Today I’m thinking about three of my relatives. Of course, since I said that, many more have come to mind. But let’s stick to the three: my grandmothers. They were actually two grandmothers and a great-grandmother. There were more great-grandmothers — theoretically speaking — but I remember only the one, since the others had died before I was born.
Back to the three grandmothers. I have many memories of them, but for now I’ll concentrate on something they all had in common: flowers. They had different sizes of yards, different sizes of gardens, but all three grew flowers.
They all had roses.
Granny (my mother’s mother) had one large rose bush. She may have had more roses, but I remember that particular one because she was tending it one day and after getting scratched up by the thorns had some sort of allergic reaction to it.
Gammy (my father’s mother) had rose bushes alternating with tulips around her patio. She also had a rose arbor that framed the path that led from her back door to the garage and back gate. And she had a trellis full of roses next to the garage. Of course, those belonged to Pap (my grandfather) as much as to her.
Mom-mom (my father’s grandmother) lived right next door to us. Behind our houses there was a strip of dirt that separated our yard from hers, and in that there were rose bushes.
Aside from Granny’s allergic reaction, the only thing I clearly remember about roses is picking Japanese beetles from them. Ick.
However, each of these women had a particular flower, each has one flower that I see and remember something.
Granny’s flower is the hydrangea. There were at least two hydrangea bushes — possibly more — between her yard and her neighbor’s. Granny was not a “fancy” type of person; she wore her hair braided and twisted around her head, no make-up, and very simple clothing. But at least once, I saw here walk over to those hydrangea bushes and reach out and touch one of the flowers, gently, looking down at it quietly. That’s all. A simple memory, but when I see hydrangeas, I think of her.
Gammy had extensive outdoor gardens, but the flower that reminds me of her is an indoor one: the African violet. The windowsills in her kitchen were lined with pots of purple flowers. She also usually had a jar of water with a couple leaves stuck in it, rooting them. I know, that’s not the recommended way to propagate flowers but it worked for her. I’ve tried it but no luck. In fact, I currently have a pot of violets that I’ve managed to keep alive for about a year and I’m still not sure how they’re surviving. Of course, they haven’t bloomed since they lost the flowers they had when I brought them home, but the plant itself is alive. Even without flowers, I look at it and think of Gammy.
The snapdragon belongs to Mom-mom. She was the keeper of the garden in our shared backyard, but I was her assistant. Besides looking for the dreaded Japanese beetles on the roses, we tended the snapdragons. Our task was to find the spent flowers, the blossoms that had withered and then dried, leaving behind brown seed pods. The two of us carefully picked those from the stems and then rubbed them between our fingers and released the tiny black seeds onto the dirt of the small garden. Yes, snapdragons are annuals, but somehow these kept growing. Those seeds were the source of the next year’s flowers and the two of us took the responsibility of planting them quite seriously. However, Mom-mom also taught me about the still colorful blooms as well. I learned to watch for movement, to observe the flowers to be sure that I didn’t touch a plant that held a bee. I watched fat bumble bees work their way into the mouth of the flower, setting the bloom to vibrating and waving, and then saw them re-emerge, crawling into the air with their bodies yellow with pollen. And after they left the flowers, when we were sure that there were no bees nearby to sting us, Mom-mom and I would squeeze the bottoms of the flowers, making their mouths open and close as we helped them have conversations with each other.
Special flowers, special people. The smallest item can evoke a memory.
I wonder if there is any thing, any small thing, that reminds others of me?
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