Well Fertilized

My grandmother was well known for being one of those people who could coax a robust plant from the discarded remnants where another gardener had lost all hope. She had a yard and garden filled with the trade offs of other community gardener's and friend's bulbs and seeds, and although the price was low, the results were astounding.

During my mother's childhood in the early 40s, my grandmother, who was known in the community as "Ma" Bush, was probably at the peak of her gardening skills. Her yard was adorned by many varieties of southern plants -- irises, camellias, hydrangeas and roses. Especially lovely was one climbing rose that virtually covered the outdoor bathroom in their side yard. Many of the houses in the little, country community still had no inside plumbing, and if they did, there still were no inside bathrooms.

My family always loved to pass along a story of the rube, city-folks that stopped by one day on their tour of country homes to inquire about the type of rose that was covering the pretty little, well-house. It never failed to bring a smile to their faces to claim the insider's knowledge of how well-fertilized that plant really was.