From the Editor
Early into my journey as a mother, my grandmother gave me a gift that I continue to treasure decades later. The beautiful iris, with its purple hues and strong stems, reminds me of the pillar of grace and strength that Nana was. One spring, with the gentleness that only a mother or grandmother embodies, she longingly dug up an iris from her garden, which she passed down to me. This special and eternal gift continues to bloom in my yard each year.
As seasons pass and I dig my hands back into the dirt, I relish in the blooming colors throughout my yard and soak in Nana’s spirit that is omnipresent in my garden. These days, I find myself increasingly drawn back to the earth and its healing, plentiful bounty.
My mother, like her mother, has always brought me bulbs and blooms from her garden. Summertime tiger lilies would explode as wild patches of orange spread from one flower to the next. Our yard was filled with hostas, daffodils, azaleas, and a wide variety of perennial flowers, all of which had been transplanted from her yard to mine. As my own daughters have matured and they have begun to ask questions about flowers and gardening, my heart is filled with love as I look forward to passing the generational torch.
I find myself giggling with nostalgia as I recall long summer nights at my grandmother’s house. My cousin Doreen and I, with our knobby knees and tangled hair, once stumbled across a dumpster overflowing with fresh flowers.
“Let’s bring them home to our moms,” I said. “They’ll love them!”
We outstretched our arms and gathered as many lilies, roses, peonies, and irises that we could carry across the train tracks to our house. My mother and aunts nearly dropped their drinks when they caught sight of us racing back to the house, petals, and pollen flying everywhere.
“Look what we found for you!” we cheered.
I was shocked when my mother stood up, wrinkling her forehead and massaging her temples, begging to know where we found this overflowing lot of abandoned flowers.
“The big brick building was throwing them away. They were in the dumpster behind it.” I pleaded.
“Do you mean the funeral home?!” cried my mother.
After a long talk about what is appropriate and what isn’t, in the end, we all laughed and agreed it was the thought that counted.
I grin to myself as I water my iris, replanted now at yet another home. Like Nana’s legacy, the iris continues to bloom, no matter its environment or weather.
I am deeply thankful for the generations of women before me and the wisdom passed along the way. Mother to daughter, grandmother to granddaughter, the circle of life is beautiful.
Wishing all the mothers, grandmother’s and mothers-to -be a very happy Mother’s Day! Your love transcends all.
Peace & Love,
Cindy
