by Nina Graff in Wisconsin - www.back40fotos.com - Used by permission
Growing up in a typical suburb, creative gardens were not part of the daily landscapes. Square lawns were the norm, with perhaps a few bushes and flowers next to the front stoop. My parents were no exception. My Dad had not inherited the love of gardening that Grampa had practiced.
We had a lawn dappled with dandelions, two trees, a rose bush and some four-o’clocks. My love of gardens must have filtered down from Grampa, and also from the hours I spent wandering in the woods beyond the neighborhood. I loved the things growing wild out there…carpets of violets, spring trilliums, and the red-sapped bloodroot. A few fields around us had yet to be developed, so they grew like mini-prairies among the ravages of the bulldozers.
Our own backyard was L-shaped, and the corner behind the garage was ignored. The birds and the wind decided to plant it for us, and it wasn’t long before it bloomed with chicory and Queen Anne’s lace. Volunteers of sky blue petals and creamy white snowflakes. I thought it was wonderful! Unfortunately, our neighbors didn’t share this vision of wildflowers, and a letter soon arrived from the city stating a complaint about “noxious weeds” and an order to remove them.
I was a young teen at the time. Melancholy, moody, and very upset when my Dad headed out with a sickle. How could a neighbor have the power to say what was and wasn’t acceptable when it came to flowers growing?
I stewed about it in the kitchen, not wanting to see the demise of nature’s efforts to cover the bare ground. When Dad came in I must have looked as if a friend had died. I asked him if he had cut them all down. He said, “Go out and look.”
I reluctantly walked back to the corner. My heart smiled when I saw a small clump of plants remaining, nestled up against the redwood fence. I don’t know if I was more happy to see the blue and white blossoms, or for the realization that my Dad understood the beauty that I saw, and was willing to rebel against neighborhood protocol for my sake.
Now I live in the country with fields behind me that offer clouds of wildflowers every summer to enjoy. And each year a bouquet of Queen Anne’s lace and others find their way to the dining room table as beautiful flowers, not as noxious weeds.
Note from Lois: Nina Graff in Wisconsin, a long-time subscriber of this newsletter, is the very special lady who encouraged me to start a blog for Heart to Heart, and actually pitched in and helped me! The header on the blog is her photo - the beautiful pink bleeding hearts! I encourage you to check out her photography business website: www.back40fotos.com Her work is amazing!
Growing up in a typical suburb, creative gardens were not part of the daily landscapes. Square lawns were the norm, with perhaps a few bushes and flowers next to the front stoop. My parents were no exception. My Dad had not inherited the love of gardening that Grampa had practiced.
We had a lawn dappled with dandelions, two trees, a rose bush and some four-o’clocks. My love of gardens must have filtered down from Grampa, and also from the hours I spent wandering in the woods beyond the neighborhood. I loved the things growing wild out there…carpets of violets, spring trilliums, and the red-sapped bloodroot. A few fields around us had yet to be developed, so they grew like mini-prairies among the ravages of the bulldozers.
Our own backyard was L-shaped, and the corner behind the garage was ignored. The birds and the wind decided to plant it for us, and it wasn’t long before it bloomed with chicory and Queen Anne’s lace. Volunteers of sky blue petals and creamy white snowflakes. I thought it was wonderful! Unfortunately, our neighbors didn’t share this vision of wildflowers, and a letter soon arrived from the city stating a complaint about “noxious weeds” and an order to remove them.
I was a young teen at the time. Melancholy, moody, and very upset when my Dad headed out with a sickle. How could a neighbor have the power to say what was and wasn’t acceptable when it came to flowers growing?
I stewed about it in the kitchen, not wanting to see the demise of nature’s efforts to cover the bare ground. When Dad came in I must have looked as if a friend had died. I asked him if he had cut them all down. He said, “Go out and look.”
I reluctantly walked back to the corner. My heart smiled when I saw a small clump of plants remaining, nestled up against the redwood fence. I don’t know if I was more happy to see the blue and white blossoms, or for the realization that my Dad understood the beauty that I saw, and was willing to rebel against neighborhood protocol for my sake.
Now I live in the country with fields behind me that offer clouds of wildflowers every summer to enjoy. And each year a bouquet of Queen Anne’s lace and others find their way to the dining room table as beautiful flowers, not as noxious weeds.
Note from Lois: Nina Graff in Wisconsin, a long-time subscriber of this newsletter, is the very special lady who encouraged me to start a blog for Heart to Heart, and actually pitched in and helped me! The header on the blog is her photo - the beautiful pink bleeding hearts! I encourage you to check out her photography business website: www.back40fotos.com Her work is amazing!
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