As I walk through my gardens, I touch the velvety petals of the roses, bend to inhale the sweet scent of the peonies, check the buds on the geraniums and daisies, and remember…
Peony bushes lined the side of our small yard in the house where I grew from a preschooler to a pre-teen. The scent of peonies never fails to take me back to the memory of bowls and bouquets of peonies in May.
To me growing up, Memorial Day meant Decoration Day. My mother would pack the car with geraniums and petunias, and off we would go to the family cemetery to plant. It was on those trips that I heard stories of a grandfather I never knew and ancestors who worked hard as Irish immigrants.
Forty-four years ago I walked down the aisle on my father’s arm with a glorious bouquet of daisies and yellow roses. My hair was adorned with a crown of matching flowers. Daisies never cease to bring back the memories of that special day.
There are irises to recall the first house I shared as a young bride, moonflowers and lilies grown from cuttings shared by friends, honeysuckle that my children picked and tasted.
As I walk through my gardens, I realize they hold a bouquet of memories – a life in flowers that is still growing.