Many years ago, my mother travelled with
a group from her church to England. On this trip, she visited the birthplace of
John Wesley, the founder of the Wesleyan denomination of the Protestant Methodist
Church. When she returned, she gave me a few packets of seeds from the shop
associated with the site.
Although I was still a student, I had a
small garden in my rented suburban house, in which I grew a few flowers, the
proverbial and ubiquitous tomatoes as well as a six-foot by ten-foot lawn. I
made every effort to plant and grow the seeds but without success. Instead, in an
attempt at atonement, I wrote a short story, “John Wesley’s Hollyhocks,” and
included it in my Master of Arts Degree thesis in Creative Writing. The opening paragraph
begins:
Mrs. Fortinbrough approached the ground, all
her weight braced heavily against the brick border of the flowerbed and,
stroking the fine, new shoots, raised her face to the window. The girl let the
curtain fall back over the window and disappeared. Her daughter was no more
interested in this season’s hollyhocks than she was interested in going to
church….
This is a story about the relationship
between an adolescent daughter and her mother. As we can all imagine and is indicated by the closure of the
curtain, the relationship is strained at this stage. Happily, my actual relationship
with my mother, though frequently contentious—as is any interpersonal interaction—was
healthy and positive. Her passing has not lessened my love for and dependence
on her wisdom.
This year, for the first time in nearly
thirty years, I have a garden which has eventually proved to be responsive to
hollyhock propagation. When I first planted the seeds, directly into the soil
in the spring of 2018 with absolutely no response, the letdown was palpable. The soil in these high
desert plains is river-bottom clay—as hard as rock when it’s dry. This spring,
I started hollyhocks and delphinium among other varieties in the proper potting
soil in seedling pots.
I then prepared an area of the garden
with compost and other organic material. When I transplanted the seedlings, I
had to protect the young plants from the wild rabbits with plastic collars.
Once the hollyhocks began to grow above where the bunnies could reach the leaves,
the plants flourished.
In many ways, I equate gardening with
writing. Persistence is the key to success. As Steven Pressfield remarks in his
writers’ guide, The War of Art,
procrastination is a form of resistance.
Persistence and perseverance get results, just as Mrs. Fortinbrough will get results
with her daughter:
…Just as the hollyhocks had needed her care
and discipline, so did the daughter. It was not too late for her roots to be tapped and the plant to grow
straight again….