WHY "YARBS"
©By Gladys Rae Flynn
My husband and I began our life together in the country in 1951. I had been in the city long enough to have nostalgic yearnings for my rural upbringing. I might add I had forgotten "the liftin', the standin', and the worritin'."
When the first spring arrived, any bush, tree, or seed that touched my eager fingers was immediately plopped into the soil and cultivated assiduously. In addition to the more prosaic gardening, I longed to plant herbs. Until the seed catalogues arrived through the mail, I had difficulty in finding the seeds.
We were too busy to be elegant. I simply raked furrows the length I desired on the north side of the garage. I planted rue, parsley, horehound, sage, Florence fennel, basil, thyme and lavender.
Any leisure time found me moving up and down the rows. I felt a light-hearted part of this blur of sunshine, blossoms, and world of bees. Pinching and smelling and noting the herbs reseeding themselves into minuscule new ones, I fairly rubbed my hands in satisfaction. At last I had my herb garden!
My friends were mildly interested but wondering. "What do you do with herbs?", "Do you cook with them?", "That is a lot of work for nothin." I was startled by their remarks and became thoughtful.
"Why did I want to grow them?" Still pondering, I thought back to "why herbs." I decided that tantalizing hints from novels had piqued my curiosity.
The worn out phrase, "lavender and old lace", was novel to me in my early years. "What is lavender?" I asked my elders, who were cheerfully unknowing. I tucked the question away for future reference.
A-ha! Scarlet O'Hara associated the scent of lemon verbena with the swaying motion of her mother's full graceful skirts. Where on earth would I find lemon verbena? I found it and I planted it. But I say, it is very difficult to tuck beribboned little sachets into ragged cut off blue jeans. And who can sway gracefully after kicking off one's shoes to protect them from wet grass and garden soil?
There was artless little "Eppie" from Silas Marner who coaxed her foster father to plant her dream garden with "a bit of rosemary, bergamot and thyme because they are so sweet smelling, but there's no lavender...only in gentlefolk's gardens, I think."
Now, "gentlefolks" or no, I have always felt that nothing is too good for me and mine. I planted generous amounts of lavender any place I could coax it to grow. My linen closet greets me with a lovely breath of it when I open the door. My sheets and pillow slips are stacked over mounds of dried bloom.
I once saw a stage show of Hamlet with Ophelia, whose long dark hair was spangled with tiny flowers. Mad, quite mad, but still comforting her fingers with herbs and flowers. Her "rosemary for remembrance" is one of my favorites. Vital and green, its elusive grace never fails to refresh me.
There is something about tansy's tight, gold, button-like flowers that tempts me to lean my cheeks against my hand and spin airy reels of non-sensical fancies. Ah, tansy tea! Tansy is for immortality!
And so on and on I found kindred souls from generations long gone who grew and gathered herbs. They wove lovely legends to brighten routine lives with the bits of glamour and magic we all need. One thing I couldn't understand was how old timers got "yarb" from "herbs". I realize a dialect can do anything, but that is ridiculous.
Well, for twenty-eight years, I have played with my herbs. I have steeped vinegar in different leaves, permeated tomatoes with basil, sipped teas of various mint, lemon, thyme and tansy. I have chopped garlic, shallots and horseradish. I have minced chives, dill, parsley and sniffed and tasted and kissed my fingers like a Frenchman!
My old garage garden site was destroyed by the tornado of April 31, 1965. But my husband replaced it with a more formal one of pink bricks and mortar, replete with a sun-dial and my hand made water fountain. Sometimes I'm still questioned, "Why herbs?" I say they represent a sensual pleasure that is innocent and wholesome. Anyway, who cares? Must I have a reason for everything?
Gladys wrote this article in late1956. And she is still playing with her herbs and sipping her soothing herbal tea ... with Bill, of course, the love of her life (after he returns home from an invigorating tennis match)!
Background Music: The Girl I Used To Be
Original Midi Sequenced by: Jim Stark