Seasons & Epochs

My mother died in the season of the forsythia. She died on March 8, of course I remember the date. And I know that forsythia has a different bloom period in different climates. In Texas, it blooms in early March.

I date many times in my life by the season rather than the physical date. I remember my shock as a child when my grandmother told me that she did not know her birthday. She was born on the first crescent moon after Passover. When she was sent to the U.S. as a six year old, they made her birthday March 31. Yet now, I remember her birthday by Pesach -- next week, not a specific date.

My gradnfather died ont he first light of Channukah. I do not know that date.

I mention the time of the forsythia because when I arrived here in Provence, I wanted to fill my window boxes with bright pink and orange geraniums as I do each year. But there are few geraniums available now; it is not quite the season. Instead, there's forsythia...and various root stock.

Needless, to say, I bought a forsythia plant and put it in the window, in a carved yellow, very deep ceramic tub from China. I usually have a blue wheelbarrow in the front window for my plants, but it is too large for a lone plant.

I placed the little tree into the jar and forgot about it, except to reflect on my mother each time I pass my front door. She is dead 29 years this March.

Today I watered the plant and noted with amazement that it is growing -- it has root coils and new green buds and shoots coming out of the dirt. I do not have a green thumb, so I am shocked that anything would grow.

But it is the growing season in France. At market, there are tables piled with root stock, so you can start your own vineyard from a few little plants. It is illegal to bring these into the U.S. or I would add to the 150 vineyards in Paso Robles with my own Suzienne.