Gardening has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. My first garden-centric memories are of my Grandpa and his very English garden, with borders and pathways, full of tulips and daffodils in spring and then roses and peonies in the summer. There were a multitude of other flowers of course, but those are the ones that come to mind whenever I think of him, weeding and pruning. My Grandpa seemed ancient to me then, although truth be told he was probably not much older than I am now. His skin was brown like a chestnut from all the time he spent in the sun, leathery and wrinkled like an elephant, but his eyes sparkled, his movements spry, and always seemed to be laughing or smiling. He taught me way more than I realized, as his warm words of wisdom came flooding back to me when I finally had a garden of my own. Our conversations centered around the garden (and sharing cookies) but somehow, I knew that he wasn’t just talking about the flowers.
One of the things he taught me that seems to have resonated with me the most is that everything in nature has its time and every flower blooms at its own pace. “Do not expect a crocus in the fall, or a rose in spring, and you need to be patient for coneflowers, but to see their sunny faces before the snow are worth the wait.” So, every time I see my Coneflowers bloom, beloved by bees, birds, butterflies, and tea drinkers with colds, I can’t help but smile. I’m especially fond of the big purple ones, (nostalgia I’m sure) bursting with color just as most of the other flowers have faded. I even like them in winter when the petals fall and there are just prickly cones left behind.
Thank you Gramps, for being so Zen. Hopefully I’ll be even half as cool as you were when I have grandkids, although I really hope I don’t end up quite as brown or wrinkly.
And with that I designed these coneflower mittens, just like the ones in our gardens.
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