I love to grow things.
If I can’t Grow I can’t breath.
Flowers, vegetables, fruit, friends, kid’s (not so much my ever widening middle region- I’ve got to cut-back on the grape…. thinking….nope).
The first garden I was ever acutely aware of was my grandmother Daisy’s (yes, that was her name).
She was a country girl from a HUGE family in Pennsylvania, that married an ambitious country boy from the town next door and together they broke the chain gang of working for the railroads and dying beat.
He worked hard and rose to the top of American Steel & Wire in Cleveland, Ohio. I mean really the top (His office was on the highest office floor of the Terminal Tower, the tallest building between New York and Chicago at the time).
They had only one child (her choice I’m sure), wintered in Florida, and entertained regularly.
But she could never quite shake her roots (and stalks and leaves) so, she gardened- beautifully.
My sister and I were playing hide-n-go-seek and I hid in the tallest, most dense place I could see from all of my giant 40 inch height.
In I went, dodging dirt clumps and bamboo poles, and tucked myself down flat on the dirt- and it smelled- good.
I rolled over looking up through a forest of green topped with the red and pink and purple fairy tutu’s of gladiolus.
A ladybug rested on my finger.
I counted her spots. She was seven years old like me.
So there I was on sweet smelling earth, enveloped by fairy flowers, the sky was peeking blue and the dirt was warm.
Grandma had a convert…
|Taken August 1963
and maybe some geraniums?
Digitalis foxglove (middleground)
Daucus carota Queen Anne’s Lace (background)