Granny

Every year I can't wait until spring comes again and my flowers begin to break thru the cold ground. After the cold winter, long nights and bear limbs every where, it's just like old friends returning when my flowers come back. The first is always the daffodils and I'm always excited to see all the new bulbs I've planted the past fall (usually 300+). Before I know it, summer is here and with it all the daylilies. As much as I love all my plants, I especially look forward to one. The gardenias. When I smell them I am taken back to my childhood. Taken back to my Granny's kitchen table. I remember sitting there and always smelling this sweet smell coming from the yard and never knowing what it was. Granny's yard was nothing but flowers. Nothing fancy, just a country yard with a tiny country woman tending it. I can still see her going out the door with her bonnet on her head. Her little shift dress and second hand shoes she probably got from Mama. I remember the tiger lilies that grew by the chicken yard. Those are the ones she let me cut and take to my Big Mama when she was in the hospital. The porch was loaded with pots and old coffee cans brimming over with growth. Christmas cactus; Sawtooth cactus; coleus and ferns. By one tree was an old iron headboard overgrown with ivy. Another spot was iris that she wouldn't let me dig if they were blooming, but let me dig to my heart's content afterwards.

It was years later after Granny was gone that I was in my own yard: I smelled a gardenia blossom. I was back at Granny's table. That was the smell that always came thru the window. I smell it and it fills my heart. Fills my heart with memories of a precious woman who taught me the love of nature. It makes my heart glad and at the same time brings on a little sadness. I wish I could be with her one more day. Walk thru her yard and make myself memorize every part of it. I wish she could see my yard. I know she would "poor mouth" me and tell me she couldn't afford plants like these. I know she would talk me into dividing most every thing I have, and I would do it gladly.

On the foot of my bed is one of Granny's bonnets. I look at it and think about how many times she wore it doing what she loved most (besides sneaking tobacco). And when I smell the first gardenias of the season, I know Granny has come back to me again and I feel better about life.