Geranium in Window

A couple of days ago, the evening forecast was for lows of 31 degrees under a clear sky of stars. So November is here, though only the dogwood is completely bare of its russet leaves, the yellow ones from the maples are swirling down in the gray afternoons like golden dervishes, and the oaks’ still cling…the last to go.

The storm doors are up, the storm windows are down, lace is doubled at the old rattling windows, wood is stacked at the back door, the woolies have escaped from closet garment bags, and the geraniums have come back in. Every window that gets a glimmer of daylight sports an eager little geranium or two, craning their curious faces to see what’s going on outside.

When I come home from a late afternoon bike ride, fingers numb, ears tingling, I see them at the windows, scarlet splotches of cheer under the leaden November skies. I’m not sure how they feel about coming in…they seemed quite happy in their clay pots by the clothesline and in the schoolhouse windowboxes. I notice that for a few weeks, they look a little addled, as if they’ve just moved to another country with different light, time, language, customs.

But they adjust and settle in. I think they like the smell of potatoes baking and soup simmering, the smoke from the occasional fire, the sound of book pages turning, the click of the keyboard. And in January, when the snow drifts round the windows and the glass turns to ice, the geraniums take it all in stride. They’re hardy souls. They’re not fussy, which is a good thing, because delicate, demanding plants don’t last long around here.

My father was a gardener who understood growing things. Roses tumbled in waterfalls down his weathered trellises, and in summer, the kitchen table was piled with corn, beans, peas, radishes, and carrots. In winter, the root cellar was full of beets, potatoes, and turnips.

Unfortunately, I didn’t inherit his gift, and so for plants, it’s pretty much survival of the fittest. The geraniums don’t seem to mind benign neglect at all. Sometimes I forget to water them for a few weeks and often forget to say hello, and they keep right on blooming.

I’m grateful for their warmth, their generous spirits, their happy natures. Sometimes you don’t have to look too far to find love. It’s there in the window. Looking right back at you.