Ode to a yucca

Yesterday, Jean-Pierre and I stood marveling at the yucca plant in our little garden. Almost overnight, two new flower shoots had appeared, adding to the five spires already in bloom.

“It’s such a gift,” he said to me. We sort of felt like proud parents.

Native to the Americas, yuccas are a desert plant that I’ve known in arid southern California, where they grow wild on hillsides and gild drought-tolerant gardens. I was surprised to find them here in Giverny, which sits at the 49th Parallel — the latitude line that establishes the border between Canada and the western U.S.

With more than a little help from the warmth of the Gulf Stream, yuccas thrive in Giverny.

But when I arrived here in June, our yucca was half dead and covered with black spots. I wondered if we should prune it with a shovel.

I envisioned a flower bed next to it and imagined how lovely the yucca would be as the anchor plant. JP trimmed away its dead leaves. We tilled the ground around it, adding fresh soil, before planting the yucca’s companions — lavender, Russian sage, nepeta (catnip for the sweet kitty next door), lupines, Lady’s Mantle, alstroemeria, foxgloves, lamb’s ear, wild geraniums, herbs (including coriander for homemade guacamole), a few Tuscan irises I brought from Italy, and three of my favorite David Austin roses.

I was in heaven. As an apartment dweller for the past 10 years, I had really missed sinking my bare toes into the dirt.

To our delight, the yucca perked up. Clusters of bright green leaves appeared. The black spots slowly faded.

And then one day, as I was weeding, I saw the first flower shoot. A carnation-pink poker was peeking through the sword-shaped leaves.

We watched in amazement as two more flower stalks appeared a few days later. Now there are seven.

When I wake up every morning, the first thing I do is look out the window at our little flower bed, which has given us pleasure in equal measure to the care we’ve given it.

The yucca’s blooms are truly a gift — and a reminder of what can happen when we treat nature with kindness. I’m most grateful that, even at the 49th Parallel, I have a beautiful front-yard reminder of home.