Gardenias and fences
Last night one of our neighbors called to discuss a common fence line between us and an apartment complex behind us. They have dogs—as do we—and we are grateful they are not upset when our dogs find an opossum in our yard and feel they must alert us. And then they also feel obligated to notify us of bicyclists, joggers, walkers, other dogs, and the UPS truck and so forth.
I was thinking of neighbors and some of the neighbors we have had in the past; there was the strange woman who created huge sculptures out of paper in their converted garage studio, the ones who shared a fenceline and thought our evening meal of fried rice/leftovers smelled wonderful, the neighbor who wanted us to save him the Sunday paper for the coupon for cigarettes, and the neighbors who greeted us with a pot of coffee, orange juice, and doughnuts on our first day in our current home.
Although I had read about gardenias, I had never seen one in real life and had no lidea what the plant/bush/shrub/tree looked like.
But in Augusta Georgia that claimed to be a garden city (not many gardens there like there are in Wisconsin), there were a lot of plants around our house. One huge bush was by the corner of a small screened in porch that I claimed as my sewing room. The porch was unheated and not cooled but I still left the doors open so the scent of that jasmine/gardenia could flow through the house.
The house we live in now has many plantings from the original owner. Remnants of a green house attached to the garage indicated an active gardener and every spring we enjoy snowdrops and jonquils along with azaleas and later on crepe myrtles. A few have died out, but there was no gardenia. I planted a miniature variety in the front yard several years ago. It has weathered hurricanes, snow, and freezing temperatures.
The scent is not as strong as that of the one in Georgia but it is enough to give delight.
Sylvia Weir Art 