Today in the midst of a little rain shower my mother's club and I visited a beautiful garden planted by a man and his wife near my town. This garden is amazingly beautiful with bridges, levels, a little water brook, and so much to look at we didn't get finished. What a gift to be able to coax every blossom to its glory, esecially in such a year as we've had---late, late frost, 29 inches of rain in 30 days.... and many hot, arid spells to swelter and cook the damp roots. This garden bears no witness to the evils of weather, but a testament to the hard work and love of a stone mason and his wife. It was a pleasure to visit. Hope you enjoy the pictures.
My mother was in her element. She is a gardener by nature. When I leave her during the summer, I might as well plan that she'll be outside by the time I get down the road. She takes her walker and gets her little red scooter, drags her flowers and her watering jug and her tools from one bed to another and works a little in the soil. With no farm dog, we have sure fought rabbits this year, and they have enjoyed their pick of geraniums and other bright plants.... but my mother perserveres, and she still plans flowers to plant before fall... My grandmothers were the same, both at their happiest with a smile on their face and sun in the eyes... and a smidge of dirt under their fingernails. Why didn't I develop that? I dunno... An early tale is that I went along behind my mom and pulled the flowers out from her morning planting with the words: "These aren't growing!" I must be too impatient, too adverse to the sun and stooping, too contrary.... too something. But I do respect, love, and admire flowers. I know some who love to eat but hate to cook.... so please forgive me for wanting fresh flowers in a vase but avoiding the labor.... I aplogize to my ancestors... as I pluck a tall surprise lily from my door garden.... Mom's door garden, to be exact.