Mr. Write's Page

Savannah, Georgia, official home base of the Smith family, is three cities in one.

One Savannah is black and poor. The worst areas may not be as wretched and run-down today as in the past, but they still are bleak, disheartening, and often dangerous.

Another Savannah is the suburbs — crowded and commercialized, indistinguishable from any other suburbs in the country, if you don’t count the heat, humidity, and mosquitoes of summer.

Finally, there is the Savannah of postcards. The historic downtown and the stately old neighborhoods around it. The beautiful city tourists come to see.

In old Savannah, the architecture and the moss-draped oaks are stunning. The streets and squares are elegant and enchanting.

Many streets are lined with unbelievable displays of azaleas and oleanders, some reaching eight feet tall before city workers are obliged to prune them back.

The Smith family home in Savannah’s historic Gordonston neighborhood is old, stately, and moss-draped, too.

The house has been there for a century. The rooms and the furnishings change, but very slowly. The trees and flowers are ordinary things that live and die, but somehow, they seem timeless. I think of the place, against all reason, as an eternal presence.

This point of view evolved, I realize, because I don’t live in Savannah; have never lived in Savannah. It’s a place I visit — a week here, a weekend there. If I lived there, as my aunt still does, the old house probably would seem like an ordinary residence, not eternal and unchanging.

Why am I reminiscing about Savannah and flora and old homes? Because of azaleas.

Here in North Georgia, azaleas are common plants. They’re showy and hardy, especially in the more settled neighborhoods. My house is relatively new, but in my yard are a dozen azaleas of various colors, ages, and sizes, all doing fine.

But all of mine together would be dwarfed in size and fullness — literally — by any single azalea bush in my aunt’s yard in Savannah. Azaleas simply are more lush and spectacular in that climate.

The azaleas at my aunt’s house have grown over the years into massive hedges that surround the house. They are impressive all year, but are utterly astounding when in bloom.

Azaleas are deciduous evergreen shrubs in the Rhododendron family. They are popular plants, widely grown and admired across Europe, Asia, and the Americas.

In Chinese culture, azaleas are known as si xiang shu — the “thinking of home” bush. That fact alone makes me love them.

As I said, I’ve always thought of my aunt’s house, and the azaleas around it, as timeless and eternal. It’s part of the “Savannah” I’ve created in my mind.

It’s a place populated by people I love and memories I treasure. A place that will endure forever, unchanging.

I know — it’s a delusion. But it’s a harmless one, and it gives me great comfort, so back off.

With all of the aforementioned in mind, you can understand how jolted I was to learn the real story of when and why the spectacular azaleas at my aunt’s house were planted.

I got the facts not long ago when Aunt Betty and I were talking about her yard plants. She mentioned that the azaleas were getting too big and, as happens periodically, needed to be pruned back.

She added casually that they had brought her much pleasure over the years — ever since the family planted them following my grandfather’s funeral.

What?

My grandfather was in the cotton export business and was well known in Savannah business circles. Betty explained that when he died, many friends and associates remembered him by sending potted azaleas — lots of them — to the funeral.

The family took the azaleas home and planted them. They were, in effect, a beautiful living memorial.

My grandfather died in 1950 while we were living in Tokyo. Only Dad flew home for the funeral. By the time we returned to the U.S. in 1952, the azaleas were established and growing.

If anyone ever told me the story, I didn’t retain it. I was nine years old. Flowers were of no interest to me.

But finally learning about it as a grandfather myself? Mind-blowing.

Still, I can understand how the information eluded me. In 1950, every adult in the family knew the origin and significance of those azaleas. There was no need to keep retelling the tale. It simply didn’t occur to them that we kids might not know the story.

Anyway, it was supremely satisfying to unearth a bit of family history that, unbeknownst to me, was underfoot all along.

And it gives me one more reason to love those magnificent azaleas.