Eastern Redbud (Cercis canadensis)
In the early spring Eastern forests light up with pink and purple blooms thanks to this fast growing small tree. With a beautiful heart shaped leaf and flowers along its branches, this is a tree that belongs in every garden. Reaching heights of up to thirty feet, redbuds are rather inconspicuous until they flower, but when those flowers pop it is a truly amazing sight. This tree is native all across the East Coast from Maine down to Northern Florida.
Herb and Marilyn Adrian, Jr.
Strolling through this beautiful botanical garden brings joy to me as I recall my parents’ home in south Charlotte. They are both gone now, but a blush pink bud of an azalea or a whiff of flowering scents along the Van Landingham Glen trail reminds me of their personal oasis created from land of pines, hardwoods, poison ivy and wild strawberries.
I was attending college here at UNCC in the 70’s when my parents, Herb and Marilyn, moved to their dream property of English Gardens after a lengthy search. My father was deeply involved with the Charlotte business community yet still found time to create his vision of a farm-like retreat. Marilyn was an equal and avid supporter of these endeavors, and my parents were often seen together on the patio in quiet evening cocktails and conversations. The culmination of their many discussions was in evidence upon arrival to the family home.
Vivid splashes of white, pink and red azaleas and camellias lined the winding driveway that led to an array of delightful surprises. A couple barking dogs and a large fluffy pet sheep would dash out for a “greeting” that would often perplex visitors. A trio of goats could sometimes be spotted when they were active at their designated job of eating poison ivy. (The goats, to my mother’s distress, preferred to nibble from flower beds and ignore offensive weeds.)
Once the dogs were reassured that you were a welcome visitor, your attention would move to the myriad of sounds. A tinkling of chimes, a whoosh of wind through the trees, and shouts from my brothers could be heard in the distance. Cackles and clucks from the backyard chicken coop of Plymouth Rocks and Rhode Island Reds would float through the air along with twitters from cardinals, bluebirds and the occasional despised black crow. Looking up to view the birds, displays of fussing yet comical squirrels would cause a brief distraction but, watch out! Looking down you may spot a copperhead slipping and sliding past, not far from your feet. Nature was fully alive amidst the city of Charlotte.
Taking in the scenery, you would notice an orchard of plum and peach trees flanked by an enormous and proud stand of corn, tomatoes, melons, potatoes and beans. A fig tree full of plump fruit, was edged up against the corner of the house, and vines of muscadine grapes were just beyond view. A collection of white boxes near the fence provided a home for honeybees, who in turn would extend their gratitude by pollinating the crops. A greenhouse to the left held experimental seedlings and cuttings, and a separate garage housed fine tractors and tillers to be envied by professional landscapers. Individual small plots of land were in use by the children in which my dad allowed a relaxation of rules (I chose sunflowers, others chose sweet edibles like honeydews and watermelon.) Splashes of bright and sunny marigolds, zinnias and petunias flourished in several flower beds under my parents’ care. I believe Herb’s background in chemistry gave him a greater understanding of proper soil conditions and other requirements for successful gardening. This knowledge helped create bountiful, healthy and productive gardens that truly embraced the name of English Gardens.
This montage of plants and animals was surrounded by a swath of magnolia, dogwood, redbud and aging oak trees that offered complete privacy once the leaves unfurled. At dusk, deer and rabbits quietly sneaked into the yard for frequent snacks of fresh new growth. Wandering, but friendly cats were therefore welcomed and encouraged to chase away uninvited diners of the gardens. A swirling dark creek on the property line kept a thicket of a errant bamboo from a neighbors’ yard at bay. Yes, you were indeed in a special and curious place.
Ten years after my parents created their bit of paradise, my father was tragically killed in a car accident in 1987 on a return business trip from South Carolina. My heart aches at this awful memory: my mother waiting, waiting, waiting for my father’s expected arrival; my younger sister catching a flash of the fatal accident on the evening news; my sister calling my brother to quickly come to the house; the doorbell ringing with the presence of the priest and a solemn officer, my mother breaking down and crying, crying, crying. I was a young mother and wife when I received a midnight call from my sister of this awful, horrid news. Reeling in shock, I threw up almost immediately and knew instantly that our lives were no longer what we once knew.
