WEATHER
My sister, Patt, gardened most of her life. We spent many of our growing-up years with our grandmother, who had a lifetime love of flowers. We had apple and cherry and plum trees, as well as a patch of asparagus, but I have no recollection of a vegetable garden. Roses, iris (she called them “flags”), poppies, daffodils, flowering almonds, bridal wreath and many more shrubs, bulbs and perennials. We each had a small plot where we could plant whatever annuals from seed that we chose, as well as help Grandma plant and tend hers. Patt liked growing things, but she didn’t have much of an opportunity in some of the homes of her early married life. When they moved to Ellensburg, she literally dug in. That’s when she began cultivating roses. Before long, she entered the blooms in the annual fair and returned home with blue ribbons. Those roses were her pride and joy, and she shared bouquets with friends and co-workers. A few dwarf fruit trees were a must, even if the constant wind blew them sideways instead of upright. Berries were included in her garden, too, and rhubarb, but most of the space was delegated to her beloved flowers. She didn’t grow her own corn, partly due to space in their first home, but also because she soon made the acquaintance of a local farmer who grew superior corn. He called her when it was at a perfect stage to pick, and she took a day off to dedicate to corn. Early in the day, she bought the corn, hurried home and froze what wouldn’t be consumed within a few days. She developed some favorite rhubarb recipes and, when coming this way during rhubarb season, she brought bagfuls of stalks to her siblings, and always one of her favorite rhubarb desserts. Their second Ellensburg home was out in the country, in a valley that was an ancient lake, and once settlers moved in, it became a cow pasture. Patt said she didn’t have to use a lot of fertilizer; plants grew well anyway. The prize-winning roses were moved, a few more added, and they were fenced from animals. Her main garden was also fenced, but the roses received priority attention. One of the delights she shared with me were the mounded, old-fashioned clumps of purple geranium — cranesbill, not pelargonium. These were plants our grandmother grew by the driveway. Patt said they just popped up everywhere in her garden, and she gave away what she could. Much as she loved them, she had to just pull some up and toss them. They aren’t as prolific in my garden, but what I used to call “Grandma’s geraniums” have been “Patt’s geraniums” for several years now. When my cousin David Anker owned the property where we lived as children and told us to take what plants we wanted, we could find none of the geraniums. So perhaps it’s the sunshine and great soil in Patt’s garden that made the plants so at home there. Patt brought a shrub rose, “Lavender Dream,” as a house gift for our new home at Vaughn. Sprays of small flowers more pink than lavender carry on a long season of color. Like so many other plants in our garden, we’ve been given by friends or family. This has been “Patt’s rose” when I can’t remember the name of it. Patt died last week. The plants I have from her will continue to remind me of her and how much she loved her own garden.
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