Flowers


by Molly McCarron


Children are like flowers, she liked to say. A little water, a little air, and they just grow.
 
She laughed the same blithe laugh every time. Other people would smile. I parrotted her words myself, as kids often do. I didn’t question the theory until I had a garden of my own, and tending it turned out to be more complicated.
 
Flowers need water. But not too much water, and different flowers need different amounts of water, and some years they thrive because it’s just the right amount and other years they droop because the soil is too dry and sometimes they grow and grow but never flower, because it’s too shady or there wasn’t enough sun at the right time or the squirrels came and nipped the buds or maybe it’s just an old bulb that doesn’t feel the need to flower anymore. It’s happy as it is.
 
They need air and light, but there’s more to it than that. Some flowers need cool air at night and hot sun during the day, and some of them like to be in a moderate shade all the time, prefer temperate weather, don’t do well in extremes. Some do better in morning sun while others thrive in the lower rays of the afternoon. You might need to move the plants around to see if they’ll like one spot better than another. Some take to their new positions with renewed vigour, shooting down new roots. Others wither and die. Gardening blogs give an indication of what to expect but it’s never definitive: there are always exceptions.
 
Oh, sure, there are wildflowers. Wildflowers will show up even if you do nothing. But not necessarily the ones you want: tiny yellow petals topping an uninteresting tower of spiky green leaves, or one or two mean little blue blossoms in a more attractive dark-green and glossy cloak. They show up in numbers one year but migrate the next. They crowd out other flowers or retreat before you want them to. They can have a certain beauty, hiding out there shyly beside trees and riverbanks, sprouting up to dot lawns with bursts of colour. But the ones that are bigger, glossier, healthier year after year, are the flowers that have been cultivated. Assessed and measured. Fertilized. Had their soil ameliorated. Moved to a shadier spot. Nurtured.


Molly McCarron is an American-Canadian writer of both fiction and non-fiction. Her work has appeared in Minola Review, Hinterland, and the Quarantine Review, among other publications. She lives in Toronto.