The Geranium

Last weekend the weather dipped into the teens in Manhattan. The wind howled and blew through the concrete canyons causing the cold to penetrate through layers of clothing, wool scarves pulled across the face, knitted caps (many with a fur ball bouncing up and down on the top) and puffy quilted coats.

The week before the temperature had been in the high sixties, creeping up to seventy degrees one afternoon.  During these summer like days the daffodils began pushing through the earth. These delicate flowers don’t have protection against the cold and I noticed a few of the flowers that had bloomed didn’t survive the cold. We are on the cusp of spring when the weather can be fickle.

A few years ago, after an early morning canoe trip, I dug up a small fern near the water’s edge. I didn’t have a proper shovel and the plant and the small mound of earth around the roots just got stuffed into a bag.  In New York I planted the fragile fern in a wide glass bowl, leaving the bits of moss still around the roots.  Within a few weeks the fern was thriving, the moss seemed to be alive and other green weeds were appearing.  I called it my New Hampshire bowl.  It survived on the windowsill for almost two years.

Last fall I brought a geranium to New York. It was a small plant that had been abandoned on the porch because it didn’t appear to warrant efforts to try and keep it alive through the winter months.

A New York apartment can be a shock after a summer in New Hampshire.   First the leaves turned yellow.  I did some research about how to care for a geranium as a houseplant and adjusted my watering.  On warmer days I open the window and let the leaves soak in the natural air and sunlight.  I learned that a fertilizer could help and bought some in a florist shop after discussing the mixing directions with someone who knows plants. Last week the geranium bloomed.  An exquisite flower with seven bright red blossoms.

There are many species of geraniums and from my research I can only conclude that the original plant probably came from South Africa. The name is derived from the Greek word geranos, meaning ‘crane’ because the seed heads have same shape as the bill of a Crane.

Geraniums symbolize New England.  The are few homes in New Hampshire, particularly around the lakes, that don’t have one or two geraniums during the summer months.  After all these are handsome, reliable plants with sturdy leaves and solid stems.  Geraniums can handle heavy rains and variations in temperatures.

We don’t think of geraniums as necessarily inspiring poets like the rose or the violet, yet, I found a reference in T.S. Eliot’s poem, entitled “Rhapsody on a Windy Night.”

“…The reminiscence comes

Of sunless dry geraniums

And dust in crevices,

Smells of chestnuts in the streets,

And female smells in shuttered rooms,

And cigarettes in corridors

And cocktail smells in bars.”

It makes sense that Emily Dickinson would mention the geranium as she loved and often wrote about her garden in Amherst, Massachusetts.   In her poem entitled “

I tend my flowers for thee:”

“Geraniums — tint — and spot —

Low Daisies — dot —

My Cactus — splits her Beard

To show her throat —

Carnations — tip their spice —

And Bees — pick up —

A Hyacinth — I hid —

Puts out a Ruffled Head —

And odors fall

From flasks — so small —

You marvel how they held — …”

My geranium has matured over the winter and I hope it will bloom again before I carry with it with great care back to New Hampshire and plant it in our small garden.  Home.