April is here. The land is reborn, and hope is in the air. This spring though sadly also marks the passing of my father-in-law, one of the most masterful gardeners I have known. Over decades he created and shaped an enchanting forest garden in the countryside of his native France. Filled with flowering and fruiting trees, little explorers could run, giggling, down winding garden paths that skirted a frog-filled pond, brightly painted bee hives, and rambling rose bushes. A small picturesque wildflower patch mowed in the shape of a heart with an old bench for two was the perfect spot to propose to my wife on a sunny morning, many years ago. The cultivation continued indoors, with artfully shaped houseplants in most rooms and a spectacular tiny greenhouse attached to the kitchen where he would take his breakfast, surrounded by the smells and sounds of a mini-tropical paradise. For him, I believe the garden was a source of peace and of purpose. In his 80s, he would still head out every day to water, prune, and tidy. For us, the garden was a place of wonder, where we could wander lazily, sit in the sun, and listen to the birds. For the children, it was all about hide-and-seek, interspersed with building fairy houses and raiding the groseille (red currant) bushes. My favorite aspect was gathering in the garden in the early evening, sitting around an old white and blue table. We would enjoy happy hour while watching the fading light, debating the purpose of life or something much more mundane, while occasionally being treated to an impromptu acrobatic or comedy show by the kids. Truly, life at its best.
Jeffrey M Pierce, MD 