What are YOUR Flower MEMORIES?
Whenever I post one of my photos with flowers, someone will usually say, “That reminds me of….”
Have YOU ever thought about which flowers bring memories to you?
I will give you a couple of examples of my flower memories:
When I was 4–5 years old, I became a Poppy Girl for the VFW in my hometown. I have a photo of me handing the mayor a small red poppy made of paper. I never realized how beautiful the real thing really is until many years later.
Then I noticed how delicate the petals were as they waved in the gentle breeze. They remind me of my mother — delicate and yet tough.
My Dad grew roses no matter where we lived. Even in the California desert, he grew some beauties right next to his prized orange tree. Needless to say, roses remind me of my Dad’s tender, loving care. Presently, I’m growing my very own!
Peonies always remind me of the peonies growing in my elderly aunt’s back yard. Those peonies were over my 5 year old head, bushy and separating the yard into two parts: the porch area and then the huge garden area.
In Pennsylvania where I grew up, the forsythia bush at the corner of my family’s house, would break out into lovely yellow blooms each Spring. It heralded the end of the long, snowy winter and coming of warmer days.
My grandmother loved to grow iris. There was a huge bed of them all along a walkway to her back porch. How beautiful a bouquet of them looked in a cut glass vase in a stairway that led upstairs in the old homestead.
Having moved to California when I was 10 years old, I was amazed at the 6 foot tall poinsettia plants (bushes). In the east, Poinsettias were only seen in small holiday pots. Now I was seeing monster bushes of them, towering over the porch.
My California aunt loved Camillias, so once a year we would head to Descanso Gardens in Pasadena which was known for its shady paths and every camellia known to man. Beautiful!
When my son was growing up, we lived next door to an older gentleman and his wife. Oh, what beautiful iris he raised. After we’d moved away and the man had died, his property left empty, I went back to dig up some of his precious iris.
Over the next 30 years, I would re-plant those iris in the garden of each house where I lived. Finally, I had to leave them behind…but they are still there. I see them each year.
I love their heavenly aroma!!!! These particular Lily of the Valley lived at an old mill in Michigan. Every year I would look forward to visiting with them, thanking them for their contribution to the earth. And to my nose.
Zinnias are tough. As the Michigan nights dip into the mid 30s, their color becomes more and more vibrant as the end of the growing season arrives.
