The flowers of our childhood

Jill Severn

Most of us have the experience of seeing or smelling a flower that startles awake a memory of a childhood experience. For a friend of mine, the memory was of sweet pea seeds given to her when she was 5 years old. The experience of growing them changed her life. 

 For me, it’s something simpler: hollyhocks growing on the side of a small town Episcopal church when I was a wee little kid. Hollyhocks towered over me then, and they’re still taller than me now. They’re big bold, enthusiastic flowers that bloom for a nice long time in the summer and, if the weather’s just right, into the fall. I’m not the only one who’s impressed by them; they are beloved wherever they will grow. 

They started their journey on Earth in what is now China. Their seeds were trafficked from one country to another. In one preposterous but possible tale, hollyhocks are reported to be part of the spoils of the Christian incursions into the Middle East known as the Crusades. By the 11th century, they were in the British Isles. Today, hollyhocks are the OGs of the plant population of the pinnacle of British-ness, the English Cottage Garden.  

They are also the official flower of Taos, New Mexico, mostly thanks to the descendants of British women. 

Today, hollyhocks are also in bloom at the north end of the Port of Olympia peninsula. They’re just east of the now-empty KGY building, at the foot of a flight of stairs that descends from an ugly parking lot with a beautiful view of Budd Inlet, the Olympic Mountains, and a shifting cast of shorebirds. 

But hollyhocks have a serious problem: Nearly all of them are afflicted by a fungal plant disease called rust. It makes a rust-colored mess of the leaves. When it’s severe, they look like a picture of plant suffering. The flowers may still look fine, but the overall effect of all those grotesque leaves is unbearably sad. Few gardeners have what it takes to fight it. 

Hollyhocks can survive a lot of rust, and some people ignore it for years on end. Where hollyhocks are in hot, dry places, it’s less of a problem, and less still if there aren’t other susceptible hollyhock mallow relatives around to make you worry about spread.  

But in our climate, dealing with rust never means you win; it means you fight to a draw by being a faithful applier of remedies ranging from baking soda to Neem oil to copper-based fungicides. Then, when all those lose their effectiveness, the really dedicated bring out the more obscure chemical remedies. They are supposed to be used in rotation, because each one acts on a different aspect of the fungus disease.  

All this brings to mind questions gardeners grapple with in silent frustration: How much of what we intend to do in the garden gets done? How do we calibrate our intentions with our time, energy and, in this case, willingness to do chemistry research? What is the least guilt-inducing strategy? 

I used to have a nice stand of hollyhocks in a sunny spot at the front corner of the house. With each passing year, the rust on them got a little uglier.

Eventually I started applying remedies, but of course I was too late. And I wasn’t very good at remembering to do it once a week, and uninterested in mastering the complexity of all the options.

Eventually I gave up and took the hollyhocks out. For a couple of years, the seeds they left behind came up, but eventually I hardened my heart, banned them all and planted cosmos. 

Now, seeing those hollyhocks at the Port of Olympia has made me long to have them back in my garden. But have I become self-disciplined enough yet to do constant combat with a fungus? Can I set my ambition to medium-low, and tolerate more rust? Can I accept the fact that in a few years, it may be time to “harvest” my hollyhocks in the same way chicken farmers “harvest” the chickens we eat? 

Maybe, as our summers get hotter and drier, hollyhocks will fare better here — maybe as well as the ones in my small Oregon town. As I recall, they were perfect. 

Jill Severn writes from her home in Olympia, where she grows vegetables, flowers, and a small flock of chickens. She loves conversation among gardeners. Start one by emailing her at  jill@theJOLTnews.com.