Heritage Perennials

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Perennials, by definition, are expected to live for at least a few years. Some heritage perennials live longer than the people who planted them.

Every spring, Mammaw, Mother and I would take a drive in Mom’s big Oldsmobile. Mom thought the Olds was a cross between a Sherman tank and an amphibious landing boat. She didn’t let much of anything stop her from where she wanted to go. We would meander around the hills and hollers of Southern Illinois to admire the flowering dogwoods and redbuds glowing against the pale spring greenery.

The Past

Mammaw would reminisce about her childhood, tell us stories we’d heard many times before but always enjoyed. We’d drive by Mom’s birthplace, my great-great grandfather’s log cabin, and we’d always be on the lookout for what we called “old homeplaces” – a spot where a family had once lived, but had moved on. Maybe the house would have vanished, but the daffodils were silent golden markers telling at least part of the family’s story.

I could imagine a pioneer woman who had brought along bulbs from her mamma’s garden, planting the bulbs at the new homestead, impatient to see them push up through the snow, giving her hope that winter would soon end. How plain and difficult her life might have been and how welcome the cheerful daffodils would be.

The trunk of the big Olds contained shovels, trowels and newspapers for collecting plants from these abandoned home sites and fencerows. That’s how my first gardens got their start, by rescuing plants from old, long abandoned homesteads.

Now

Mom, Mammaw and many other generous gardeners trusted me with starts of their heritage perennials. My best friend in high school dug up some iris from her family’s old homeplace for me. Mom gave me a cutting of the “Ol’ B—h” rose. Ol’ B had been handed down through generations of my family. She’s a double pink with a luxurious scent, blooming only once, but gloriously each year. She is also equipped with the meanest, backward hooked thorns that can be imagined. So, she reminds me very much of most of my female relatives – beautiful but with sharp claws!

Each of these heritage perennials still have a cherished place in my gardens; I have dug them up and moved them more times than I would care to remember, but I would never abandon them. They tell a story just like the daffodils at the lonely old home sites. My plants remind me of sweeter times, soft and gentle springs and loved ones long gone and still missed. They are part of my heritage, something I hope to pass on to someone who will remember me with fondness as they tend the perennials I gave them.

Meet Dona Bergman

Dona Bergman is a founding member, Southwest Indiana Chapter of the Indiana Native Plant & Wildlife Society, and an Advanced Master Gardener.

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