Looking out my Backdoor: The Year of the Hibiscus

Here we are, smack in the middle of August, wondering how we got here already. Yes? As a friend said, “What do you mean, August? It’s only June.”

Yes. June. I mean, August! The days move along too quickly on their progression through the equinox. You can feel the difference in the air, can’t you? It might be subtle but it is there. The air has a different scent, a different brush against your skin. A different energy.

Summer is still with us. The signs of the season turning are here. For me, when I see the signs, my mind skips autumn and turns to winter. It is one of my failings. I love autumn and dread winter, even here in this sub-tropical land where mornings can be quite chill.

The three-month-long heat dome messed up a lot of expectations. My Haas avocado tree died. My fig tree was set back, struggling. She’s a baby tree. While standing next to her in the garden, I ate the only fig she gave. Oh, glorious fig.

My mango tree started with an early growth spurt, went into delayed reaction to extreme heat for a month-long hiatus. Now, a month late, two month’s later, I’m finished with harvest. My ever-generous papaya is doing the best she can.

All my garden pots are cleaned up and resting. I won’t plant veggies, tempting as it will be, until after I’m settled in my new home, probably near winter. So I say today.

I mourned my magnolia. She went into severe decline, leaves burned away. Rains brought revival; the lady is still damaged, not very pretty, but she is giving us her first aromatic flowers. If I were to take you on a garden tour, many plants, bushes, trees would tell you a similar story.

Our daily rains, oh, blessed daily rains, no longer visit with regularity. The rainy season is not gone and done, just slower, lesser, erratic.

Through every change, through every season, the blooming hibiscus, well, blooms.

When I first moved here, eight-and-a-half years ago, I planted hibiscus around the perimeter of my yard. Like the bougainvillea, hibiscus takes seasonal changes in stride and flowers through it all.

I planted all colors. I planted many varieties. I’ve flowers of red, yellow, orange, white, salmon, pink, solid colors and mixed colors. Some are the familiar standard hibiscus you see in every yard. Some are exotic, doubles and ruffles. One has three colors on one bush. One has variegated leaves. One has tiny leaves but big ruffled flowers.

One, back when it first opened a flower, made me ask my garden helper, Leo, “What flower is this?” “Hibiscus,” he answered. “No.” “Yes, look at it closely. See how it sticks out its tongue.” “Oh. It is a hibiscus.”

This year my hibiscus trees or bushes, are more glorious than ever. Lusher, fuller, more flowery.

If ever I doubt life, all I have to do is look out my windows or walk around my yard. Hibiscus, my ever-blooming hibiscus, assures me that life wants to live. Life wants to live fully, to thrive, to flower in profusion.

Seems to me to be a lot of parallels to our human lives in a garden, maybe especially a garden under duress. Changes are not always welcome, often feared. We may want to hide, to shelter in a cool cave. Metaphorically, we may need to push down deeper roots or prune expectations, but we always have an option to try to grow through the changes. So says my hibiscus.

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Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].