Garden magic

Garden magic


Posted 05:29am (Mla time) Feb 19, 2005
By Marcia E. Sandoval
Inquirer News Service



Editor's Note: Published on page A15 of the February 19, 2005 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer.


IF there is anything that envelopes me with supreme passion, it is seeing a beautiful garden. Gardens are magical pieces of creativity that rap your awareness, then fill your soul. They are the Creator's hand touching us through nature. To have a garden, no matter how small, is earthly bliss.

What is it about the simplicity of gardening that gives joy? To marcot, to plant from seed, to transplant-all these give satisfaction beyond measure especially when the first roots germinate. The act of watering the plants itself is a meditation. Stress is flung to the winds in those quiet times when, in communion with nature, a deep feeling of exuberance wraps you and there is no doubt God is near you.

I am fortunate to have a 25-year-old garden. Sandy, my husband, started it for me. He personally planted the rows of narra trees when they were only a foot high. Now they are giants, forming an umbrella path, their branches intertwined one with the other.There is a collection of banaba trees that add accent to the garden. We had bought them from an old suki in Calamba. We bought the whole lot and never regretted it. The flowers are like pink butterflies, fragile, endlessly blooming from September to January.

A perfumed garden in a quiet pocket made up of white flowers-camia, rosal, kampuput, malococo-all under the shade of ilang-ilang trees. A fountain of jasmines. Standing solitary on her own is a huge bush of an old-fashioned bridal bouquet, now rare. Sandy and I always agreed that in a previous life we must have been gardeners because the garden has always been our secret love.

Sandy had made, for kitchen use, an English herb garden. Herbs are as erratic as the weather. Some herbs disappear with the first rains, others thrive on rain: Italian oregano, Vietnam basil, tarragon-all growing so robust despite endless downpours.

To add whimsy to the surroundings, we built a pond to house a company of Koi carps, which gracefully swim, reminding us of ballerinas. The fattest and biggest of the lot we named Big Bertha. We constructed tall, sturdy arches in the main garden to fill with creepers. The jade vine is the prima donna of the lot. With her grape-like shape, her monochromatic chertruse colors makes onlookers gasp.

The rest of the vines are from Papua, New Guinea. An incandescent coral vine that glows in the dark is truly phenomenal. I give a dinner party each time they're in bloom and we put the tables under the vines, the better to show them off.

In my family, the women are known for their beautiful hands (hugis kandila). Mine are past tense. My fingers have to feel the soil, to dig through the fragrance of fertile black earth, to prune all the withered leaves, until the hands feel like sandpaper. It really does not matter. They have become strong working gardener's paws, and there lies the satisfaction.

Plants are special gifts. Every time I water the garden, I see familiar faces in plants gifted me. They are nice reminders of the exchange that plant lovers give each other. There, too, is a growing link in friendship and is usually attached with a sliver of love because only love can give you the happiness of putting life on a simple branch. Plant giving, to me, is an "I care" gift.

All perennial gardeners pass through plant collection binges. At the start, it was for me a madness for orchids, then bougainvilleas, callas, centennial hibiscus. Of late, I am back to starting on a collection of single-petal millennium hibiscus.

Garden magic starts from dawn to ebony nights. A refreshing "Good morning" is your wake-up call when the first ray of sun rattles the thousand leaves under its shadows. After breakfast, the garden asks for nourishment. Watering begins, after which the plants come abloom in thanksgiving. By sunset, there is a blush of orange tint around, a kiss from the setting sun.

The mystic full moon of each month does strange things to the garden. The trees sparkle, glitter, shine as if clad in jewels. The fireflies respond with winks here and there. A concert of crickets sing in unison, owls hoot, and then a solitary bird bursts into a night song.

Dwarfs and elves and lots of other little peoples rise from their mini-kingdom and pass you by on tiptoes. A flight of fairies whisper a soft prayer in your ear, and you hear it in your silence. The big, old Kapre is deep in his smoke atop the balete tree and gives side glances at the folks below.

