One of my grandmothers was a real flower nut. She planted all sorts of blooming things, my favorite being the Hyacinth. Man, those flowers smell good! Husband has planted a few for me, to bring their fragrance into my kitchen. Pink ones smell the best.
Every year, my grandfather would put us all in the car, and we'd take a trip to a mountain where he knew he could easily access rich, black dirt. He'd pop open the truck, get out his shovel and feed sacks, and fill them up. Meanwhile, my grandmother would set out the picnic lunch she'd packed for us, and we'd have a feast before we set off for home.
They dug in the dirt a lot. My grandfather had a big garden behind the house in town. When they sold the grocery store and moved to the country, he had a huge garden.
I guess it was in their blood to grow their own food.
I wish I'd paid more attention.
Husband's parents were the same way, and he paid about as much attention as I did.
However; we attempted our first garden last year, and all in all, it was a success. We are eager to do this again.
Well, I'm eager to watch him do it again.
Back to flowers: My other grandmother liked to have a garden, too. She'd rather be in the yard and garden than the house any day.
Much of my book, "Out on a Limb of the Family Tree" comes from true stories. One of which is about my grandmother. As I said, she'd rather be working outdoors. And when my grandfather told her father he wanted to marry her, he said, "Well, she ain't much fer house keepin'. But she's the best little hoer in Gilmer County."
When Husband and I first built our house and started planting stuff in the yard, we knew that yeller bell is really Forsythia. Hydrangies are hydrangeas. And so on.
But we looked two seasons for Cannies until we stumbled across them at a hardware store. They are really Cannas. But with our deeply rooted Appalachian language, who knew?
And to make things really clear, it is not pee-AH-neez it is pee-ON-es.
Please, people. Get it right!
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