Tending the lemonade fantasies

Loving memories are rooted in the side yard of my grandmother's home where I grew up and lived until I was eight years old. After we moved to our own neighborhood in the same town, mother was certain to transplant the bulbs for those heritage-filled iris and daffodils.

Blooming prolifically every spring, these signposts of hope peep through snow, ice, fallen leaves and twigs, reminding me of home and family. Hydrangeas of every hue defined walls, and tiny roses covered trellises as they welcomed friends and family to the side yard.

In stark contrast was the "switch garden," wherein grew hedges with multitudes of torturous limbs. How could such instruments grow among the daffodils that symbolize "hope...springing eternal?" Jonquils, daffodils, narcissus and buttercups grew more abundant each year, speaking to me that "this means home."

Imagine my delight upon recently seeing lemon chiffon rising from crusts of winter's icy debris at 154 North Woodland Heights in Rector. Light and airy in the early March breeze, the elegant flower fabric bid us a welcoming wink.

Awaiting new loving hands and appreciative eyes, these daffodils currently show a mild color, yet make a full bouquet of fragrance and loveliness.

When I first saw the side beds filled with dancing flowers and closely snuggled crocuses, I felt a smiling eye upon me from Heaven as my mother and grandmother gave an approving nod. I will also be reminded to look inward and allow my heart to fill with pleasure, as did William Wordsworth, when he penned that he wished to "dance with the daffodils."

Each opportunity I have to tend the lemonade fantasies rooted "beneath the trees...fluttering in the breeze," bringing in a garden handful for a vase, I will remember the love of the women in my family...the love for home, family and friends.