Her Golden Dress and Aunty Violet

Last night I dreamt of my Grandmother, sometimes known to those who had learnt to love by loving her, as Madgie May. She loved to have her hair brushed. She loved to have her hair brushed, mainly by me. I loved to brush her hair because brushing Madgie May’s hair proved the magic wand to a virtual history book and I’ve always loved history. I’ve loved history because we are made by history, every new day is a building block, every year a wall, a home that grows in a constant state of renovation and as such, history is the greatest pedagogue. In other words it’s hip to be old, provided you are a nerd who loves learning that is. The stories were of family, of truth and of dancing and music of great loss and in loss of an even greater love. And I looked forward to that kind of knowing, from someone who had lived a different past, of much less or more depending on the story, depending on my own blooming point of view. My Grandmother loved two colours most:

1) Sunflower Yellow; bright, bold, energetic, hard to tame,     balanced, a merry melody

2) Gentle Violet; calm, unusual in nature, a wonder, infinite, mythical, empowering 

And Violet was my Grandmother’s Aunt. My blog title is literally for her, Aunty Violet, who we imagined together. I suppose remembering her mother, Mary May, directly, was a little more difficult. She did speak of the loss and always quite the same way;

“Tell me about Mary, Madgie May?”

“No child should lose a mother, eight years young, so young, so love your mother, love your mother for me.”

“I’ll....now let’s talk about Violet then...”

“She lives in the flowers, do you think?”

“Yes, I think, I think she must...”

And on we would go with the story. And in those moments I wanted a garden of my very own one day. And I love gardens. And I love what gardens represent. 

From Vita Sackville West to Martha Stuart, to George Harrison, Kim Wilde, to some spiced “Sting” in your backyard chili plant and so many more, the garden is an artist’s canvas.  From Australia’s Vasile's Garden to Costa Georgiadis to Don Burke to the sway of less known but equally legitimate growers, young folk and adults and adults who have been adults for an even more notable length of time, tying back your sleeves and getting down and dirty in a bed of organic matter, actually matters. It’s safe to say, that gardening is a pursuit encompassing all walks of life and all ages from your 100 year old grower: 

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2302409/Britains-oldest-gardener-tending-rose-bushes-growing-vegetables-age-104.html

..to the Hip Hop Horticultural Society 

http://www.cbpm.org/hhhsociety.html

...to the subversive environmental pro-activism of Guerrilla gardening in the vein of Ron Finley

http://www.ted.com/speakers/ron_finley

...and everyone is welcome and I happen to think it’s great. 

Gardening of all pursuits is one of the most meaningful quests we might partake in. John Steinbeck once wrote;

“Somewhere in the world there is defeat for everyone, some are destroyed by defeat and some made small and mean by victory. Greatness lives in one who triumphs equally over defeat and victory...”  The acts of King Arthur and his Noble Knights 

One of my more personal, more humble of victories is life itself, being connected to life through nature and regrowing grief or defeat into many new beginnings. 

It’s 2015 and the real magic of spring gradually builds in our modest Coburg born garden. We await the gradual crescive of colour to peak at its greatest intensity; bulbs reborn, oranges consummate and sweet, peach trees in diminutive floret blooms, olives picked and cured by Eva over the fence, Marigolds line the path, Primroses out on the window ledge say Hello and Jasmine all the years up the arbor she has climbed and now buds new again. Our spring vegetable patch has been dressed and groomed with mulch and a straw bedding... planting awaits. 

Because I love quotes and because I love artists and because I loved my grandmother here’s a couple more to add to the curation of ourselves and to all those who bring motivation and inspiration every day;

“The violets in the mountains have broken the rocks...” Tennessee Williams

“Do you think amethysts can be the eyes of good violets..?” L.M. Montgomery 

Last night I dreamt of my Grandmother in her favorite sunflower golden silk gown and the walls of her new home were a garden now, covered in flowers and words and everything good that she had been.