An Iowa Garden

We gardeners in America almost all have English aspirations; no garden here is too small or too modest to completely escape some allusion to the grand border, the white garden, or perhaps, if you happen to garden in a certain woods in eastern Iowa, the rhododendron dell. Our garden here slopes fairly sharply in spots, to the pond, and in one such area the land does form a slight bowl, which I've planted fairly heavily with rhododendrons. I call it the rhododendron dell, but only to myself... the worst aspersion you can cast on somebody here in the middle west is to call them "highfalutin' ". Besides, the term "dell" is not exactly an everyday word here in Iowa... maybe computers, or remembered faintly from a childhood song about a farmer ... there are the famous Wisconsin Dells, that everybody here is familiar with, but they bring up a vision of flat bottomed river tour boats, Tom Thumb golf courses, and of course the famous dog jumping from one sheer limestone ledge to another on the half hour, as tourists snap pictures. Somewhere we still have a photo my Mother clicked 50 years ago, with her little Brownie camera, catching the dog in spectacular mid-leap; this was one of the most valued heirlooms of our family, and much-commented on by those who saw it. Back to the present, if the truth were known, I also have, to my mind, a nice garden glade, but if I told anyone, they'd probably think I was talking about using air freshener to perfume the garden. Sometimes, living here in Iowa is a cross to bear, but I do like a good, dinner-plate sized pork tenderloin sandwich now and then.