A trip to the ancient Russian city has long been included in the plan of our summer family trips. Our long journey took place along the old and godforsaken villages. Trying to shorten the way and save time, we “jumped” off-road, overtaking occasionally encountered horse-drawn carts-funny rural exotics for the curious and spoiled city dweller. But not this surprised me and made me forget what your purpose is rushing. Front gardens! Village front gardens-that’s what I couldn’t take my eyes off.
Leaving the city, we passed by a small old, but carefully restored Church, on the territory of which were broken flower beds. Among the carpet Tagetes, Petunia, Tropaeolum solemnly adorned stately, luxurious and carefully groomed Phlox. Even from afar, I immediately recognized the well-known varieties.
Leaving the car, my husband and I admired not only the carefully preserved attraction, but also the traditional floral and decorative addition to the heartfelt provincial flavor of the ancient city. “Biting my elbows” because I was confused by the impressions and forgot to take photos of the Church flower garden, I made a promise to my husband to stop the car in front of the most beautiful front gardens with Phlox to satisfy his curiosity and make decent photos.
Simple phrase “Can I take a picture of your flowers?”I opened not only the gates and doors, but also the floral hearts of local women.
An elderly hostess of a chic work of Phlox told me that she simply can not live without these flowers and passionately loves them not only for the elegance and aroma, they are dear to her as a memory of her husband, who once came to marry her with a huge bouquet of Phlox.
And her roommate’s which definitely over seventy, there is a Phlox, inherited from the grandmother! What was my surprise when in her front garden I saw a carpet of old French variety “Jules Sande”.
My husband immediately put forward a dubious version that this Phlox was in a distant Russian village during the war with Napoleon. And I remember a slightly intoxicating husband of another village resident, who complained that his wife was so carried away by flowers that she completely abandoned the garden and he himself had to water the cucumbers. But it was obvious that he was very proud of mottled like a calico apron wife, flower garden, caused such interest among the curious city woman.
Simple and unpretentious variegated range of village front garden in August: slender mallow with simple paper or with tightly stuffed satin flowers, red-brown with bright yellow tips carved petals rudbecia, who like to lay out their wet rag heads after heavy rains on the “shoulders” of all the neighbors growing nearby. Bright blue Aconitum, as if at the fair, in abundance hang their carved shoes high from the ground on thin but strong peduncles.
Almost in each front garden carefully tied up tall “Golden balls”. And in other village front gardens there are even foreign residents of the “Royal blood”: tea-hybrid, climbing and miniature roses, spicy-fragrant Eastern lilies, recently planted thermophilic cypress from the capital’s supermarkets, sleek slender Thuja and Polish Juniperus, aristocratic and nothing comparable climbers-Clematis! All the evidence suggests that frequent visitors repaired and covered with vinyl tile fashion houses have become “advanced” urban residents.
Previously, I did not know that in the villages of Dahlia with huge heavy flowers usually planted under the Windows, away from the picket fence to naughty boys could not break the tight silky buds in the excitement of the game.
And more about the handsome Dahlia: I was struck on the spot by a kind of philosophy of life of an old woman who exchanged the ninth decade, who is passionately in love with these flowers. She complained that her old age is not a joy long ago have died already, but Dahlia never let go.
Every spring, tired of winter illnesses, it hardly descends to the cellar for the next portion of potatoes and homemade pickles, and sees the germinating shoots are carefully laid on storing Dahlia. Here she gives herself the word that will surely live up to the beginning of summer that last time to land favourite flowers in a front garden. And in the summer, of course, it is necessary to wait for their flowering, and then hold out until the autumn, in time to dig up and remove the tubers for storage until next spring…
Someday this cycle will be interrupted, but the memory will certainly remain and grandmother Dahlia, annually bequeathed to younger neighbors, will bloom again, decorating the front gardens of a quiet village…
But no matter how magnificently all the others bloomed, Phlox reigns in the village front garden. Seeing my genuine delight and admiration, the owner of a rich front garden invites me to the courtyard, where she promises to show the extraordinary beauty of Phlox, which she carefully hides from prying eyes of annoying neighbors, so that she alone has a valuable treasure.
It’s Margery!– enthusiastically I shouted, scaring a woman. Having calmed down, I explain to her that “Margri” is the name of the famous variety.
I tell the elderly hostess about the variety of Phlox, about the beautiful varieties.…
We go further, in the evening, and ahead still so many villages and settlements with elegant wooden houses and already shining Windows in carved platbands under which multi-colored front gardens fall asleep till the morning. On my knees I have a huge bouquet of rustic flowers generously donated or purchased at roadside outlets.
Elegant bouquets of Phlox do not bring fabulous income, they serve as an additional decoration and “trademark” vegetable “still lifes” on the background of fences, in abundance hung, as for the sale of tight Golden and cherry braids sweet onions.
The next morning I scratched out the branches of the most beautiful Phlox in my bouquet. In the future, I will try to determine their varieties. And let it just crazy seedlings, still a joy: if these beauties survived in the village front gardens, then they will be unpretentious and resistant to any diseases and bad weather.
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