Winter Thoughts on Old Books

Winter days and nights call out for dreaming when a fire flickers in the fireplace and a glass of wine warms from the inside out. This the time I reach for two books that I am fortunate to call mine. Old books carry the marks of fingers that turned pages and dust collected over time. Holding the first book close to my face, I breathe in the heavy scent of age. Just inside the cover a handwritten note appears…

Miss Esther Jackson

From the Glendale Branch of the Plant, Fruit and Flower Guild

In a more childish script:

1911

First prize for school Garden

Little Esther knew as a child, that there’s magic in watching plants grow. I have no doubt she found amusement in the diminutive book, Flowers Shown to the Children by Janet Harvey Kelman. Pressed petals, browned and fragile, lie hidden among the pages that describe Great Wild Valerian, Small Bindweed, and Foxglove creating a bridge from that time to this.

Over the years, I’ve kept the book secure with its treasures inside a glass secretary, but every once in a while I must take it out, leaf carefully through frayed and spotted pages, sighing at the soft muted azure of borage. With the turn of each page the memories of my first blue ribbon awarded to me by an aging Esther leap forward and I am touched by this very special gift, a book that she carried with her until her garden ceased to flower.

A thin volume of British Garden Flowers by George M. Taylor, published in 1946 and 1947, sits on my bookshelf. While not as old as Flowers Shown to the Children, the scent of age is catching up to it. The plastic covering, placed over it at the Bryan Library, protected the cover from spills and fingerprints shows signs of wear.

Bits and pieces of history accompany color and black and white illustrations taken from old garden tomes like The Temple of Flora by R. J. Thornton and P. J. Redouté’s Choix de plus belles fleurs. I take a moment to thank my lucky stars that I picked up this book for a dollar or two at the Bryan Library tent sale.

I love the rich antique illustrations that bring floral history to life. The deep red of a peony, the twining stems of a clutch of sweet peas, and the glorious wonder of pink roses captivate me, holding me spellbound in imaginary gardens of the past.

A connection between me and the past forms each time I look through these two old books. I ponder who might have read the book and why. With little Esther’s book the mystery of who is solved, but still the image of a wee girl pouring over the descriptions, the enchanting illustrations and dreaming of gardens to be touches my heart.

Do you have a favorite old gardening book?