Mornin', Glory!

My first 'Heavenly Blue' morning glory for the summer just bloomed this morning! There's something magical about looking out the window and seeing something in bloom that you didn't know was there! Yes, I did plant it, but I've had really bad luck with morning glories, so I didn't expect it. I somehow missed seeing the vine snaking through a lilac shrub until the sky blue bloom unfurled. You can't imagine how delighted I am!

I know what you're thinking: "How does one have bad luck with morning glories?! Isn't it a seed that will grow in any soil, anywhere?" You're right. I probably shouldn't even be admitting it. But, while I hope it's not indicative of my overall gardening potential, I haven't been able to grow a morning glory to save my life! Every summer I soak the seeds and nick them with a knife and plant them in great climbing locations in full sun and crappy soil (I always plant them with moonflowers for the day-night, yin-yang effect), but about the time they should start climbing, they die. The only other summer I saw any blooms, it was so late in the season that they were frostbitten within two weeks--like these probably will be. And yes, I've tried several times to start them early indoors in peat pots (I know they don't like to be transplanted)--and I've gotten nothing, nada, zilch.

I'm usually not so persistent. I'd have given up by now on other plants, but morning glories hold a special place in my heart. My Grandma and Grandpa Key lived on a farm in Hartman, Arkansas, where I spent one or two weeks each summer growing up. They lived in a classic, old two-story farmhouse with wrap-around porches that sat way back off the gravel road at the end of a long dirt drive. They had barns and chicken coops and other out buildings just like you see in pictures of old farms, and it was a great place for us "city" kids to get a taste of country living. They had acres of crops--I'm not even sure what they grew--but near the house they had a huge vegetable garden that served as their main source of fruits and vegetables summer and winter, spring and fall. We spent much of our vacation helping with gathering and cooking or preserving their garden bounty, and I truly believe my interest in gardening started at my grandparents' farm.

But Grandma's practical nature must have precluded her from having the beauty of flowers. I don't remember that she had any at all--except for 'Heavenly Blue.' Morning glories by the dozens roped around the porch rails, up the downspouts and along the clotheslines. They blanketed the fence separating the farm from the fields, and they climbed around the old Ford truck that Grandpa only used when he needed to haul something. I loved them. I was fascinated with the little shell-shaped pod that would swirl open as the sun came up. My sister and I would use them in play, imagining tiny little faces in pale blue bonnets, or dissecting them like scientists. In early evening, I'd watch to see if I could catch them closing with their little pursed pout.

I don't remember anyone else paying much attention to them, and I recall Grandma once telling me she didn't plant them--they just came back every year on their own. My mom had told me the flowers only opened during the day, then closed at night, but I don't know if I knew they had a name. What I remember most happened one morning when I went with Grandma to gather eggs. A perfect blue bloom, worn on the craggy structure of the hen house like a corsage, greeted us. Grandma leaned in and spoke to it, "Mornin', Glory!" It thrilled me to my bones! How clever of Grandma! After that, I'd tell the glories "Mornin'!" every day. I'm sure that got old for Grandma, but she never shushed me.

It was several years before I realized the flower's name was morning glory, not just glory. Seeing them takes me straight back to Grandma and Grandpa's farm, and I'm going to plant them every single summer, whether they grow for me or not.