She moved to Massachusetts a few years ago, and I don't talk to her much. She called on me on her birthday (yeah, that's backwards, I know.) We chatted for a while, and I promised her a written bouquet of flowers... which I actually got around to writing and sending a day later... I am such a bad kid!
Anyway, Mark says it's a nice thing, so I am posting it here. A walk through memories:
We'll start with the tulips I 'weeded' out of the ground for her at the tender age of (?)five.
That border had the neatest daffodils and jonquils in it, but never again as many tulips.
A
few blooms off the huge peace rose, which never ceased to amaze me for
the lovely subtlety of its color, and which has dictated my flower
color preferences ever since. A single blossom from the blue rose that
I *had* to have and that died without ever blooming blue for me.
The
lily of the valley all along the picket fence that ran between our
double lot and the Studevant's place next door. They go in, too. A few
marbles in the bottom of the vase to represent the hours I spent as a
small child being fascinated with the marbles the people before us had
used to decorate the concrete base of the flag pole.
A bough
of apple blossoms off 'my' apple tree, and a bough of cherry from the
tree next door. A bough of the evergreen bush/tree (a thuja, I think?)
that shaded the back corner of the house, and made a kid-sized fort in
the corner of the fence, guarded on the other side by the tangled
no-man's land of the gap between the two houses. I still remember the
scent of this on a hot day.
Of course, a big bunch of the
peonies that ran in a neat row behind the thuja. 'Sarah Bernhard,' I
remember, the others are lost to memory, but I remember there being
several varieties. I'll be sure to add a few of the 'Festiva Maxima'
from my property and some of the magenta ones we got from Grandma's
property.
From Grandma's old house on Montrose, a fistful of
the brilliant orange poppies that were entirely off limits, as if by
breathing near them I might die of the opiates. Thanks, Wizard of Oz.
Nice work. Also from the 'don't touch, it'll kill you' list - the false
rhubarb that put out such huge leaves under our spruce trees in the
backyard. When I was feeling daring, I'd pull a leaf and wear it like
a hat.
From the house in Milford, a branch of crab apple, and
the image of Em and the youngest Beauregard (can't find her name right
this moment - Ah! Amy) up in the tree, eating the tiny tart crabapples
in the fall. Lilacs of half a dozen varieties, french, common, wafting
perfume; the sparkling yellow allium moly blossoms in the front border
in the spring; the cedar waxwings trilling satisfaction as they ate the
verdigris berries in the front window - fruit of those ungainly
junipers that dad hacked back to the ground every several years. The
fountain of the forsythia, blazing forth yellow in spring, and becoming
a bright green canopy of dappled shade for the calico cat Cali to
disappear under come summer.
From the house at the top of the
summit: the joy of discovering clematis; the rich shade of the front
yard - so tranquil in the summer, despite the busy street; the yellow
tree peony that did so well in the corner by the chimney. (it's slowly
coming back from the mason's abuse - it may even bloom this year!) The
little red tulips (we return to tulips, finally) by the mailbox at the
front door. The oakleaf hydrangea that is taking over the side of the
house, and the bed of exuberance behind it - daylilies and lilies in
sequence. More peonies, and more lilies, and more lilacs. Miniature
roses.
We can't forget the germander that gerrymandered and commandeered the corner bed. What a thug!
Japanese anemones, some of the white I persuaded you to buy, and some of the pinks that I have in my garden.
From
my garden - sprays of columbine in blue and more in pinks and yellows
with a single red, some hawkweed in clusters of yellow and autumn
orange, black-eyed susans and purple coneflowers, a single bold
hyperion daylily - heavenly perfumed, a fistful of the purity white
hosta blossoms of august, also wafting the scent of heaven.
From Massachusetts to my house, a few sprigs of balloon flower, fascinating to watch.
There's more; there's so much more...
But without all these flowers and their borders, I wouldn't be what I am today. Thanks, mom.
Hope you enjoy your bouquet!
