Father’s garden

There weren’t girls of my age in the neighborhood.  My brother and his little gang didn’t like to play with me.  I spent lots of time with dad in the garden.

Dad never paid much attention to landscaping.  He would put down new plants wherever there was enough room for them to grow.  From time to time, he would bring home wild plants that he found on the roadsides.  Since dad usually didn’t carry much cash in his pockets, venders would show up at our door delivering plants that dad desired.  (Bookstore clerks would deliver books in the same manner.)

There were always luscious colors in our garden.  Intertwining bougainvillea and allamanda draped over the front gate.  Every year white camelias were the first to bloom in late winter.  Light purple and pink azaleas then burst into flames near the front porch.  Roses and hibiscus followed with exuberant red.  Oleander and cotton roses added rich pink to the palette. Even though there was a bamboo pergola by the front windows, scarlet cypresses and morning glories climbed freely around the shrubs.  Portulaca and other small annuals covered the ground.

Looking out from the house, the focal point of the garden was a persimmon tree standing slightly to the right of the porch.  Every autumn small fruits would fill up the branches.  As they ripened, their beautiful color brightened up the front entrance.  The branches were high enough that we couldn’t climb up to reach for the fruits.  Mom always said that, since we didn’t make much effort to take care of the tree, the fruits wouldn’t be tasty.  A few times, when the fruits dropped to the ground and seemed to be intact, I secretly tried them: The skin was thick and astringent.  The flesh was sweet enough to satisfy a child’s curiosity but not enough for a snack.

In the back yard, there was a longan (龍眼) tree, most likely self-seeded.  Its trunk stood out of large landscape rocks.  For years, it wasn’t very productive.  Yet, it brought cool shades to the back of the house.

Dad’s garden was also a place for music making.  Four o’clock flowers were perfect little trumpets.  Large snails were harmful to small plants.  But their empty shells could turn into horns.  Waxy leaves made great reeds.

Snapdragons are called “gold-fish herbs” or “rabbit flowers” in Chinese because of the shapes of the flowers.  The petals would move like rabbit lips when squeezed.  Creeping wood sorrel (醡漿草) with large leaves spread easily.  Their stems tasted acidy and earthy.  Peeling off the juicy outer layer, the long stringy stems became fun toys.  Hooking your leaves/stem with your playmate’s, pulling to see whose leaves would break off first.  Sometimes, one could even play this game alone.

Dad grew unusual plants:  There was a pomegranate plant in the front yard.  I loved its beautiful flowers.  Since the climate wasn’t perfect for its need, it never grew large.  Still, we were excited when it grew fruits.  It was fun to break them up to find the jewel like seeds inside.  They were sour but juicy.  Dad tried growing tobacco once.  I remembered its large leaves took over a corner of the yard.  The flowers were pretty.

Another time, dad grew sorghums.  I only knew the name of the grain from textbook.  I knew that they grew in Northern China.  I was very surprised to see them getting taller and stronger in our own yard.  One day, dad broke a stem and handed it to me.  It tasted like sweet syrup!  Their bushy cluster of grains in rich reddish brown also made a deep impression on me.

Later I wondered if dad grew these exotic plants out of homesickness.  I always wanted to know if dad ever planned to stay in Taiwan long term.  Or, was it a sojourn turned into permanent residency accidentally?