Camellias

"If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...

I could walk through my garden forever."  

Alfred Lord Tennyson

 

 

I adore camellias.  I do not have a green thumb when it comes to growing them, but I do adore them.  I think I love camellias so much because my mother loved them.  Mother liked flowers, but I don't think she really enjoyed flower gardening.  I'm  not for sure where I got this gene.

I was in the fifth grade when Mother and Daddy bought a farm and moved us to the country.  I know it was my dad's dream, and I just assume it was Mother's as well.  It was a small house on a nice piece of acreage.  There were barns for the horses. There was a pecan orchard, fruit trees and established grapevines.  And, there was a fabulous oak tree just calling for a tree house (another story for another time).

The house set back off the road, with a fabulous rambling garden in front.  There was always something blooming.  Directly in front of the house were two weeping forsythias.   Bridal wreaths bordered the yard at the road.  Every tree was encircled with jonquils.  Louisiana iris edged the complete front garden and random gladiola surprised us  along the fence line each summer.   Against the house were the large flowered azaleas.  In the back was a freestanding wisteria and fragrant sweet peas transported from my grandmother's yard in Tennessee.  And, anchoring one corner of the house was the tallest and most beautiful camellia.

One by one everything disappeared with the exception of the camellia, blooming without fail every January.  I remember feeling a little sad when all the pretty flowers disappeared without really knowing why.  I think the camellia survived because Mother loved this flower and it just took care of itself.

I wish my camellias could take care of themselves.  These are  the first blooms in three years.  I first planted them in large pots to frame my front door.  They did beautifully, most of the time.  One outgrew the other and we decided to move them to the backyard.  They immediately became bug infested and disease ridden.  This weekend I am planning on going out in search of larger pots and transplanting my trees with new soil.

Watching these blooms burst open this year makes me very happy.  I look at them and remember my beautiful mother cutting a bouquet for the table, to float in a crystal bowl or to wrap in a wet  paper towel and aluminum foil for a teacher; for a moment I miss her a little less.   And I am blessed.