The Zinnia

Heidi Hanson

Oregon Writing Project

July, 1999

I spent summers as a child working in the garden. Although we lived in the middle of town, our acre of land felt more like a farm. Half the backyard was planted in flowers, full of iris, gladiola and dahlias, and in addition to the posies there stood a charming, small,white barn that housed banty chickens, Netherland dwarf rabbits and small quail. Standard poodles slept in large kennels on one side of the yard, not allowed in the house except on Christmas when they were dressed up like Santa for holiday photographs.

I can't remember a time when we did not spend weekends out in the yard. Countless hours were spent pulling weeds, irrigating and cross-pollinating new hybrids. At an early age we learned to be young botanists, appreciate nature and experience the hard work it takes to care for a garden.

I spent more time out in the garden than did my siblings. I would often join dad in the garden at sunrise, and with salt shaker in hand, eat fresh cucumbers and tomatoes. Since my dad worked long hours as a high school teacher and adjunct biology professor, this was some of the only time I got to spend alone with him. I enjoyed asking him the names of flowers, trees and other plants in our yard and made scrapbooks full of seeds, leaves and pressed flowers that still adorn my coffee table.

The best part of spring at our house was getting our own row of the garden in which we could plant anything we wanted. My rows contained mostly flowers dad always let me choose, even when he knew our desert climate would never allow them to grow. Caring for the plants was left entirely to me. If I didn't water my garden and the plants shriveled or if weeds crowded out the young seedlings, their fate was in my hands. Nobody reminded me of the care that was necessary to make the plants thrive. It was up to me to have a successful growing season.

The long summer days passed and I dutifully tended my garden with much love and anticipation. Each day I hurried out to the garden to see the day's miracle. The nurturing continued until one day I was greeted by a zinnia in bloom. I thought it was the most magnificent site. As a seven year old I had seen many seasons of my dad's flowers grow and bloom, but nothing compared to the way I felt when my very own seed matured into a perfect pink bud.

The rest of my row prospered that summer and soon it came time for the Idaho State Fair. We always entered dad's dahlias and gladiola but this year dad convinced me to enter one of my flowers. He let me choose the zinnia I would enter but guided me with kind suggestions of what he knew the judges would be looking for. I made the decision with careful consideration.

At 6:00 AM, the first day of the fair, our family set out to the garden to prepare the flowers. Entries were due by 7:30. Dad selected his best twenty-five entries in hopes of winning best of show in at least one category. I selected a red button zinnia as my entry to the fair and I considered it the perfect specimen.

We handled each flower with care and put them in the back of the station wagon. Each of us was designated several vases to balance and make sure no petals were disturbed on the way to the fairgrounds. After our arrival we carefully took the entries into the exhibit hall and signed in each one. With our flowers entered we went off to enjoy the rest of the exhibits and carnival rides while the judges analyzed the many entries to the fair. Ribbons would be placed on the flowers for all to see early that afternoon.

At 12:30 we headed back to the flower exhibits and saw the exhibit ropes were down. The flowers were finished being judged. Without a word our family automatically headed for the zinnias. I searched for my red flower, but the entries had been rearranged during the judging. Then I found it, a single flower standing tall and stately in the simple pint-sized mason jar. Around the neck of the jar there hung a blue ribbon! I could hardly believe my eyes! I felt so proud. My hard work and dedication paid off with a first place prize.

Today, my brother, sister and I find much pleasure working in our own gardens. The weeds and tall grass are not seen as a bother, rather a time to spend outdoors perfecting nature's canvas. In my garden, I make it a point to always plant zinnias.