June 8 was my mother's birthday

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!

Comments

[Leslie]

Jenn, I got totally lost in this entry ... what a gift!

[elizabethgardens]

Jenn, what a sweet, sweet letter. I'm sure you mother really appreciated it.

[earlysnowdrop]

You have a lovely way with words. I enjoyed the verbal picture you painted. Lovely.

[Janie Jenkins]

What a beautiful and artistic expression of love. This brought back fond memories of my grandparents home too.