Grown in Tradition

By Pam Molnar

The women in my family have an unspoken tradition. Weather permitting, whenever we visit each other’s homes, we walk around the yard admiring the growth of the trees, the colors of the potted flowers and how things have changed since we were there last. We wander around the outside of the house, usually with a cold drink in our hands, asking questions and making comments. 

My grandmothers and mother knew the name of every plant in their yard and when they planted it. They shared stories of where the plant came from—a garden center, a cutting from a friend, or a seed on their windowsill. These women spoke of the benefits of the direction of the sun and the amount of rain we got that year and debated which was the better fertilizing method. 

My sister and I would ooh and ahh, listening to the more experienced advice of the women before us. Over the years, the tradition has expanded to include my yard when my grandmother or mother visited and most recently, at my daughters’ homes. I’m not sure when this tradition started, but I do know it has been going on long before my time. It is a way for us to connect, not only to each other but to Mother Earth. 

As we dig to expose the dirt that has been buried, I can’t help but think about the women before us who dug in this very patch of earth. Their hands helped shape the landscape, giving us a sense of community. When their time was done, the reins of tending this bit of earth were passed onto us. We then mold the land to make it our own, using it for sustenance as well as for beauty.

Some people will tell you that anything worth having requires a lot of hard work. Things are no different in a mature garden. What you don’t see when you are admiring the beautiful landscape, are the hours of toiling in the hot sun to dig and plant and weed and water. You don’t see the blisters from the garden shovel. We don’t talk about the pain medicine and the heating pad we need at the end of the day to soothe our aching muscles. 

Time passes differently in a garden that is not yours. It doesn’t become the beautiful art you see without the help of the worms, bees, and warm sun. Yet, little by little, the seeds sprout, the branches extend like outreaching arms and the flowers smile at the sun in thanks. In someone else’s garden, you never see the plants that didn’t thrive, no matter how lovingly they were tended.

That was the reason I never thought I had a green thumb. I thought the women in my family had some sort of connection with plants that I didn’t completely understand. It seemed like an easy process–plant, water, enjoy–but I never considered they may have encountered the same stumbling blocks I did. 

It turns out they had the same problems with unwanted pests, summers that dried up the rain before it started, seasons when the sun didn’t shine, soil that needed constant attention, years that the bees didn’t visit often enough and plants that didn’t grow well together. By the time I started paying attention to their garden, they had it all worked out. 

I guess this tradition of walking through the yard with my mom and grandmothers was to admire more than the plants, flowers, and trees. In life, we pass on the secrets to our success and the fruits of our labor to the next generation. It is our job to take a piece of it and grow it in our own way. Sometimes the plants do better, but sometimes, they naturally fade away, making room for a newer plant. 

I know this tradition will continue with my daughters and the generations after them. As my mom and I hand them the plants from our garden, we know our roots will intertwine with the roots of other families, making not only a stronger garden but also a stronger earth for all of us.