Viable Or Not?

Day 333: Almost every year, I save seeds from my black Hollyhocks, intending to plant them in the spring. The few times I have actually remembered to do so, I have had no luck in getting them to sprout. Theoretically, they should self-sow, but the area is masked by other vegetation (very little of it desirable), and I suspect the birds and mice get the seeds before they can reach the ground. That said, over the last few year, the number of stately plants seems to have increased somewhat, and certainly not through any intervention on my part. Not only that, but they seem to be sturdier, taller, and bloom over a longer season (there are still a few flowers on these). Perhaps some day, my vision of massed black Hollyhocks as a backdrop for the Barren Wasteland will come true. It's only been thirty years since I started the project.

Classic Black

Day 270: "Hollyhock" may well be the first common name I learned for a plant, and they certainly set me on the path to an appreciation of flowers. They grew in profusion behind my grandmother's house, towering spires of pink, red and white, and not a double in the lot. At the impressionable age of three and a half, I was entrusted with one of my mother's childhood books which was illustrated in the style of the 1920s showing flowers in anthropomorphic form. Lady Hollyhock, from whom I learned the name, wore a dress which could have come from my grandmother's garden, and in my imagination, she lived somewhere in those delightful blooms. As an adult, Hollyhocks were a must-have in my own yard, and generally were placed where they could lean against a sunny wall or fence. However, singles had given way to the more popular double varieties, and seeds had to be begged from friends or nicked from untended plants in passing until one company began offering "heritage" varieties. I was overjoyed to find a black one among the commercial offerings, something I had not seen previously. Today, a line of them stands along the south wall of my house, their abundantly flowered spikes visible through the Loom Room window. In thirty years of cultivation, they are putting on the best show ever this year, Lady Hollyhock in a classic "little black dress."

Black 'Hocks

Day 335: Several times in the past, I've gathered seeds from my black hollyhocks intending to plant them the following spring, but invariably, I've forgotten to do so. Perhaps this time, I'll remember. Single Hollyhocks are not as common as they once were. Most gardeners lean toward the showier doubles of most plant species. However, I have fond memories of the 'hocks growing against the alley fence behind my grandmother's house, reds and pinks, whites and yellows, and every one a single. As a four-year old, I probably sowed hundreds in the neighbourhood from pods I collected and turned inside-out to watch the seeds fly apart from their tightly packed nests. To me, "hollyhock" shall always signify a large, floppy, open flower. Those fluffy double things are something else, not hollyhocks, and they have no place in my scheme. My grandmother would be proud.