My Mother's Flowers

My mother was the gardener in the family. She truly loved her flowers. She would have planters full of geraniums, petunias, and zinnias on the porches and bannisters. In our Oak Ridge house, morning glories twined their way up the railings to the utility room entrance. Most of her favorites were annuals, and I thought they were boring. But then, what did I know?

By the kitchen door she always had a little patch of mint, and when she served iced tea, she would go outside and break off a few sprigs and add them to the tea glasses. Those I did like, because they made the tea taste so good. I also liked the large peonies that she grew. And the iris in the back yard. I wanted her to concentrate more on different colors of iris and the spectacular peonies, but she preferred the less exotic flowers.

The one type of exotic variety she did enjoy raising was the collection of her African violets--on the shelves in the windows. All kinds and all colors. Beautiful all through the year.

I wish I'd inherited her touch with flowers, but I killed just about every plant or flower I ever touched. No green thumb for me!

My mother--with her music and her flowers--will always live in my memory.