Recently, I spent a lot of time hanging out at a hospital, not as a patient, but as the spouse of one. My husband had major surgery in June and spent 17 days at Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center in Lebanon.

While I drove back and forth to Lebanon, a 50-minute trip over some of New Hampshire’s most demanding highways, I found myself noticing plants that caught my eye. This helped make my many trips back and forth seem shorter and more pleasant. For example, my own private lupine festival was abloom. The majority of the lupines were purple, but the sprinkling of white, pink and pale yellow highlighted the darker colors and made for an excellent display.

During each trip, I took special note of a house in Lyme with an old-fashioned, buttery-yellow rose shrub. It grew beside a hot-pink rhododendron, which faded away and left the yellow rose alone for its 15 minutes of fame. Though I wasn’t able to identify it, I enjoyed its elegance and purity. It gave me a little boost of beauty during a difficult time. It probably blooms only once a season, but it earned its keep by making my day each time I went that route.

Along the side of the road where moisture collects in ditches, I saw what I refer to as “those white plants” that bloom in early summer and could be Wild Parsnip, Water Hemlock or Poison Hemlock, among others. From the distance, I couldn’t always tell which one I had sighted. They always look bridal-like, dainty and white. Later, they’ll be replaced by Queen Anne’s Lace, another look-alike that I love for its delicate, lacey umbels and bird’s nest-shaped seedheads.

Somewhere along my route, I noticed what appeared to be dill growing on the side of the road. Could those be flowering dill heads, so early in the season? As I drove past, it made a little landmark, something to wonder about. Since then, I’ve been able to identify this as Golden Alexander, a wildflower that grows in spring and early summer.

Another house along my route had a pergola that stretched out from the side of the house to cover a patio that overlooked the Connecticut River. I couldn’t help but wonder what would grow and clamber over such a graceful structure. Because of the slightly milder climate of the Valley, my mind’s eye pictured purple wisteria and pink climbing roses; for fall, snowy white clematis paniculata.

As I got closer to the hospital, I saw white lilac trees; they bloom later than the syringa species, and they have no scent, but they appear striking from a distance.

The grounds of Dartmouth Hitchcock Medical Center are well-manicured and seem to have been planned to provide both seasonal beauty and low maintenance. Earlier, in the spring, there were tulips, daffodils and other signs of mass bulb-planting the previous fall. Now, there are hundreds of daylilies just ticking off the days until they explode and light up the summer with colors I can only imagine, and do.

At the time that I was a daily visitor and occasional overnight guest, rain showers were a daily or at least an every-other-day event. As I approached a glass-enclosed entry on the north side of the hospital, something in my peripheral vision made me turn to look. Drops of water glistened like tiny diamonds on a group of large, seersucker-leaved hostas planted just outside the panes of glass. Not flashy like a neon sign, but subtle like tasteful jewelry, tucked into a niche, visible if you only took the time to look.

And the roses! From the fourth floor, I could see a split-rail fence with four or five pink, single-petaled climbing rose bushes that looked as if they were descendants of a rugosa rose and a more lax-stemmed rose such as a rambling Wichuraiana. If I made cell-phone calls, I went to that window to make them. Not only did I get good phone reception there, but the floral scent was captivatingspicy like cloves and sweet. The hours of worry and tension would melt away as I took a moment to inhale their amazing, instantly refreshing fragrance.

As I looked out our fourth floor windows, the textures and the yellow and blue-greens of all sorts of trees, evergreen and deciduous, seemed to come together to create a treehouse. This effect was amplified by myriads of birds that spent their days flying in and out of the leaves and branches, swooping down to feed on insects and grubs that carelessly left their places of safety in the verdant lawns below. Cedar waxwings fed on the pin cherries, lemon-yellow goldfinches dipped and rose in their curious, undulating flight patterns, fat robins pulled worms from the grass.

We’ve returned to our own valley east of the hospital. My husband continues to improve and get stronger every day. I continue to look out my windows and remember the solace and serenity those connections with nature gave me. Although it’s true there’s no place like home, nature nurtures you wherever you roam.

By Helen Downing, Master Gardener, UNH Cooperative Extension 

07/14/06

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