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 Old Radios: Irises From Ashes- Edited

3/7/2014

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Newly landscaped Russ' Old Radio Repair, Old Radio Museum entry. Thank you beautiful sunny Southern Oregon! Today bought a marked improvement in the weather.
      Every time I walked by them, I felt bad. Had it been two years, maybe  three, that I'd dug up the irises; decided they were root-rotted, then tossed them onto the burn pile? At least that long. I recall my surprise the following spring when healthy green, blade-shaped stems sprung up from the soot and ashes. 
     The garden heap exists on a part of our tree farm far from any landscaping efforts. There were no well-groomed lawns or pampered perennials- only huge, old neglected oaks- surrounded by many years of shed leaves; and buckbrush starts  attempting to trump our land clearing efforts. It wasn't a place I went to- unless I wanted to discard the unwanted. 
      One fall, after digging the irises to divide them, I'd decided some of the rhizomes didn't look good,. They looked old- not worthy anymore. Perhaps they're infected with iris borers, I thought. I made the trek to the discard stack. Once there, I had given the rejected irises an grand heave-ho.

     How could the irises have survived the fires?  I'd  tucked the question in the back of my mind and there it stayed- until yesterday.

     Yesterday--although it rained heavily--I found myself toiling away at a newly conceived landscape project; it's purpose to enhance the entrance to the Old Radio Museum. (The Model A Club had scheduled a visit; I wanted to spiffy the grounds.) I had planted a few hardy primroses and heavenly-scented hyachinths, but the area still looked sparse. As I stood there, drenched in rain and knee-high in mud, I accessed the situation. I find gardening, like other outdoor activities, inspiring.  The answer--like the first daffodil up in the spring--came to me almost immediately. I knew what I needed to do.
     I grabbed the mud-encrusted shovel, and slogged through the wet ground to the burn pile. I dug around the dozen or so proud survivors, then extracted them from the fine black powder, careful not to injure their roots. The rhizomes appeared to be healthy; the pale roots exceeded a foot in length. 
     After planting the irises under the oaks, by the primroses and hyathcinths, I felt much better. I knew they belonged there. They had lived a long time and survived difficult circumstances; they deserved a good home. I picked up the barely recognizable trowel, shovel, black plastic plant pots, and threw them in the wheelbarrow.      
     When I looked up, as I lifted the flat-tired, conveyance's handles,  I saw the Old Radio Museum. I  knew why the antique pieces of electronics mattered--they, like the irises-- had earned, a special place in history. If not for their longevity, for their survival.

Has a revelation, such as this one, ever occurred to you? Love to hear about it.
Till next time.

 Regards,

Sue, phlog's blog


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The petrified wood is testimony to the oaks' endurance.
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CUSTOM DESIGN BY SUE WEBB  06/2013       Redesigned by Russ Webb     Approved by Fuzzy   Updated:  Pretty much all the time, but I forget to change this date
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Photos used under Creative Commons from valart2008, rafeejewell