Alexandra Risen

It's great to have friends who know that you will love a book and offer it to you when they have finished it. That's how this book ended up in my hands. And she was right--I loved it.

Alexandra Risen grew up in Edmonton, the second daughter of two Ukrainian immigrants who came to Canada after World War II. As hard as it is to believe Alexandra's father never talked to her. It's not that he never held a conversation with her; he literally did not talk to her. Small wonder that she chose to go away to school in Montreal and stay in Montreal and later Toronto upon graduation. Her mother communicated more but was not particularly demonstrative towards Alexandra although she did pass on useful knowledge about gardening and cooking. When Alexandra's father fell out of their apple tree she returned home to Edmonton while he was in hospital, alive but in a coma. Although she didn't know if he could hear her she went to his hospital room late one night and talked to him. She believes he could hear her because she saw tears coming from his eyes. He died shortly after. Perhaps it felt like she was released from her old life because when she returned to Toronto she and her husband bought a new house that backed onto an acre of land with a sadly neglected garden running down the slope of a ravine. For Risen it is an opportunity to put all her gardening knowledge to use and perhaps lure her young son away from his computer and into nature. She also hopes to restore the garden and bring her mother to admire her handiwork. Restoring the garden is a massive project and takes years and, no doubt, bucket loads of money. Risen and her husband do a lot of the work and even rope their son into helping but some jobs required professional assistance. I especially loved the Italian father and son team that took on restoring the old gazebo who were compeletely charmed by Alexandra's ameretti cookies (and Alexandra herself). Sadly, Alexandra's mother never did make it to Toronto to see the garden. She started falling as the result of TIAs (small strokes) and then developed dementia. Alexandra's older sister who lived in Edmonton saw her virtually every day but even that couldn't prevent her move to a care home and eventual death. Alexandra who had never had the opportunity to learn much about her parents' history started piecing their story together from documents found in her mother's things. She finally understood that their wartime experiences had affected both of them profoundly. And she accepted that they did love her and showed it in the ways that they were able to.

Each chapter in this book is titled with a plant or tree found in the garden and at the end Risen gives a recipe or craft instructions or, in one case, poetry that uses that item. I doubt I would ever want to make lily of the valley potpourri or smudge sticks but it's nice to know I could. And if my sour cherry tree ever produces more than the few cherries it has so far I might try making the Sour Cherry Liqueur.

One final note: Alexandra grew up listening to and loving the music of Gordon Lightfoot. So did I. The song Pussywillows, Cattails has been running through my head ever since she mentioned it.… (plus d'informations)

The second daughter of Ukrainian immigrants to Canada, Alexandra Risen saw the way they valued the land and their meager possessions. It wasn't a lesson she internalized until much later, however, when she and her husband purchased a home with huge gardening potential. Beginning with the death of her father - whom she tells us only ever spoke 20 words to her - and ending with the death of her mother after a struggle with Alzheimer's, we see her come to grips with her upbringing by parents who survived the horrors of WWII in eastern Europe while she wrestles with a large and very overgrown garden.

I'm really not a fan of memoirs but was drawn to this by the idea of a once-grand garden rescued. The house isn't anything special but they find one surprise after another in the city garden; an incredible view of downtown Toronto, secret pathways, not one but 3 spring-fed small ponds complete with ducks and ancient koi, and even an old marble gazebo with a pagoda-style roof. Of course, everything is a mess and fixing most of it is way out of their limited budget, but with their own sweat and effort they make headway through the years. Each chapter is headed by a find that Risen ties to memories of her mother's garden, and everything is woven into the story of her own childhood and the increasing dementia of her mother. As she and her sister discover their parents' old documents, she begins to read and research their past from the fragments, being drawn closer to them and finding a new understanding of who they were.

This was a surprisingly compelling book. I enjoyed both the gardening and the family aspect of it. (I rec'd an advance copy of this book through the FirstReads program.)… (plus d'informations)

Just as the author and her husband buy an acre property just outside downtown Toronto, her father dies. This doesn’t make much of a difference in Risen’s life; in her entire life he has hardly ever spoken to her. He didn’t ignore her; he would work on projects with her- silently. That was pretty much their only interaction. It wasn’t that he couldn’t speak; her parents had long, loud arguments all the time. Her mother, always working in the garden or putting food by, is now alone and getting fragile, and has always preferred Risen’s older sister; she also almost never spoke to her younger daughter. The restoration of their new house and property, a chunk of a former large estate, is narrated concurrently with Risen’s quest to understand her parents.

The reason that the author was so taken by this rundown and overgrown piece of property is that it’s on a ravine and is like a piece of forest in the urban setting. As a child, she would escape into the forested ravine behind her house, spending hours there away from her parents, who apparently didn’t care that she was never home. It’s also a challenge, I suspect; if she can make this garden beautiful and orderly, maybe her gardener mother will finally think her worthy of love and attention. Sadly, over the ten years of so it takes to renovate the acre, her mother has a stroke and then develops dementia. Despite Risen’s insistence that she get on a plane and visit, she will never see this piece of property. But when the author and her sister clean out her mother’s place as she is moved to a home, they find a cache of old papers- papers that may hold some answers to her questions about her immigrant parent’s origins.

I really felt for the author; like her, my now dead parents are a deep mystery. Unlike her, there is no folder of hints or clues, but her search for answers struck a chord with me. The urge to know where one came from is, I think, fairly universal, and to have parents who never speak of the past leaves a hole in one’s heart. I’m also an avid gardener, and would love to have a property with old oaks, a redwood, a spring fed pond, and an old falling down pagoda. I understand the amount of work it would take to bring a place like that back into orderliness, although I have no comprehension of the amount of money it took them with all that they hired to have done- had the concrete pagoda rebuilt, professional arborists, landscape designers, a pool installed- their place is the proverbial money pit.

Risen does remember her mother’s lessons on wildcrafting; each chapter ends with a recipe or craft done with plants from the land. Risen also chronicles her son growing up; he’s not very much into gardening-he’s a computer kid- but he does enjoy the paths and the pond, wildlife, and some of the crafts. The garden provides them with ways to be closer.

The story is bookended by deaths; the author’s father begins it and her mother’s ends it. Risen has not found the answers she wanted, but she has learned some of what made them who they were. And she feels they did, as my mother said she did, ‘the best they could’. I really liked the book, even though I found the author frustrating at times as she had moments of immaturity. I stayed up nights reading it, and thinking about it when I was out gardening.… (plus d'informations)