By Cathie Shaffer
And boom! It's spring!
Okay, we had a little winter last week to dull my enthusiasm. But the weather was lovely on Easter and the sun is pouring through the window as I write this. I did a little lawn cleaning last week and had a bit of a scare when I looked at my front flower bed. No, it wasn't a snake. I thought maybe my peony bush had gone to that great garden in the sky.
There's a story behind the peony. We had a row of them along the road at the farm where I grew up, old plants that bloomed a lovely pink each spring. They were always in full flower at Memorial Day. I have fond memories of cutting them with my mother, taking them to the local school and helping put them into bouquets with flowers from other gardens to put on the graves of veterans.
My plant is a start from a plant that grew two houses from me here in Kentucky. The color is deeper than those from up home, almost red but still pink, if that makes sense. I love to see them every year and it hurt my heart to think my sole plant might not have survived. But when I moved last year's leaves, I saw the deep maroon shoots coming through the soil.
I know. It's just a plant. But it's more than that. This peony is a connection to my childhood and those long gone from this earth. I remember my mother when I see it, and my grandmother who bought those Ohio plants long before I was born.
I don't know what my legacy to my grandchildren might be. But I hope there is something that reminds them of me after I've left this world, a special something they treasure, that makes them smile and think of their Nana. Who knows? It might just be that peony.
Okay, we had a little winter last week to dull my enthusiasm. But the weather was lovely on Easter and the sun is pouring through the window as I write this. I did a little lawn cleaning last week and had a bit of a scare when I looked at my front flower bed. No, it wasn't a snake. I thought maybe my peony bush had gone to that great garden in the sky.
There's a story behind the peony. We had a row of them along the road at the farm where I grew up, old plants that bloomed a lovely pink each spring. They were always in full flower at Memorial Day. I have fond memories of cutting them with my mother, taking them to the local school and helping put them into bouquets with flowers from other gardens to put on the graves of veterans.
My plant is a start from a plant that grew two houses from me here in Kentucky. The color is deeper than those from up home, almost red but still pink, if that makes sense. I love to see them every year and it hurt my heart to think my sole plant might not have survived. But when I moved last year's leaves, I saw the deep maroon shoots coming through the soil.
I know. It's just a plant. But it's more than that. This peony is a connection to my childhood and those long gone from this earth. I remember my mother when I see it, and my grandmother who bought those Ohio plants long before I was born.
I don't know what my legacy to my grandchildren might be. But I hope there is something that reminds them of me after I've left this world, a special something they treasure, that makes them smile and think of their Nana. Who knows? It might just be that peony.