Posted on by tonytomeo · 5 Comments

Roots

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In the lower right corner of this picture, next to the fenced garden gate, and just beyond the mown grass and what appears to be a walkway, there is a small clump of bearded iris foliage. No one knows where these iris came from, or for how long they had been there when this picture was taken in the summer of 1969. They were growing in the garden of my great grandmother, in Hoot Owl Creek, just south of Red Oak in Latimer County of Oklahoma. It is unlikely that my great grandmother purchased such non-utilitarian plant from a nursery. It was probably acquired from a friend or neighbor sometime during the half century that she tended the garden prior to 1969. It could have been around even earlier, since my great grandfather’s family first developed the farm as Oklahoma became a territory.

The flowers are an alluringly soft lavender blue, on elegantly tall and lean stems. They are relatively small for bearded iris, and lack any fancy frills or ruffles. In fact, they are quite neatly tailored, with a simple sweet and fruity fragrance that resembles that of grape pop. This iris is probably one of the prehistoric specie of iris that was used to breed modern cultivars. Some of these sorts of iris were known affectionately as ‘grape pop’ iris, but it is impossible to know if or how this particular iris is related.

Many years ago, probably in the early 1980s, my grandmother brought some of these iris back to her home garden in Santa Clara in California. They proliferated enough to share with friends and neighbors. A few went to my mother’s garden, where they also proliferated and were shared with friends and neighbors. Now, my mother’s great granddaughters play in a garden where these same iris will bloom next spring; only a few months from now, but at least six generations from that well outfitted homestead garden in Hoot Owl Creek.

Where will these iris go from here? It is impossible to say. Younger generations are not very interested in horticulture. However, I really doubt that my great grandmother could have imagined that they would have gotten this far. What is funny is that these iris are probably more interesting now to current generations than they were to my great grandmother when she planted them.

Posted on by tonytomeo · 8 Comments

Never Forget the Valley of Heart’s Delight

 

The Santa Clara Valley really was as idyllic as the natives say it was. It was excellent for us kids, as well as for our parents who raised us here. That is why it is also know as the Valley of Heart’s Delight.

Every autumn, the orchards would turn soft yellow. Cherry orchards got a bit more orange. Apple and pear stayed greener later. The foliage still smelled sort of fruity. Leaves would start to fall with the first breezes and cool autumn rain. There was still mud here back then. It was real orchard mud; not the sort that happens because a gardener waters the lawn way too much.

By winter, the foliage on the ground smelled earthy. . . very earthy. It might have been slippery to walk on. The upper stems of the bare trees reached upward as if they were not expecting to be slowed down by the change in the weather. The trees seemed to watch each other getting pruned, and then point and laugh at each other when it was all done. Debris piled on the edges of the orchards burned fast, and then smoldered for a few days, with a narrow wisp of almost sweet smelling smoke.

Spring made you think the whole world was in bloom! It was billowy white bloom. Apricot was the best, but cherry ad almond were brighter white. Prune seemed to be very slightly blushed. It was all white, but different flavors of white. It was so soft and fragile. The fragrance was surprisingly simple, sort of fruity, and . . . perfect. Apple and pear bloomed later, giving the illusion that bloom lasted a long time. However, each type of orchard bloomed only for a short time. Let’s be honest; apple and pear did not smell quite as good as the rest; and some described them less graciously than those of us who were kids back then. Walnut and fig, well, they were always the odd ones anyway.

Summer smelled like fruit. It was everywhere. It smelled sort of grassy at first while the fruit was developing. By the end, it smelled way too ripe. Finally, it smelled like wine and toasted soil. The soil here really was great. It was grey and heavy. Summer was warm but only rarely hot. Mustard grew under the trees, and then wilted down just before getting cut.

We were all raised with horticulture, whether we realized it or not, or whether we liked it or not. We all got peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in our lunchboxes because our mothers had to get rid of the apricots somehow. Fudge at Christmas was overloaded with walnuts. Mom’s apple pie was not revered here like everywhere else in America. It was our culture. It was everywhere.

Even though almost all of us were natives, and most of our parents were natives, and some of our families had been here for several generations, the horticulture was imported from all over the place. Apricots, cherries, prunes, peaches, almonds, walnuts, figs, pears, apples; there was just about every fruit tree imaginable. They came from Turkey, France, Italy, Spain, Greece, England, Persia . . . really anywhere and everywhere. Our ancestors brought their horticultural expertise from Italy, Spain, Japan, Oklahoma, Portugal, Mexico and who knows where else. It all came here and somehow got mixed together to make the Valley of Heart’s Delight, our own distinct culture within the Santa Clara Valley.