Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Stopping to Smell the Roses


I spent the morning weeding my garden. My poor garden has suffered terribly over the past eleven months. Its gardener has been MIA. Or maybe I mean AWOL? Anyway, I decided the house reconstruction could wait; I simply couldn’t stand looking at my garden in that state any longer. It started raining after I’d been outside for about an hour, but I kept working. It wasn’t raining THAT hard, and at this time of year, a light rain is better than a hot sun.

This was not a chore for me. I actually enjoy gardening. It’s in my blood. My 89-year-old mother still loves working in her garden, as did her mother before her, and her mother before her. My children tease me about my garden, but I only smile. You see, when I was their age, my mother and her garden amused me, too.

I recently found a photograph of my father’s grandmother: a little old lady surrounded by a riot of roses and tomato plants. On the back, my grandmother had written, “Mama in her garden.”

So it came to me from both sides.

3 comments:

Charles Gramlich said...

I grew up gardening. In fact, we always had multiple gardens, but these were all vegetable gardens. Unlike you, though, I had enough of gardening as a kid to last me forever. No more gardening for me. It's too much like work. Let the stuff grow wild.

Sphinx Ink said...

I love gardens, but hate the work of gardening. Perhaps it comes from always living in Louisiana, where the steamy summer heat makes working outdoors so difficult for me. I don't tolerate heat well at all. I hope someday to have a beautiful garden, however -- if I strike it rich and can hire a full-time gardener!

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