Illustration Friday - Garden

The Bottle Gatherers in my Mother's Garden. Oil on Canvas. Below, Pigma Iink on Bristol board and Ballpoint drawings on Moleskine.

Mother's Garden

.

She used every available space

for planting leaving narrow curved paths.

For years my Father, five sisters and two brothers

and even the maids

all took refuge in her garden,

verdant with leaves and fruits.

Its canopy shaded us from

the hot tropical sun

and cooled the breeze that set

the tone for lively fiery discussions

and debates ranging from history,

geography, arts, literature, education

and whether my lipstick was too red.

When she came to join us

in the canopied swing

it was perfect bliss.

.

When I hear the word "garden" my first thoughts are of the first gardens I intimately knew, my mother's gardens. Mother was an avid gardener, herbalist and naturalist. How she managed to make her gardens verdant without any pesticides, insecticides, fertilizers and chemicals, I have no idea. She used natural methods such as mulching and may have used some ingredients in her kitchen to kill off pests. She did it naturally because her gardens fed us, and the neighbors and the ducks and chickens that freely roamed the grounds and sometimes left nice surprises for us to step on. We also happened to live in an island with an active volcano so the rich volcanic soil had a lot to do with it. Mother knew every plant in every corner and every pot. When I came home for the first time after many years in the US, one of her maids threw a plant away. My mother looked for it and was very upset that the maid threw it thinking that it was dead. My mother was nursing the tiny plant back to health. I would have probably thought the same but she was clearly upset that it was gone. One of my sisters knew how terribly and scared the maid felt, told my mother that she, my sister, may have thrown it away. However behind the scenes, my sister told all the maids and us to look for it. It was like hunting for a needle in a haystack in her garden which I always loved because it was like being in a rain forest. We found the little potted plant on a heap of mulch. It was contained in a tin can. Mother recycled everything she could, including cans and jars. When it was given back to her, there was a collective sigh of relief and a lesson learned for the maid. Mother told everyone not to discard any living thing. We knew what she meant. When we were younger, we would have argued even to the point of impertinence. That time we just echoed her. To this day, I don't discard a plant just because it looks sorry. In fact I think Mother's green thumb may have rubbed off on me.