Caring for Geraniums

Today I spent some quality time with my geranium.  I had brought it indoors a few weeks ago, when the threat of frost was eminent, and intended to move it into the garage for the winter, as I had last year.   Then I talked to my mother-in-law, who has become my adopted mother since mine has past away, and who told me of her mother's tradition of bringing in her geraniums before frost and tending to them for weeks, even occasionally through the winter, helping the plant gradually adjust to its new environment, confident it would return to its glory the next spring.   Her description moved me, not only because of my love of these plants, but because she was sharing a good memory of her mother, and it made me feel closer to my "adopted" mother.   

I stood this morning, gently pulling off dried leaves and languishing blossoms, locating a withered branch to be carefully removed later with the proper tool.  My mother-in-law said she doubted my plant would bloom if I left it by a window in the family room for the winter, yet mine has already gotten a few new small blooms since I brought it inside.  I was still undecided about whether to keep it inside with hope it would bloom and thrive, or to follow my modified original plan, to store it in the cool garage, with some attention.

I've always loved geraniums - the delicate blossoms, the big, bright leaves, and the smell of them.  It's an earthy smell, suggesting a wild plant, but to me, geraniums are nearly always plants for containers on decks or patios, perhaps hanging near your front porch as a welcoming sight.   A house down the street from us usually has several bright red plants hanging and in containers around her front door all summer.   The plants seem so cheerful and faithful.

I think we mostly associate geranium blossoms with the bright red color which seems to be the favorite to buy, but I often find myself trying different colors. I love the peachy color of this plant, with its two-tone look, the dark in the center and paler tone of the surrounding petals.   Although these blossoms are smaller than most, they are still lovely and special in their own way.

Geraniums remind me of the past,which means to me my mother or someone close to me grew them.  I don't remember them in the garden or patio outside my childhood homes, but it's possible they were there some years.  I remember seeing them at garden centers, and at other people's homes I visited, so when I had a home of my own, it seemed only natural to get my own geranium plants.   They make me feel safe and connected to the past and to gardening in a way no other plants do.   Oh, I've had my share of impatiens planted under a tree and along the borders when the kids' school sold them in May every year.  I got sick of impatiens, but they did well and were easy to tend to.   When we  moved to this house, the garden was well-established in places, but I wanted to add my own favorites.   So far that hasn't happened yet, as I spend so much time keeping up with the weeding in the main garden near our small pond, I have little energy for planting.  I always intend to weed and follow with mulch, but never seem to get beyond the weeding.  I know part of my hesitation is my lack of confidence in myself as a real "gardener."   I am afraid to translate my wish list of plants to the ground, as if they will not thrive or satisfy my vision.   

Another aspect of my reticence for gardening is due to my mother and her father's love and easy practice of gardening.  My grandparents lived all their married life in a row house in Philadelphia, with a postage stamp back yard, but my grandfather made it a special place full of color and scent.  He loved roses, and tended to them as if they were his babies, along with the other plants he kept - perennials and annuals both.  My grandmother never did much in the garden except sit in her lawn chair admiring his handiwork, and displaying them in a vase on her dining room table.   When we moved from our row house in the same neighborhood as theirs to suburban New Jersey when I was 7 or so, my grandfather would often make the hour-long trip on Saturdays for a few hours to help with a project or in the garden, and he would often bring some cut roses for our table.   My mother herself planted many roses against the house in the backyard, and I remember her tending them, along with the other plants in her garden.  The love and skill were passed on from father to daughter, I have always thought, and I cannot begin to possess the skills they had.   

So I convince myself, which I know is silly and counter-productive.   If I want my garden to reflect my style and love of beauty, I must make it happen.   No one else is going to do it for me.   And if I plant some things that don't live or thrive as I hope they will, I will be learning and growing as a gardener.   

In the meantime, I have my geranium, a constant reminder of the past and a connection to the world of gardening.   It's like a friend, or a photograph you look at to make you smile and remember the simpler times.    And it's not stressful or harmful or a bad habit to break.  It's my personal therapy session every time I look at it or touch it's fuzzy leaves.    

But I still need to decide what to do with it for the winter....