Anita Garner

My brother and I were not happy little harmonizers on The Glory Road, though we were part of the family singing group called, "The Joneses."  Daddy was following his calling to preach, Mother followed her calling to sing. Leslie Ray and I believed our true calling (at present only a dream, a wish) was to amble down a country road somewhere that would lead to a house of our own, a school we'd go to every day, and friends who'd know us from one year to the next. Just because you can sing harmony, that doesn't mean you always want to.

 

We worked the tent revival circuit, booked for months in advance and from time to time the family needed to refresh our presentation. Daddy said,  "We'd best practice before we get to Amarillo."

 

He enticed us into learning our parts by singing songs we liked on the radio. We started off with The Sons Of The Pioneers' "Tumbling Tumbleweeds" and when we had our parts down on that one, he switched us over to "What A Friend We Have In Jesus" in the same key.

 

Long stretches of Route 66 through the Deep South offered nothing to look at except tumbleweeds, giant puffs of them rolling free on the highway or stuck to a fence.  Daddy played a game with them.

 

 

 

A huge tumbleweed clump was minding its own business somewhere in Texas and as we got closer it loomed about half-a-car size. The motion of our big old sedan invited it to dance.  It floated up and plopped on the windshield, covering the view.  Leslie Ray said, "Daddy you better stop," but Daddy laughed and said, "Watch this."

 

Instead of stopping and freeing the thing, his game was to keep driving and speed up, then brake quickly trying to get it to release itself.  Man against nature.  It wasn't safe, but not much about car travel was back then.

 

Here are The Sons Of The Pioneers helping two young Gospel Gypsies learn harmony in the early 1950s.

 

"Tumbling Tumbleweeds"

 

 

 

Have you ever moved into a home previously inhabited by an avid gardener and watched as the seasons reveal what's already been planted and lovingly tended?  I've lived many places and a couple of times I've had the pleasure of watching unexpected gifts reveal themselves in gardens planned by someone else.

 

August in certain Northern California counties  is prime time for spotting Naked Ladies.  Driving through Napa and Sonoma and Marin Counties, rows of them line the road. Clumps pop up in cracks in concrete where it would seem nothing could grow. Now my family's in Sacramento County where I hadn't seen any so far this season.

 

I just returned from traveling, let the pups out, looked way back toward the fence and thought my eyes were playing tricks.  Naked Ladies. Right here in our own back yard.

 

This home and these gardens were brought to life by a dear friend over several decades.  We oohed and aahed over her beloved rose garden, the trees of all sizes that shade this place, the strawberry and tomato plants that march along the side fence. When Pam moved here decades ago, she was greeted by enormous asparagus ferns that still stand tall and carry their age well.

 

I don't remember seeing these Naked Ladies here during her lifetime, but here they are, two big clumps of them, obscured earlier by her prolific rose garden. I glanced around behind a rose and spotted another Naked Lady tucked up against the back fence, nearly hidden by ferns.

 

I'm not so much a gardener as a garden appreciator. I've loved these Ladies for years and the only thing I knew about them is that they take their name from their stems with no leaves. Here's more. (I looked it up)

 

They're in the lily family, starting life as a bulb. During the winter a plant with leaves appears, looking like any other plant.  Then the leaves die away and you can easily forget about them. A few months later during hot weather, up pops a bare stalk then another and another. They drop seeds which insure surprise sightings in years to come.  Once a bulb's planted, you never know how many will show up next season.

 

This has now exhausted most of the garden words I know.  The Lady above may be naked, but she still retains some mystery. More updates from the garden as nature provides.

 

 

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