Yesterday, Mother and I were talking on the telephone, and we discussed my Grandma Donna’s gardens. 

They were strikingly beautiful, and filled with every imaginable color, and flower/plant. 

Mother claims she, herself, does not have a green thumb, but I recall lovely flower gardens while growing up at 825 Main Street.  The crown jewel of Mother’s collection was the voluminous lilac bush. 

Grandma Donna’s garden on the corner of Elwood’s 8th and South A streets contained a spectacular centerpiece: the Japanise maple tree.  Fortunately, my next door neighbor, Kay, who resembles my grandmother in spirit and wit, has one growing in her front yard next to my driveway. 

Growing up around the corner from Grandma Donna and Grandpa Leroy afforded me much time spent with them, and my wealthy memory bank will never be overdrawn.  Whether I was Grandma Donna’s assistant baker in the kitchen, her bicycle passenger when we rode out to T-Way parking lot to watch the Panther Band’s marching practice, or helping her in her gardens, my mind’s treasury is filled with family history, family stories, tons of guidance, and an eternity of love. 

I’ve been fairly lucky with gardening these past fourteen years at The Haasienda on Shroyer.  I’m still quite ignorant of flowers, and generally stick with impatiens since they tend to grow themselves.  However, thanks to several studio/student moms, past and present (Joanie P, Shelly H, Rita B, Pam M, Debbie A, Debbie McC, and several others), I’ve managed to grow in my skills, interest, and enjoyment. 

Today, while finishing up the front yard’s production of blooms and starts, I looked around, quite satisfied with the results.  I imagined my Grandma Donna looking it over, as well, and praising my novice efforts. 

So, I am now calling the front yard, Grandma’s Garden.  

It just seems fitting. 

My prized wisteria in the rear