I have a vivid memory as a child of rows of beautifully scented iris planted in the median strip of the bridge across the Clearwater River at the entrance to Lewiston. Traveling from the still wintry Camas Prairie, it was truly the breath of spring. I’ve loved iris ever since.
Somewhere among the flowers there and in the traffic islands planted with, I think, marigolds and petunia — masses of red and yellow — was a sign saying it was the work of a garden club. Ditto for the rose garden near the north end of the bridge.
Those were the 1950s, when women were a smaller part of the work force and community groups like garden clubs were to be found in most small towns. But roads expanded with the traffic, the iris disappeared and now many garden clubs are fading away.
About the time I retired almost a dozen years ago, Edie Riddle invited me to a wreath-making workshop by her group, the Garden Club for All Seasons. There might have been two dozen women in the shop behind her house, maybe more. It was organized confusion. Bags of greenery scavenged from forests and back yards were dumped onto tables, sorted and trimmed and arranged into miniature bouquets.
At the center of it all, one person made sure there would be a variety of greens around the wreath. Then a second person set it into place on the frame secured to a table, depressed the foot pedal at the end of a long rod and the wires came down tight across each clump of greenery.
It was an assembly line, and at the end of the process were circular shapes of every shade and texture of green dotted with red holly berries.
The almost-complete wreaths then went to another smaller group who screwed hooks into pine cones, attached them with thin wire and gave the whole thing a quick blast of gold spray paint before fastening on a hand-made bow.
When I joined the group, we were making at least 60 wreaths over two days, selling them for $20 apiece to friends and family. One customer always wanted at least 20.
On Dec. 5 this year we made 19, just enough for the four of us working and one that will go to a retired member, now almost 100 years old and living in Arizona. Our garden club is now down to five active members and we are talking about what to do with the remaining money in the treasury, accumulated over decades of holidays. A little went for garden wagons for a youth group and a little more for garden division prizes for young people at the Asotin and Nez Perce County fairs.
The latest purchase was a bench bearing the club’s name that was installed by a Port of Clarkston crew on the river path west of Granite Lake Park near where the cruise ships dock.
I guess the older we get the more aware we are of the pleasure of coming across a bench while out walking.
Some garden clubs around the region appear to be thriving; others are struggling. I doubt we will ever see a return of the heyday when even highways had space for flowers and traffic was sparse enough people could work there safely.
But I read the number of younger people gardening — even if just tending a tomato plant in a pot — is growing. And my great-grandkids love to visit my ratty little garden to watch for the first strawberry and pick a cucumber or carrot, rub the dirt off on their pants and enjoy their snack right there among the plants.
So even if there isn’t a garden club in every town in the future there is hope of always having gardens.
Lee is an longtime gardener and a retired Lewiston Tribune reporter. She may be contacted at sandra.lee208@gmail.com.
