Frail as Summer’s Flower

By Sheila Martindale

Victoria is a city of gardens, both public and private.  It therefore follows that it is a city of gardeners of all descriptions.  And unlike almost every other place in Canada, gardening here is practically a year-round activity. Fertilizing, raking, hoeing, planting, digging, trimming, and of course, cultivating, happens regularly, so that yards and gardens look their best for us and our visitors to enjoy.  Most people would spend less time working in gardens and more time sitting in them, if it were not for the gardener's nemesis, weeds.   Weed control has to be one of the most time-consuming occupations.  No matter what is planted, weeds always come up first.  No matter how hard one tries to cultivate something lovely and delicate, weeds somehow manage to gobble up the space.  And, not content with taking over flower beds and borders, weeds contrive to invade the grass and the cracks between patio stones; they even take root in the eavestroughs among the dead leaves and pine needles.  Armed with everything from wicked-looking prongs to herbicides, we attack these uninvited guests in an attempt to stamp them out.  It doesn't work, of course.  A victory may apparently be won, but it is actually only a brief battle, and the war is never over.  By the time fifty of the darn things have been eliminated, a hundred more have sprung up to take their place. Weeds may annoy us, but we have to give them grudging respect.

As gardeners we may find the hardiness of weeds frustrating, but as people I should think we ought to find it encouraging.  Let's face it. If we compared human life to floral life, how many of us would be lilies or roses?  Or want to be, for that matter.  Despite the traditional love songs, beauty that is so fleeting and fragile is not very functional.  Those people who need to be coddled and protected might be fine in fair weather, but how do they survive the storms, the sudden changes of climate, the natural disasters?

Weeds, on the other hand, are able to withstand adverse conditions, surviving all kinds of attacks, and surfacing with cheerful face, tough stem and tenacious roots. Without the beauty of the cultivated flower it is true, but with the more enduring qualities of strength, resilience, and a certain defiant colour.

Whatever romantic dreams we entertained in our youth, most of us eventually realize that we are not destined to be nurtured and protected like exotic flowers under glass.  So we come to terms with being weeds in life's urban wilderness instead.

One of my favourite hymns is by Henry Francis Lyte (1793-1843), the fourth verse of which goes: Frail as summer's flower we flourish / Blows the wind and it is gone / But while mortals rise and perish / God endures unchanging on.

I think that maybe God has a special place in his heart for the weeds, for those who do not fall apart at the first puff of wind.  The frail flowers of summer are wonderful, of course; they add a dimension of luxury to our lives that few of us would want to be without.  But long after they have wilted and withered, the dandelions will still be going strong.