Garden Memories

There’s a famous saying that God gave us memories so we might have roses in December. While I can’t credit the author of the quote, I’ve often thought how apt the saying is for gardeners.

Years ago, my grandmother bought a wooden plaque in a novelty store.  She loved the picture of a blonde child, in a peach dress, running through a field of daisies.  The caption on top read, “We do not remember days, we remember moments.” Grandma Nin always said it reminded her of my cousin, Amy, and a special afternoon we spent at a park. Just like roses in December, I remember moments more than days – especially garden moments and memories.

Often, I’ll look around my garden – or gardens – even though most are just ovals or a strip or two beside the garage or house – and memories will come blossoming into my mind.  Not just of the person who might have given me a specific plant or bulb, but of moments. Ordinary moments. Extra special moments or too often – never to be repeated again moments with people no longer on Earth. When I look around my own garden spots, I too recall specific moments. Like the warm, sunny day when my sweet, great niece, Ava and I inspected the apple trees for spring blooms.  Or another day in late May when some of the great nephews and nieces found we had a LOT of strawberries in one of the raised beds.

There are other moments too – of finding the first lilies in bloom. Or discovering that a beloved cat had just undone all my hard work of spreading mulch or planting new flowers in the hanging baskets. For some reason, the cats loved my hanging baskets or flower boxes. They made lovely beds with the nice, soft, freshly planted petunias.

Now that some of those kitties are gone – I wonder why I minded so much having them sleep among the flowers on a warm, summer evening.  But never mind, that’s why God gave us our memories. So that along with remembering the roses in December, we can also remember a drizzly, spring day when three little girls wanted to dance around the new green grass with pink parasols.

It’s one of my favorite garden memories – to remember long after many springs have faded and gone. What are yours?