plants.”
5
Lenten Rose
Botanical:
Family: Ranunculaceae
Common name: Christmas rose
IN THE BASEMENT WORKSHOP of her turn-of-the-century home, Peggy kept a botanist’s laboratory with various experiments going year-round. A large frame of strawberries was in full bloom under the strategically timed grow lights. She checked her notes. It was in these early stages as the plants started making fruit that they needed help. Slugs, white flies, and other pests looked at the feast and got ready to munch.
Her ideas about introducing herbal remedies, including sprays and complementary plantings of mint and borage, hadn’t worked. The fruit ended up tasting like the herb. Her friend at Broadway Farms, who grew two acres of pick-your-own strawberries, tried companion planting to draw the insects and birds to other plants. But the insects were too focused on the juicy red fruit to pay any attention. At the same time, he didn’t want his berries to taste or smell like garlic or other strong, natural repellents. It wouldn’t matter if the insects stayed away; so would his customers.
They’d taken care of the slug problem by putting diatomaceous earth around the plants. The rough edges kept the snails away by snagging on their slimy little bodies the same way ashes or crushed glass work for many home gardeners. A snail won’t cross anything too rough, or its body will tear and it will die. They seemed to understand and stayed away.
For the insect problem, she was working with some different theories from a few colleagues in California. They managed to solve the problem with specially bred “good” insects. These insects were handpicked for their voracious appetites. They ate the offending thrips and mites in massive numbers.
Her friend at Broadway was a little skeptical. Peggy told him she’d test the idea on plants in her lab. Since he was dedicated to using only organic means to protect his fruit, she believed this might work for him. The proof would be in the next few days. The berries on her plants were large, red, and juicy. Yesterday, she dumped some spider mites and thrips on her healthy plants and told them to do their worst. Tomorrow, she’d have the pleasant task of dumping lacewings and ladybugs on the plants to see what their effect would be.
Her friend couldn’t use most pests’ worst enemy, birds, since they were also his enemy. But if the lacewings and ladybugs worked, he could encourage them to stay with small plates of water and a little shelter from the sun and rain among his plants. That way they’d be less likely to run away when they’d eaten the thrips and mites.
In a normal strawberry garden, she’d tell the owner to encourage the ecosystem this way. Peggy’s experiment in her home was limited by a cover to protect the rest of her plants in the lab and by the tiny space she had to work. But if the lacewings and ladybugs did their job here, they’d be effective in the field as well.
Another experiment was in the large pond. The filtration system hummed as recycled water circulated through the six-by-eight-foot tank. Her showy water lilies from Longwood were still there but in a dormant cycle now. She was working instead with some rice plants, helping a colleague from the University of Louisiana to develop a heartier form of rice.
More than half of the world’s population was dependent on the crop for their existence. Certain blights and colder weather had reduced the amount of crop worldwide. If they could get the plants to yield larger amounts of rice in more difficult growing conditions, it would be a boon to everyone.
Her rice paddy, a very recent addition to the pond, was maturing nicely. The fine green shoots were sprouting toward the light source. Some koi she’d introduced were swimming through them and taking a right turn at the tangled water lily roots.
Somehow she’d managed to get a few frog eggs in the mix. They must have been on one of the plants. She thought she got them all out until one night when the sound of a large bullfrog caught her attention, almost startling her into the pond.
He was seated on the edge of the pond, staring right at her as she leaned into the water to plant the rice. She didn’t have the heart to put him out in the cold where he’d die, but she promised him a ticket to the backyard when spring arrived.
She sighed, wet and cold after checking her experiments. But she felt more like herself. She didn’t bother going back upstairs. Most of the night was gone anyway. Instead, she sat in an old chair she kept in the basement and pored over her well-worn garden catalogues. Almost every page was marked with her wants and needs. Mostly wants. Shakespeare yawned at her feet but was still for a while.
She was thinking about acquiring a piece of land to start a fruit orchard. Fruit trees did well in the area, everything from peaches and cherries to apples and pears. It would give a whole other dimension to her work. The basement of the ancestral Lee home was huge but not large enough for trees. Her backyard was filled with hundred-year-old oaks whose thick branches would keep smaller trees from growing. She wasn’t sure where the money would come from yet for the undertaking. It was probably just a pipe dream, but she liked planning it in her mind on nights like this.
She was placing a sentimental order tonight. John had loved sunflowers. He’d talked several times about planting the entire backyard with them. Only Peggy’s assertion that they wouldn’t grow well under the old oaks kept him from his dream. That and taking away his chain saw! It made her smile to think he’d actually cut those ten-foot tree circumferences. He loved the old trees as much as she did. Still, he yearned for a sunflower garden.
When she was approached to help out with the community garden Darmus Appleby’s Feed America group planned for Charlotte in the spring, she went out and bought a hundred pound bag of sunflower seeds. She was having a plaque made up to dedicate that part of the two-acre edible garden to John. She knew it would make her cry when she saw the golden flower heads turned toward the sun, but it would also help her keep his memory alive.
Sometimes in her rush to go on with her life after her thirty-year marriage came to an abrupt, terrifying end, she worried John would be forgotten. It wasn’t just Steve or the changes she made to her life or resuming normal routines she’d had before his death. It was realizing she could only
Shakespeare got up, stretched, and whined. Peggy glanced at her watch. It was seven a.m. She noticed the gray morning light spilling into the basement from the French doors that led into the backyard. “You’re right,” she told the dog. “It’s time to go out and face the world again.”
She barely finished showering when the phone rang. Shakespeare had already been out for his walk. He was at the bedroom door waiting to be fed. Every time she moved, he jumped up and started down the stairs, only to come back, disappointed, when she didn’t follow. “Take it easy! I don’t get ready as fast as you do. The food will still be there!” She patted his head and turned off the shower.
Peggy wrapped her heavy white chenille robe around herself, shivering a little in the chilly morning air. The furnace kept the basement warm but always had a difficult time reaching into the master bath and bedroom, even though she kept the other eight bedrooms closed off.
It was part of the price she paid for living in a rambling old house that had seen better days. Not that she’d think of moving. John’s family hinted occasionally that they’d like to pass the house to the next in line to inherit. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be Paul. The Lee family had the house set in trust for the oldest son in the family. John’s brother, Edward, had a son who would live in the house after her. Legally, it was hers until she died or couldn’t live there anymore for whatever reason. The young and impatient Lees were just going to have to wait.
“Hello?” She finally, breathlessly, answered the phone. She sat down on the bed to dry her hair.