A sudden peal of laughter breaks the silence of moonlight, giggles from children playing behind the bushes. The garden becomes enchanted, like a great masterpiece of a painting stroked by an ethereal artist. The night is shared with people who have touched our lives.

That is what the garden is all about: the sharing of joys and blessings given us in sunset years.

It is a benediction. The splendor of it all is bursting in the gardener's heart.

Besides tending to her garden, Marcia E. Sandoval at 73 paints and writes books for children. She has her home in Laguna.

Love defined

Love defined


Posted 00:35am (Mla time) Feb 12, 2005
By Raymunda P. Ortega
Inquirer News Service



Editor's Note: Published on page A16 of the February 12, 2005 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer


HEY, this 73-year-old grandma dares to talk and write about love! It's Valentine season, so what else is there to think about?

It doesn't matter whether you're 7, 17, 27, 57 or 73 -- it's love that makes the world go round, di ba? And I believe that we who have lived a full lifetime have more to say on this subject.

To someone who is more than seven decades old like me, the meaning and essence of love may differ from those half my age or younger. May I share my own concept of love.

Lust is not love. When a boy and a girl meet for the first time and feel electricity between them, leading them to pursue their emotions, with the end in view of getting in bed together at the soonest possible time, that is not love. Although at the height of passion they may profess love for each other, that is just lust, pure and simple. They are just out to get the most from each other, to satisfy their physical needs, or to state it more bluntly, their animal instincts. They enter into such relationship and keep it up for as long as one derives satisfaction from the other, or profits from the affair materially, financially or some other way. Once satisfied, and after a time, when difficulties and problems confront the so-called lovers, they grow bitter and see each other in a different light. Their eyes are opened and they begin to realize the error they have committed.

By then, it may be too late for one or the other or both of them. They may still continue with their liaison, though unwillingly, out of necessity in order to save face. Or, they may decide to part ways like total strangers, and seek better partners elsewhere.

In a relationship based on lust alone, there is no loyalty or commitment whatsoever, and no intention to make the partnership respectable, permanent or holy by entering into the sacrament of matrimony.

Love is coupled with respect. No one can profess love for one whom he or she does not respect. The attraction may be there, but again that is just physical and has nothing to do with love. The married man who lusts for other women does not truly love or respect his wife. He cares not whether she is hurt or humiliated by his actions. He bothers not with the consequences of his liaisons. In his hierarchy of values, the feelings of his wife and family are way below his own self-interest and his self-satisfaction.

Likewise, his protestations of love for the other woman are nothing but hollow, selfish declarations. He respects her not, otherwise, he would have considered her reputation, which he has destroyed. For him, the only love he knows is what he feels for himself. He does not truly care for others, he loves only himself.

True love endures and lasts for a lifetime. Come hell or high water, come trials and tribulations, come failures and shortcomings, the man and woman, mature and responsible, truly in love and united in the holy sacrament of marriage remain steadfast and strong through the years of childbearing and caring for their family. It matters not that his hair has totally disappeared from his head; it matters not that her waistline has almost doubled its size from the day they first met each other; the couple blessed by God's love continue to hold on to each other even after their children have grown up.

Their love for one another is apparent from the way they hold on to each other as they walk by; from the way they regard each other while in the company of others. He considers her safety and comfort, and she takes into consideration his preferences more than her own in big or small matters like food, recreation and pleasure.

True love forgets self for love of others. Be it conjugal, passionate love between a man and a woman, or filial love between parents and children and among siblings, this is the love that emanates from God Himself. This is the love that God gives us. He gave us His only Son, did He not?

For those who are imbued with this kind of love, life is beautiful. We find fulfillment and joy when we share our bounty with others; when we see the goodness and image of God in our fellowmen; and when we are at peace with ourselves and with everyone around us.

The Holy Spirit of love that dwells within us enables us to forget and forego our own comfort and pleasure and to sacrifice ourselves for others.

Raymunda P. Ortega, 73, worked as a court stenographer prior to retirement in 1997. She is enjoying retirement life with her husband Piping, nine grown-up children and their spouses, 12 grandchildren, and one great-granddaughter.