The constant gardener

Forget-Me-Nots, a late 19th or early 20th cent...

Forget-Me-Nots, a late 19th or early 20th century oil painting by Marie Nyl-Frosch. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Freda in Dalamory says I must be happy, and I guess I am. It’s difficult for me to admit I am happy because I am always afraid someone or something will take my happiness away. Do you have difficulty admitting when you are happy?

I am especially happy when the sun shines in the spring.

I slept 8 hours last night and that’s unusual. I think that I had the air ducts cleaned and David bought a new mattress for my birthday made everything better when it came time to lay down my head.

Working in the garden tires me in a good way. All the stretching and bending and simply stopping to enjoy the perennial flowers now beginning to bloom lifts my spirits. I hope I always have a garden.

A while back, I visited a woman in a local nursing home and she told me the thing she missed the most was her garden. I know my grandpa Schmidley tended his roses until late in his life. The only photo I ever saw of his mother (my great-grandmother Anna Mary) who was born in Bavaria, was of her standing before her rose-bush. It was an old photo from the 1890s in black and white, but you could tell it was roses. I could tell by looking at her she was a rose lover and gardener.

Perhaps a love of gardening is passed along. My Mom and Dad both loved gardening, so they always had the most beautiful gardens until later in their lives. Dad took many photos but unfortunately, my wicked stepmother has them all locked away in her attic.

The vision I have of their gardens is locked in my memory bank. As I have planted this and that, a bubble surfaces and I recall Dad saying he loved Vinca and Mom wandering in her garden and asking for the hundredth time, “Now what is that blue flower?” We laughed at her, because it was “forget-me-not.” I don’t know if she was forgetful on purpose to make us laugh, or whether she truly could not remember the flower’s name. Today, I grow “forget-me-nots” and think of her. (Forget-me-nots shown in the photo yesterday)

English: Forget-me-not postcard, circa 1907

English: Forget-me-not postcard, circa 1907 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


15 thoughts on “The constant gardener

  1. Gosh! I’m like you, Dianne! I feel that there’s a yin/yang to happiness and sadness. Whenever I’m too happy I figure something is bound to happen soon to equalize things. Ah well, for today… let’s be happy.
    OK. That’s done.
    Now I’m stressed because I’ve got to work on the China photo album that friends and family are waiting for and I’ve got another trip coming up later. Yikes!


  2. Our gardening here is so depressing. We have terrible hardpan clay soil. I amended it with pine much when we moved in, 32 years ago, and planted shrubs and trees. The shrubs and trees are doing fine, growing bigger every year. The grasses and flowers will not grow. That makes me sad.


  3. Gardenias remind me of my Grandmother, I can;t smell one without thinking of her.She grew them in Miami in tin washtubs up on cement blocks in the backyard. When they bloomed she floated several in a shallow bowl perfuming the whole house.


    • The first house I rented in Tampa had a gardenia bush outside the front door. I opened the jalousie window in the door and the perfume filled the house. Loved it. Smelled honeysuckle this morning in neighbor’s yard. A pest but at this time of the year you can smell it down the street.


  4. I’m not overly pleased with the word “happy” … fort some reason it seems to convey a shallow emotion to me. I prefer to feel contentment and that I do a lot if I stay thankful for what I have and not what I used to think I wanted.


  5. I have no trouble saying I am happy. I wonder if people who can’t admit to being happy are not completely happy, because some sort of anxiety is holding them back.

    What I have learned over the years is that contentment is better than happiness. Happiness is an extreme and often brittle emotion; contentment is comfortable and more long-lasting 🙂


  6. I acknowledge when I am happy whether silently or to others. The more I articulate what I am happy about, the more that I find to be happy about. Post-stroke it is much easier to do that. I am alive and can think and communicate. My moments right now are a gift. I dare not squander this gift by letting myself dwell on the possibility of another stroke or other unhappy possibilities. I trust that I am in the palm of God’s hand whatever happens.

    And by the way, your garden and your posts about gardening make me happy, but I think I am repeating myself about that!


  7. I’m certainly on your wavelength for your first three paragraphs. But as you could see from my own recent post on gardening, from there on out my experience is a little different!


  8. I am glad you are happy. And no, the love of gardening is not hereditary. Both of my parents enjoyed it, but I hate it. However, I do love to look at beautiful plants and flowers.


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