Sometimes flowers, even homeless ones, have more than pretty faces. Sometimes they offer other, not-so-hidden delights to charmed explorers. The lowly dandelion is dandy for that ancient, cheek-puffing ritual of "make-a-wish"; surely one seedy wisp will deliver it, somewhere out there.
The other day, weeding, I noticed a young teen sitting on the curb next to his bike. He'd captured, and was about to release, a particularly large "lion." Seeing me he grinned, and held up its fluffy head. "I wish school would end soon, with good math grades for me." Then, he blew powerfully. The zillion seeds launched, vanishing quickly, snatched by the breeze. "Can't hurt," he muttered, "and I'm sure of the first part ..."
This grownup, looking faintly embarrassed, huffs and puffs, too. (Dandelions recapture childhoods, if only for a moment.)
I love tempting children to explore. The Fairy Garden was created to lure a youngster deeper into natural adventures produced, directed and starring Mother Nature.
The fairy fountain's ferns were among Earth's first plants; they haven't changed much since they appeared, perhaps a billion years ago. Why not? Their design works.
I planted them behind the affectionate fairies; love, like the ferns, endures.
Last season a family with two children visited early one warm morning. The younger girl looked angry. Her sister rolled her eyes. They hadn't wanted to stop riding their new bikes to come into "this dumb garden." Mom and Dad looked frustrated and tense as they entered. I decided to try some plant enchantment.
"Who likes to take a bath?" This question was so unexpected both girls stopped whining and stomping around and looked at me, amazed, and not a little intrigued. I laughed, conspiratorially. "Near you are an awful lot of bathing beauties in their bathtubs. Some wash in freezing water; some like it hot." The parents grinned.
Forgetting their pique they surveyed the Fairy Garden, skipping right over the "bathers" I'd mentioned. "You're way cold!" I announced, watching their eyes.
"How many are 'lots'?" The younger one asked, desperate for a clue. "Oh," I answered, casually, "Dozens. Hundreds." The older girl abruptly folded her arms. "I wannanother clue."
"They're small. Very. You're right next to shy, freezing ladies." Hmmm ... the only plant blooming spectacularly near them was a white, four-foot high Dicentra, or bleeding heart. Gently detaching a single bloom I turned it upside down and showed them the pale, shivering damsel rising from her bath ... It was gratifying to watch their expressions of delight.
I couldn't resist dangling one more mystery. "Do you feel watched? Look around for dark eyes ..." They knew now to look for a flower; pansy-faces peered up at them, quizzically. And fairies were everywhere: they counted 10. Dad pointed out their door-in-the-wall, their minute bench, arbor and birdhouse. Enchanted, they were hooked. Mom and Dad relaxed.
They rang the bell, opened the big door, and tiptoed in, giggling and speaking in excited voices as they followed the winding path and let the garden gradually reveal itself. "Look! Someone's splashed paint on those leaves ... Ginny, I found the hot-bath ladies! They're pink!
Spreading out, they shouted their discoveries. "There's a face in the swan fountain! I found a secret bench in here, and it's got a book -- 'The Secret Garden,' sitting on it ... WOW! This plant has Goliath leaves! What smells so good? Look! There's more -- Winnie-the Pooh, and cats, but you gotta go through this hidden arch ..." The parents, enjoying their triumph and wreathed in wide smiles, but wisely staying well back, gave me the "thumbs up" sign.
Gardens can cause people to bloom ...
Dee Blair's Sunnybank Gardens are at 325 Sixth St. in Traverse City. Visit her Web site, www.deeblair.com for more information.
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