Like most of the folks that I know, my days seem to be overflowing with demands on my time. I’ve learned to take some vital downtime wherever I can fit it in to daily life. I have to confess that I’ve become selfish with my free time.
For years I have lived in close proximity to the college and I thrive in the grounds. The footpaths, sculpted flower beds and bird population all are a balm to my senses.
A few weeks ago I strolled over after being mostly absent all winter. I discovered that the botanical gardens are open for the season. The birds were aware long before I walked in that direction. On a recent stop I enjoyed the sighting of six mallards, one pair of ducks and the raucous honking of several pairs of Canada geese.
I pondered what was the source of their alarm. There was a family walking a dog but the animal was leashed and placid. One pair soared overhead, landed briefly beside the large gazebo and immediately took flight again. I always pause to watch.
The dog-walking family was seated on a bench, with their backs to the antics, almost oblivious. I was a little concerned. Geese can be aggressive. Keeping my distance has always been my motto.
The red-winged blackbirds also gave a warning cry. During nesting season they sometimes dive-bomb walkers who tread too close to the nests. They have a beautiful song. I love to hear them. I make sure to respect the warning and leave that pathway for another time.
Before I hit the gates of the botanical garden I moseyed through the garden paths: the rose bed, peonies, lilies and irises are all appearing. The first pert faces of daffodils bring a smile: such cheerful, smiley visages. I saw some crocuses, a few tulips, but the irises aren’t doing much yet.
The peony beds have evidence of growth. Mom would be excited. She adored her peonies. Hers bloomed in bright hues: purple, reds, a deep pink, baby soft pink and sometimes white. Her peony bed always rewarded her efforts.
We had a large flower bed on the farm that highlighted several peonies. When we moved into Olds Mom’s peonies came with us. Some 35 years later the folks retired and left that property. The fate of mom’s flowers concerned her, but my sister dug up some of them and relocated her favourites to southern Alberta.
My first home in Olds had overflowing flower beds. The garden plot was lined with peonies, delicate pink and distinctive white. The former owner had lavished attention on the yard. The front bed had gorgeous peach-coloured irises and an abundance of tulips. I’m sure every year they reappeared in a different colour.
The peonies were exuberant, lush, like overblown roses. Mom’s varieties tended to be the darker red and maroon tones.
I did not know that peonies were cultivated in China for thousands of years, transplanted to Europe only in the last few hundred years. The blossom is the unofficial flower of China, a symbol of spring, honour and wealth.
The peony is believed to be one of the first plants brought to North America by the early settlers.
- Joyce Hoey is a longtime Gazette columnist
