There are so many ways to preserve and share family history. One way that family history has been passed on in my family is through shrubs and perennials. Our flower garden tells the story of what my grandmothers—Mary Evelyn (Eva) Racher Collins and Beula Louise North Lohr—valued.
            Grandma Collins’ hansa rose bush is blooming profusely. It’s the citadel of the rock garden, and its commanding presence at the entrance requires clipping for me to even get into the rest of the area. The heady clove aroma of the petals puts me right back in Grandma’s front yard of her house just a block off Main Street in Stettler, Alberta.
            That hansa bush has followed us—from our home on Calder Avenue in Saskatoon where we first brought it from Grandma’s front yard when she sold her house in the summer of 1988 and moved into the Heart Haven Lodge. The hansa bush struggled in its new location, and I remember asking a worker at a garden center if I should give up on it. He told me to “give it time.”
            We moved to Calgary in 1995, and the hansa rose bush moved with us. The only place to put it was in the north-facing back yard where it didn’t get enough sun. But, it persevered although it didn’t fully bloom.
            When Doug and I moved it to our developing acreage in the spring of 2005, we placed it at the top of the newly formed rock garden facing southeast. Since that time it is laden with roses from mid-June until early September. I remove dead canes and trim it back a bit in the spring. Columbines, bronze bearded irises, and thyme grow around its base.
            I have no idea how old that hansa rose bush might be, but I can’t remember a time when it wasn’t in Grandma Collins’ front yard so I know it’s at least as old as I am. The hansa rose was developed in 1905 in the Netherlands. It was widely planted on the prairies because of its hardiness and resistance to disease. I wish I knew whether it originally came from my grandparents’ farm near Fenn, southwest of Stettler. They moved into Stettler in 1946, and my guess is that the rose bush may have been planted at that time. I regret not having asked more about its history when Grandma was still alive to tell me that story.
            My Granny Lohr’s garden and yard were wonders. I’ve never seen a farm yard as lovely, and she grew a diverse blend of flowers. What I remember most are the ferns, the snapdragons, and the violas—which she called “Johnny jump-ups.” We dug up some of those ferns from Granny’s yard and planted them first in our Calgary yard and then at the acreage. They spread slowly but surely, and, with some help from me relocating them where I want to expand the fern bed, they thrive in the shaded areas under the back deck. They co-exist beautifully with the multi-colored columbines and astilbes.
            One of my fondest childhood memories is helping Granny water the flowers in her yard. Granny let me gently snap open the snapdragons’ mouths as we wandered the yard with sprinkling cans in hand. Now my grandchildren help me water when they are visiting. Although our youngest grandchild waters his feet as much as the flowers, he’s always eager to help. 
            Johnny jump-ups (violas) grew on the path from the back door to the base of the windmill in Granny’s and Grandpa’s yard. I loved the violas little cheery faces. Now I let violas roam almost freely wherever they wish in our yard. 
            I buy three pots of pansies—one for each grandchild. I inadvertently left the pansy pots on the floor of the upper deck and came home to find that all the petals on two of the three pots were neatly snipped off. I blame the rabbits as I’ve seen them on the back deck. They must have been full because the third pot of pansies was untouched.
            As we celebrate Canada’s 150th birthday on July 1st, I remember the flowers that grew in the yards of my grandparents. One more way to pass on family history and celebrate this great country of Canada is to keep the flowers and plants blooming. Happy Canada Day to all my Canadian readers.
           
 

             As any resident of southern Alberta will tell you, we get ferocious winds. We had a quick storm come through last evening with wind gusts that bent the trees but with surprisingly little damage—at least in our yard. I had all the pots of plants that I could move under cover, and the others survived surprisingly well.
            I’m always impressed by the strength of perennials. Bleeding hearts—particularly the pink ones like those in the picture below this musing—love the soil in our yard and thrive not only north-facing, but also east and west. The west-facing white bleeding heart plant is shaded by tall, advancing delphiniums which also grow like weeds here.
            Those of you who know me or read my musings regularly know that I am dangerous in greenhouses where the brilliant colors and intoxicating smells can result in a spending spree. I’ve actually been quite contained this year. We did plant a couple more sandcherry shrubs this spring. I love their tiny pink flowers. They have proven to be the hardiest of the purple-leaved shrubs.
           The other day I was crawling around on rocks like a mountain goat weeding the rock garden and pulling out some plants in order to have others thrive. I realized that what seemed like a good idea ten years ago to plant three thyme plants and two strawberry plants has expanded into quite a tangled mess. The strawberry plants were flowering profusely, but with the squirrels, raccoons, and goodness knows what else around, we humans never see a strawberry.
           We dug and pulled grass and thistles for a total of ten hours out of the raspberry patch in the garden. The raspberry patch in the yard doesn’t require quite as much time, but both are extremely productive. We also have about fifteen Saskatoon bushes—the fox and coyotes eat the saskatoons on the bottom third of the branches, the birds eat the berries on the top third, and we try to get the ones in between. We have a few native Saskatoon bushes on the acreage as well, but we leave those for the birds and animals. Usually, I freeze about 40 one-litre containers of raspberries and saskatoons which last us most of the winter. If all the berries ripen that are now showing, we’ll be in for an extra-large harvest this year.
          Doug and I talked about this being our last vegetable garden. We can only grow selected root vegetables—potatoes, carrots, and parsnips—because we don’t have a high fence to keep the animals out. There’s too much crawling around on my hands and knees thinning carrots and parsnips to make it worthwhile. Plus, we go to the Farmers’ Markets for peas and beans so we might as well buy all the fresh vegetables there.
          We may keep the pumpkins as the grandchildren like them. We have five plants which will spread to fill the rest of the garden space. This year I purchased the pumpkin seeds labelled for jack-o-lanterns; previously, we had the regular pumpkins in quite unique jack-o-lantern shapes—mainly tall and skinny. I only rescued eight last year out of about 30 pumpkins that grew—the deer and moose took bites out of the rest. The least they could do is eat the entire pumpkin instead of randomly sampling a bite here and a bite there.
         I can see and smell the nightshade petunias—deep purple with white blotches—as I sit at my desk writing this musing. Although I seem to spend most of my time either taking the pots of annuals down or putting them back up depending on the whim of the winds, summer wouldn’t be the same without their bright colors. The bleeding hearts and other hardy perennials remind me of the need to endure while still sharing beauty during our short growing season.
          Happy Gardening everyone!