Lively Lime #1
I was drawn to it. It called out to me. My pace quickened a little bit on the pavement, and in the distance on the grassy lawn I saw it. A greenhouse. I smiled and headed towards the glass building. As I walked, I wondered to myself…why am I so excited?
It was a perfect summer day. The sun was shining, the temperature was just right. It was Day One of my exploration of this new city out west, and a park seemed like a good place to start. This greenhouse would be the first place I visited. I walked through the open doors and saw the sign: Free admission! This was going to be great. As soon as I stepped inside, I was in a jungle. Tropical trees towered over my head. Ferns brushed against my knees. I could feel the humidity, thick yet strangely refreshing. I followed the narrow gravel pathways, twisting and turning throughout this huge crystal palace as the sun shone through the transparent ceiling. It was so much fun reading the little descriptive signs neatly placed next to each specimen. I felt like a world explorer, moving from one environment to another as tropical became desert, desert became temperate. I stared at the cactus and touched the hanging willow trees…maybe even vice-versa. Then my jaw dropped when I entered the hall of flowers. Every kind of flower one could imagine was there, like the King Solomon's mines of the flora world. There were so many colors, shapes, and sizes from all places on earth….and surprisingly, I found that I recognized many of them. From classic roses to elegant bleeding hearts to cute buttercups…each brought back a memory. I found myself loving where I was standing, in a sea of beautiful flowers. At that moment, I wanted to garden so badly.
And then I stopped. What had just happened? I looked over at the daisies and I knew. I had finally become my mother.
Flashback to when I was a child. Mom is in the garden in front of our small house. She is expanding it again, digging up weeds, adding some fertilizer here and there, and putting up a structure to start some climbing roses and ivy. Pastel shorts, rubber boots, and a big hat. The next year we have a new fountain and a fresh batch of annuals to accent the perennials. A decade passes. As I grow older and taller, so do her roses. What started as a small patch of flowers has morphed into a massive expanse of colors almost entirely surrounding our house, almost protecting it as well as beautifying. I used to wonder why she labored so hard every day tending to this small kingdom. After all, they were just plants. You could buy flowers at the florist. Why the big deal? She and Dad had taken me to many greenhouses before when I was still young, but we stopped going many years ago.
And then I thought again. My best memories of my mother were of her in the garden. Flowers reminded me of Mom, and now, at the beginning of my 20s, I finally understood why she had this passion. There are few things as rewarding as putting effort and love into care for a living thing and watching it grow to become something beautiful. She raised her flowers, and she raised me, and she was good at it. I knew that when I built my own home, I would have a garden too.
As I left the greenhouse, I was a little jarred by the hard blacktop pavement and honking of cars in the distance. I grabbed my cell and dialed home. Mom was going to love hearing about all this.
It was a perfect summer day. The sun was shining, the temperature was just right. It was Day One of my exploration of this new city out west, and a park seemed like a good place to start. This greenhouse would be the first place I visited. I walked through the open doors and saw the sign: Free admission! This was going to be great. As soon as I stepped inside, I was in a jungle. Tropical trees towered over my head. Ferns brushed against my knees. I could feel the humidity, thick yet strangely refreshing. I followed the narrow gravel pathways, twisting and turning throughout this huge crystal palace as the sun shone through the transparent ceiling. It was so much fun reading the little descriptive signs neatly placed next to each specimen. I felt like a world explorer, moving from one environment to another as tropical became desert, desert became temperate. I stared at the cactus and touched the hanging willow trees…maybe even vice-versa. Then my jaw dropped when I entered the hall of flowers. Every kind of flower one could imagine was there, like the King Solomon's mines of the flora world. There were so many colors, shapes, and sizes from all places on earth….and surprisingly, I found that I recognized many of them. From classic roses to elegant bleeding hearts to cute buttercups…each brought back a memory. I found myself loving where I was standing, in a sea of beautiful flowers. At that moment, I wanted to garden so badly.
And then I stopped. What had just happened? I looked over at the daisies and I knew. I had finally become my mother.
Flashback to when I was a child. Mom is in the garden in front of our small house. She is expanding it again, digging up weeds, adding some fertilizer here and there, and putting up a structure to start some climbing roses and ivy. Pastel shorts, rubber boots, and a big hat. The next year we have a new fountain and a fresh batch of annuals to accent the perennials. A decade passes. As I grow older and taller, so do her roses. What started as a small patch of flowers has morphed into a massive expanse of colors almost entirely surrounding our house, almost protecting it as well as beautifying. I used to wonder why she labored so hard every day tending to this small kingdom. After all, they were just plants. You could buy flowers at the florist. Why the big deal? She and Dad had taken me to many greenhouses before when I was still young, but we stopped going many years ago.
And then I thought again. My best memories of my mother were of her in the garden. Flowers reminded me of Mom, and now, at the beginning of my 20s, I finally understood why she had this passion. There are few things as rewarding as putting effort and love into care for a living thing and watching it grow to become something beautiful. She raised her flowers, and she raised me, and she was good at it. I knew that when I built my own home, I would have a garden too.
As I left the greenhouse, I was a little jarred by the hard blacktop pavement and honking of cars in the distance. I grabbed my cell and dialed home. Mom was going to love hearing about all this.
posted by Anonymous at 10:02 PM
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