From the porch
Grandma’s front-porch plants offered summer splendor

BY LAURA C. MARTIN

Grandma Skaggs’ front porch was a wonder to behold. When the weather warmed, she dragged out the houseplants and put them on the porch where they stretched and bloomed like children released from school for summer vacation. By July, geraniums looked like Fourth of July firecrackers, hanging baskets full of trailing petunias dripped with bright blossoms while pale pink petals of beefeater begonia smiled from shadowy corners. The porch, swimming with plants of all colors, shapes and sizes, became an oasis of glory on this Kentucky farm.

Some plants on her porch were already more than a half century old when I spent summer vacations with my grandparents as a child. In those days, you didn’t go to the nearest store to buy plants, but depended on pass-alongs, plants from friends and family to fill your flowerpots and garden beds. Grandma’s porch became a living scrapbook, each plant a reminder of people who were important to her life. A prized rabbit’s-foot fern (which eventually grew bigger than a rabbit), was a gift from Mrs. Rucker, who lived on the next farm. A begonia, with leaves brilliant red underneath and white freckles on top, came from the preacher’s wife. Variegated ivy, climbing out of a wire hanger attached to the side of the house, came from her own mother’s house.

A firm believer that it is more blessed to give than to receive, Grandma did more than her share of passing along. She cut and clipped, dug and divided her plants to produce quantities of “babies” to give to her plant-loving friends. Everyone wanted some of Grandma’s plants because she had the quintessential green thumb.

The real showstoppers on the porch were the colorful annuals that Grandma grew from seed and potted each year. Bright red cockscomb, brilliant yellow marigolds and sky blue lobelia grew in everything from an old iron pot to a wooden bucket. While other folks might dream of exotic places, Grandma dreamed of exotic plants and spent the cold winter months poring over seed catalogs, planning and scheming. She could not resist names like voodoo lily, dragon arum, mouseplant or angel trumpet, and every year the porch became home to plants native to places all over the globe.

The sunniest spots on the porch were reserved for herbs. Pot after pot of parsley, oregano, catnip, mint, rosemary, chamomile, thyme and basil lined up underneath the porch railing. Grandma used these not only to flavor her cooking but to make homemade remedies for all kinds of ailments. She used catnip tea for treating upset stomachs, mint leaves for insect bites and ferverfew for headaches. In her time, Grandma was not only mother, cook and gardener, she was also doctor for minor hurts and ailments.

Magic ruled during summer evenings on Grandma’s front porch. The family gathered here after supper, grownups on the porch swing or in rocking chairs, kids out in the yard chasing fireflies. As darkness dropped softly over the hayfields, the moonvine that Grandma carefully trained across the porch railing began to quiver. We all stopped to watch, never tiring of the wonder of seeing the fat, creased buds begin to slowly shake and then unfold to produce huge white, sweetly scented blossoms as big as the moon itself.

Grandma was not exactly a vivacious, enthusiastic woman. Bright, accomplished and efficient, she simply did not waste words or emotions—until it came to her plants. And then she, herself, seemed to bloom. The front porch was her resume—her portfolio—her way of showing her skills and knowledge to friends and passersby. Though she did not know a single botanical name, she had a deep and thorough knowledge of the plants from years of digging deep into the soil, and growing and tending them.

My own front porch is full of plants that Grandma passed down to me, though the overall effect pales in comparison to the Kentucky porch of my childhood. The rabbit’s-foot fern, freckled begonia and variegated ivy are sweet reminders of family gatherings on Grandma’s front porch.

Laura Martin, of Atlanta, is the author of 26 books on gardening and nature crafts.