This morning as I watered , I realized how much I had taken the loyal ivy in my yard for granted. It is one of the few plants that rain or shine -and shine translates to drought- has survived and flourished.
My mind rarely stays put when a thought like that surfaces, so I let it roam while I continued to water.
I have often thought of ivy as something trapped in the 70’s. It could grow without dirt! I had all sorts of jars filled with water and ivy cuttings on my kitchen window sill- plus crazy, giant sweet potatoes sprouting all sorts of vines. My gardening was of the Vacation Bible School variety.
Dressed in my hunter green double knit vest and pants with elastic in the waist, made from a Make it Tonight Wear it Tomorrow pattern, I was the picture of fashion forward, botanical domesticity.
You could make a pair of those pants without ever leaving your machine or cutting a thread. The same ease of care was true for those jars of ivy- when the water got a little dicey- you just pitched it and gave it another fresh drink.
When my mother died in 1996, I kept an arrangement of ivy that our family received, and cuttings from that plant are planted deep within the folds of ivy shown in the above photos.
I have spent so much time trying to coax temperamental fern to grow, when ivy is the plant that’s got my back.
As healthy as it looks in the photos above, it looks sort of like an earnest school picture when fern comes off as a glamour shot.
That’s OK. I get it now.