Lemon Viburnum, Forsythia, a House Plant Named Max

26 Jul Lemon Viburnum, Forsythia, a House Plant Named Max

She nurtured a houseplant that grew from a snippet her mother gave her for what must have been 30 years, a tropical something, a plant I associate with Cezanne paintings, a hearty leafy guy she called Max. She kept that plant alive through several moves to places with long winters, to dusty houses she lived in while she renovated them, to an office at the state Capitol and then across country to a funky North Oregon coastal town where it got given to a new home when it became time to find places for her most cherished possessions to go.

When the forsythia bloomed yellow flowers in her yard they signaled the arrival of Springtime, even though those yellow shrubbery highlights would often be blanketed by a fresh dusting of snow. The unmanicured yet tamed bushes drew no yearlong attention, not being especially decorative, likely not intentionally planted or at least not cited purposely- they were every bit the background greenery to the annual flower beds, or veggie patch, or potted plant repository. Whatever strategy she employed in any given year toward gardening the sunny patch, the singular constant was the hedgerow backdrop of anonymity the forsythia provided. Untill Spring when the yellow flowers became the garden stars.

She knew the names of many plants at a time when I had no attention for that kind of information. I have a memory I can’t fully form, in it she’s telling me about a plant that smelled of lemon- she crushes it, rolls it in her fingers and brings it to her nose. Lemony. The context, the place, the era…I hope it will come back to me.

Today is the fourth anniversary of the passing of my Mother, Sara Tullar Fasoldt. A rare prion disease cut her life short at age 63. She was not in any way through with living her life and if she were still with us, I’m sure she would be involved with our family landscaping endeavor. She’s with us in our hearts. We love you Mom.