When I was growing up, my grandparents grew a vegetable garden every year. Two, actually- one on either side of the driveway. In the small space left for flowers, my grandma planted zinnia and marigold seeds.
When I’d visit their house in summer, colorful bunches of zinnias in glass jars brightened the kitchen and living room.
I always assumed that my grandma really liked zinnias, but when I mentioned it one time, her response was basically, not really, but she planted them because they always grew well.
When I got into gardening in my teens, I saw what she meant. Whenever I planted a packet of zinnia seeds, at least some of them always sprouted, survived, and bloomed.
Now that I’m living in an apartment, my garden space has been downsized to one large pot on my patio. Last spring, I planted four different types of seeds in there- something edible (Swiss chard), a vine (morning glories) to hopefully grow up the patio railing, nasturtiums (because I have a special regard for nasturtiums), and flowers for cutting (zinnias). Although I did get one vine and some tiny chard leaves, the nasturtiums quickly took over the pot. I buried more nasturtium seeds into the bare patches of dirt and let them take over the show.
In case you aren’t familiar with nasturtiums, they do well in mild seasons, but fry in summer. By July, most of the nasturtium leaves had turned as dry and tan as potato chips. I dug out the nasturtium plants and replaced them with petunia plugs. I’ve grown petunias many times in the past, and they always seemed easy. These petunias lived and flowered, but they never got any bigger, and never vined or spilled over the edge of the pot. After a couple months, I stopped paying attention to the flower pot. A few weeds grew between the petunias. I hardly ever watered anymore. Eventually, a hard frost killed most everything. I cleaned the dead vegetation out of the flower pot.
As usual, winter weather teased the landscape, sometimes warming, sometimes frosting. In November, I looked out the window one day and saw pink. A zinnia bud in my flower pot was just starting to open. I watched over the next few weeks as the flower matured and another stem produced another bud. On Thanksgiving, I saw that a tiny rust orange zinnia flower had opened.
I have to give those zinnia seeds a lot of credit! After being crowded in spring, shaded out, tilled, planted over, and frozen, they took it all in stride, growing and flowering as if it were business as usual. Some of the “weeds” in the flowerbed turned out to be zinnias, outperforming the plants who got preferential treatment.
Zinnias didn’t start out being my favorite flowers, either. Possibly because they’re so common, and their look is coarser than other flowers. I was lured by the delicate, feminine appearance of other petals. It was only in time that I learned to appreciate the beauty in longevity and a strong constitution. These plants put me to shame. They don’t complain- the stems always stand strong, and the flowers are always colorful, always happy! Loyal soldiers, zinnias remind me to keep living and blossoming to the best of my ability in whatever circumstances I happen to be in.
I ran errands yesterday and saw that seed packets are back in stores. I bought only zinnia seeds for this year, short varieties suited for growing in pots. I picked them for the same reason that my grandma did: they work!