Marilyn soldiered on…despite losing her dearly-loved husband of nearly thirty years. I was dismayed when my mother readied herself to work at the family business just a couple days after my dad’s funeral. There was much to do and it was love for her husband and family that kept her moving forward although so terribly saddened by her loss. Mom was reserved and therefore uncomfortable in public situations, but bravely continued to represent my father in his many charitable, faith and business interests. One of Herb’s last collaborations was the Reach Out Housing Initiative for the poor; Marilyn was stoic, and stood in his place for the presentation to Mayor Gantt although this was difficult to do in her grief.
Time moves on, and so did we all. Mom retreated to the treasured land of fruit trees, magnolias and flowers to quietly putter in the garden yet still continued running the business and planning activities with her children and grandchildren. Ten acres was not easy to tend, particularly when you’ve lost your partner in everything, and some necessary cutbacks were made. The goats were no longer around, the chickens and honeybees were given away, the dogs and sheep eventually died, not to be replaced. My brothers and sister finished college and left home to begin their own families. The fruit trees produced for a while but dwindled in time. The greenhouse was torn down but there was still a garage left of fine but slightly rusting lawn equipment. Meanwhile, the azaleas and camellias continued to grow and the vegetable garden was still sown with corn, tomatoes, melons, potatoes and beans. Daffodil bulbs my father had planted still bloomed on his February birthday as a continued promise of new beginnings. Evidence of Herb was ever present, and Mom was comforted by a yearly spectacular display of pink, blue and purple larkspur that kept reseeding and spreading, much like our family.
Almost thirty years later, in 2015, Mom was diagnosed with a rare cancer and was given just a couple months left to live. She handled the news with dignity and grace with no complaints, but wanted to remain at her home. Some newly purchased potted hibiscus brightened the patio, and upon my mother’s request, I placed begonias in her planters at the front door. Cut flower arrangements were abundant on the coffee table, the kitchen counters and at her bedside along with her children and grandchildren. We all believed she was comforted by the promise of reuniting with her beloved Herb in heaven.
My parents’ appreciation for gardening continued within our own families. A brother grows incredibly sweet melons, another sibling brandishes chickens, flowers and fruit trees at his home, yet another grows a large vegetable garden along with hundreds of flower bulbs. One is a master gardener, and another is a devotee of native plants and butterfly habitats. Love of land and water is evident among all of us.
We currently have our own bits of personal paradises, but it still tugs at the heart to walk the English Gardens property. The house will soon be torn down along with the garage of fine lawn equipment. The azaleas and camellias will likely be uprooted and hauled away to make room for new construction. Another family or perhaps more will recreate this land. There will be little evidence of what once existed twenty, thirty, forty years ago: ghostly remains of white boxes of busy honeybees, the greenhouse filled with fledgling plants, the chicken coop of a proud rooster and his hens, my parents’ patio of conversations and cocktails. In realization that all this will soon vanish, Herb and Marilyn’s children have gathered seeds of larkspur, taken cuttings of hydrangea and camellias, dug up irises, peonies and grape vines to establish in our own gardens. Bits of wild strawberries and poison ivy persist, but there’s promise too, that a magnolia or camellia will remain; the errant stand of the neighbor’s bamboo will definitely be kept at bay by the dark, swirling creek.
It’s difficult to decide on a tree to represent my parents. Should it be a strong oak, a flowering dogwood or maybe there’s a fruit tree in these botanical gardens to represent my parents? I chose a redbud because I smile at the memory. When Herb and Marilyn first contracted the clearing of English Gardens, they diligently tied rope around trees they wished to keep. The crew became confused with the directions, and to the dismay of my parents, tore down the flowering redbuds and dogwoods and left ugly scraggly telephone pole-like pine trees. My mother subsequently saved any redbud saplings that later appeared and as a gift to Marilyn, my father eventually cut down the offensive pine trees. My gift, to my parents, in return for their many gifts they passed to their children and grandchildren, will be a memorial of the cherished redbud tree in these beautiful university botanical gardens.
May many blessings of nature and family continue for all.
Debbie Adrian Isaacs, class of 1980
Debbieisaacs3@gmail.com
