Memory Garden

Our antiquated gray Villager mini-van, the vehicle with the most unique character (in the form of dents and rust), purred like a battle-worn, hoarse barn cat as I drove down a narrow country road on the way to the Big City grocery store this morning.   My left arm remained propped, half-in and half-out the open window, where it cooled in the wind (since the Villager’s air conditioning no longer works).  I relished the pastoral trees, charming farmhouses, fresh air and grazing horses as the car grumbled down the road.

I was not thinking about the city with its miles of gray concrete, massive storefronts, exhaust fumes and traffic lights.  I was not thinking about groceries.   

So it's no surprise that I got sidetracked and stopped at a large nursery on the way where I’d admired countless beautiful landscape plants earlier in the spring.   It just seemed the thing to do on this particular day, and besides, an idea was brewing.  Why not define our new raised bed by the mailbox as a “memory garden” of flowers reminiscent of those that grew wild at the lake when I was a child?

I went right to the daisies, black-eyed susans, and coneflowers and selected four plants.  After I got home and put them in the ground, I also transplanted some taller, wispy daisy-like plants a neighbor recently volunteered as orphans needing a new home. 

Voila!  Here’s the result:

There’s a gap where I’ll probably add another black-eyed susan, but otherwise I’m pleased with the initial results.  Now to get some mulch and keep these adopted beauties WATERED. 

It’s not difficult for me to imagine myself at age eight or ten, barefoot and walking the sunny road on the way home from the boathouse, twisting the tough stems of flowers such as these along the way.  I would often collect a handful (by the hardest) and take them back to our log cabin by the lake to make a bouquet for the table on the porch…..sweet, sweet memories.