA, in the "breadbasket" of California. I have somehow inherited a photo of Great Grandpa actually smiling (he wasn't a smiler) at a certain harvest of onions. [July 1959 "Wilbur Sink and his onions") In Porterville it seems like he finally had success as a
subsistence farmer, where the weather, soil, and other factors worked with him. So--he, somehow, had the gardening gene. Look at those onions!!
As I think of this gene, I recall a decade or so ago (maybe more) as I sat at the computer in search of my great-great grandfather, Franklin Pierce ("Frank") Fowler, great grandpa Wilbur's father-in-law. We knew that he came from New York, and ended up in Leigh County, Nebraska, but we weren't sure how. So, I'm scrolling through the 1880 census records and find a Frank Fowler in Omaha, Nebraska, born in New York, living with a large family with several servants. His occupation is listed as "works in garden." Born in New York! There's that garden gene again.
I'm grateful for this talent (?), interest, and area for growth. I have gardened more this season than I think I ever have--no kids at home, no running around volunteering in public gardens, no visiting with friends. I set a goal to grow and use a total of 20 different flowers and veggies. So far I have enjoyed irises, calendula, my rose is about to bloom, I've eaten arugula, garlic greens and Swiss chard. Primroses are still blooming, I have collected and transplanted ferns (please live!), purple, white, and pink and white columbine, native bleeding heart, my divided hosta is up with 16 plants, my friend brought me several mature C
California poppy plants to go with the more than 100 (!) volunteer baby poppy plants popping up all over the veg and flower garden area. The pea plants are coming on strong, tomatoes, peppers, squash, and Hail Mary Cantaloupes (not their actual name) are in, and tons of greens are populating the big garden as I write. How many is that, with more to come? Seventeen! Let's see if I can make it 20 right now--radish, alpine strawberries, and rhubarb, all 3 harvested and eaten this season already. I am well on my way to completing this goal, and reaping what I've sown.
Last year my daughter Rhiannon started a serious garden. She did such a great job, planting zinnias from seed, among many other wonderful things. I had never planted a zinnia seed until this very season--she inspired me! Cecilie, another daughter, has started little gardens in San Francisco, New Orleans, and is planning one on Long Island, where she lives now. Though it snowed just 2 days ago, she's looking forward to trying her hand at watermelon. She has had good past success, too. Sasha, one of the Seoul Queens, likes to hear about my garden. Whenever he has visited he has spent time in the garden with me, watering, harvesting, weeding, or planting. Sadly for now, he lives in the city and only appreciates plants growing and doesn't seem to get to put his hands in the soil. He does notice the landscape, though, and takes photos of impressive gardens and shares them with me (check out the foxgloves and something else he sent me--snapdragons?).
Maybe he has inherited the gardening gene (from both sides, I think)!
It's so nice to share the love of nature's gifts like the garden and gardening with the younger generations, and I look forward to seeing what the season holds for our family's gardeners nearby and far away.
When things are not all going well, I tend to turn inward and stop journaling and communicating with people. Things are not all going well, but at the same time many things are going right.
My grandfather was a gardener, albeit possibly a reluctant one. When I was a child Grandpa Paul still lived on the property where he built the family home on a modest lot in Los Angeles. That lot had a small water feature in the back and various flower beds, including one where he once recycled a poinsettia after Christmas. 
Anyhow, the gardening gene skipped my mom, and I don't even know if it's in the other side of my family. I do recall my dad mowing and planting things in our bare yard. One funny recollection that repeated itself a few times in my childhood is when my mom would complain to my dad that he mowed over the tomato/rose/other-important-plant and my dad pretty much ignored her. She eventually gave up, and he continued to maintain the property the way he always had. A true gardener would never have given up. 
