The Joy of Gardening

Last year was Spokane's snowiest winter on record. I am glad that it is now just a memory. And very happy to see that Lola's Garden survived with just a few casualties. The two-year-old butterfly bush, the brunnera, and the pink rose are gone. But guess who were showing off their hardiness last month?

After being buried in a few feet of snow for the longest time, the tulips and the daffodils were blooming with a vengeance. The blooms were so big and so many, I almost could not believe my eyes when I counted 32 colorful tulip blooms in one plant. Maybe the snow have actually nourished the bulbs, and protected them from the below freezing temperature; while they were busy dividing and reproducing in their sleep. I remember planting them in groups of five bulbs just three years ago.

There is something magical about the flowers that bloom so brightly and cheerfully in my garden. They seem to whisper "Pick me. I'll make someone happy." And they make me feel almost giddy when I pick them for someone special. Sometimes I wonder why cut flowers don't lost their magic.

I decided to give the first bouquet to a very special friend whose gardening days have expired many years ago; hoping it will bring back some fond memories. The joy of gardening, is one of the many memories that last long after the muscles and bones surrendered to old age.

Her hands looked achy and stiff, but when she opened two large drawers to reveal a new collection of fabrics and yarns, we both laughed. These are the precious little thing she lost and became just memories when she was living in the nursing home for more than a year. Moving up to an assisted living facility brought back her desire to contribute, and to remain a productive member of our society. Like the tulips in my garden, she is once again showing her hardiness. Quilting and crocheting happily as her body allows. Unlike independent living, she no longer have a kitchen. Still she keep on making dish cloths out of 100% cotton yarns.

I came home with a hand crocheted yellow dish cloth and a spirit brighter than the spring flowers that inspired me to visit a friend. The flowers did its job and made someone happy. But at the end of the day, that someone was me.