The gardens of Mother Goose are surprising in their early bloomingness. I’d like to share some of my flowers with you today! I only wish you could be here in person — we’d stroll the grounds of the Goose Estate and chat about all things flowery and bright.
Cascading white blossoms
Some folks call it the Bridal Wreath. I’ve also heard them named Wedding Flowers. To me, they are fresh and lovely as a bride as she cascades down the aisle to her groom. “Now wait just a minute, Mother Goose,” I hear you say. “A bride doesn’t really go cascading down the aisle. Cascades are for waterfalls and fountains. A bride gently floats down the aisle to meet her groom.”
“Floating down the aisle is like floating down the river,” Mother Goose replies. “It’s really peaceful and picturesque — you look around you at the lovely scenery, slowly passing the weeping willows and the stately oaks. Does that really describe a modern day bride, for gooseness sakes?”
You smile and nod your head in understanding. “Ohhh yes, Mother Goose, you are right again. The bride is much more appropriately described as cascading because of the adventure of the wedding day. Over the waterfall we go, into who-knows-what-befalls-us!” And we continue our tour of the garden…
An old-fashioned charmer, The Iris
Let’s look a little closer at this one.
All the frill of a summer dress.
“Mother Goose!” you gasp. “Why are we looking so closely at this iris?”
With all due sensibility, I calmly reply, “We must look deeply into the folds, deeply into the petals of the purple iris in order to determine whether the act of pollination has occurred. The birds and the bees, you know, dear friend…”
And you look at me with such a look of consternation that I quickly add, “My dear, the whole point of flowers is that they are seed-making factories. They are God’s assurance that life in all it’s remarkable forms will carry on. I’m quite certain that you are familiar with the parts of the flower, the pistils, the stamen, the pollen. Our friends at Wikipedia define it so well: Pollination is the process by which pollen is transferred in the reproduction of plants, thereby enabling fertilization and sexual reproduction. Why, in fact, this iris is so extremely gorgeous to the eye of the bee that the very process of pollination may be taking place even as we speak. Here’s let just take a peek…”
I glance into your face and see the strong disapproval in your eyes. I wonder if you are afraid of bees or perhaps overly-sensitive about the privacy of the flower’s reproduction process…
“Oh very well, let’s continue our tour…” Mother Goose takes your arm and gently guides you under the trellis heavily laden with greening grape vines. “Please watch your head, dear.”
The lush grape arbor of a Goose
And as we stroll into the woodsy back yard of Mother Goose, a cloud passes over the sun and spring rains begin to fall. With hardly a comment, we pass the most overlooked of all spring flowers, The Lily of the Valley.
The Lily of the Valley
You put forth a rather random comment, “Oh, I see you have Lily of the Valley, Mother Goose.”
“Yes, I do,” I answer with a touch of curtness, and we continue on our way, barely stopping to admire the humble little miracle.
Tiny little bells, only a fairy could hear them ringing amidst the arrogant chatter of a friend of a goose.
We stoop at last to examine a strange golden flower. You are quick to label it as a weed.
A weed, or perhaps a misplaced wild flower, completely uncultivated or cultured.
“And what is this, Mother Goose? It certainly seems out of place in your formal garden.”
“Yes,” I reply. “It is surely a wild flower. I had nothing to do with its appearance here.”
You give me another look of disapproval and casually stroll away. Mother Goose is beginning to wonder why she ever brought you to the garden in the first place.
The rare and beautiful Clematis viticella 'Venosa Violacea'
“And your clematis!” You exclaim with sudden excitement. “Why, for heaven’s sake, Mother Goose, why didn’t you tell me that you had the rarest of climbing blooms back here along the fence. I have not seen this variety of clematis since our trip to the Balkans several years ago. In fact, I’ve been told that this particular genus had disappeared from the face of the earth due to the problems of global warming. You ARE keeping its roots cool, aren’t you, Mother Goose?”
Along the rustic fence
And in that moment in time, Mother Goose felt as proud as a peacock. Ruffling and fluffing up her feathers, stepping gingerly towards the flower with her rubbery feet and tossing her beak into the air with disdain, she replied, “Well, of course, I keep the roots of Clematis viticella ‘Venosa Violacea’ as cool as can be expected. I keep my buckets of ice water very close at hand for careful administration at the necessary times.”
And without further ado, Mother Goose picked up the watering can and doused her friend with ice water. They did not finish the tour of the garden that day…