...are lovely on a morning in May. One time I shared with my mom my fond memories of helping her in her garden when I was little. I even wrote a story about it, romanticizing the experience of helping mom in the green bean patch in our red clay garden beside the house in Charlotte. I remember the love of the practice and the hot summer dusks spent picking beans in the buggy humidity. When my mom read my memory story I had written for her she laughed and laughed. I was like "what the fart is so darn funny?' I was serious and sentimental with the story. She said, "Dana, you HATED helping me in the garden! I had to make you do it, but you did nothing but complain." That is pretty funny. I guess as a garden loving adult I changed history in my mind. But come to think of it, I was one of those kids that didn't like getting dirty.
All that aside, my mom is (and her dad was) a great gardener, and it really shows this time of year. She just loves her peonies, and I am rather proud of the yellow irises because Jenna and I snuck those from a house we rented years ago for our mom and they are gorgeous and abundant in her garden now.
1 comment:
HAHAHA, that is so funny about your memory story. Who knows how many things I remember fondly but in truth I hated at the time? Just goes to show you've gotta MAKE kids do stuff, when they grow up they'll be glad you did. I can not even imagine you hating to get dirty as a child. I was having to explain to the kids last weekend about how the mud at the bottom of the pond is good stuff, I used to give myself "mud baths" in it when I was a kid. I remember LOVING it...then again, maybe I hated it but I just smeared it all over my skin because I was just weird like that...
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