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Grandma's Garden
How are you? I ask. We really need some rain. The flowers are so dry. She responds. Early that evening it finally begins to rain. My father and I join her in a rush to place buckets under the eves of the roof to catch the precipitation to water the gardens. This might be all the rain they get for awhile. For the past few weeks they have been watering the plants with water conserved from the dishwater as well as from their showers.
It is summer vacation during the late 60's- early 70's
and my siblings and I have rising excitement for the County Fair. To help
us raise money for the weeklong event, we were offered a quarter for each
bucket of weeds that we were to pick from her gardens. I remember a moment
when the weeding work
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Every summer I take my visit home to the gardens of my
mother. Although her outside gardens are now sleeping under the upstate
snow, I have fond memories of just a few short months ago when August
brought a dry spell and a son back home.
She has always found much pleasure working on her many
gardens. Flowers surround the back of the house, a slat roofed patio, a
long row of plantings next to a cedar lined fence, an elder tree enclosure
housing a rock garden and picnic table, a wildflower garden and a small
vegetable garden. Some of my fondest childhood memories took place in
these locations.
took on a joy greater than the bankroll being
amassed for the Fairway rides. It had to do with the
conversations we would have as we worked side by side in the hot summer
sun. She spoke of her joy of watching and helping plants grow, her
pleasure in seeing and hearing the nature that surrounded us. She truly
loves the simple beauty to be found in a blooming flower. I relish these
times of being truly in the moment with dirt-soiled hands and a basket
full of weeds.
Each year we would enter numerous flower arrangements
and terrariums as well as put in a rock garden for the fair. She is a very
good teacher. She would show us basic skills and then let us experiment
and work out our arrangements based on what felt and looked right to us.
Her love of what she was doing truly made these times enjoyable. She is a
true creative spirit who puts much care into all she puts her hands on.
I've never known her not to be designing and producing amazing country
arts and crafts of one sort or another which she gives as gifts and to
decorate her home. I'm sure that it is because of her love and support
that I have become an art teacher.
I haven't been to the fair for many years now but she
always buys taffy for me and puts in the refrigerator for my end of the
summer visit. Each summer visit I look forward to walking around her
gardens with her as she shares the fruits of her labor. Look how these
flowers are just taking over! I pass by the
It is now the mist of January and many of her flowers
are now in her glorious solar greenhouse that was put up by a loving
husband after I had moved away. Now the long winters can't keep my mothers
hands away from her love of gardening. So why do I share this story of my
mother? Because it is her birthday this month and I want to let her know
that I feel blessed to be the son of such a creative, generous and
caring gardener.
