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The art of flower gardens

(This is a post I wrote almost two years ago! After spending a great deal of time weeding my flower beds, I decided to repost it.)

Lately I have really missed my grandmother. She died 7 years ago and was like a second mother to me. I miss her smile, her bright eyes, the way she would look at you and hug you when you left her house . . . I miss you Grandma.

My grandmother had the most beautiful flower gardens I think I have ever seen. I remember walking around in my grandparents' back yard surrounded by hanging flower pots, half-barrel flower gardens and beautifully manicured beds, one with a fountain in the middle. As a child I would imagine I was in a walking garden in a European country. I do not even remember a weed in sight . . . I think there was so much beauty there, that a weed dared not to spoil it.

Now, as an adult, with a house and flower beds of my own, I think back to my grandmother and her flower beds differently. I LOVE to garden . . . I love to plant flowers and watch them bloom. I love to plant new bulbs in the fall and, in the spring, I wait impatiently for them to come up and show their beauty. For me, this ritual makes me think of my grandma and I feel closer to her, like she is still with me some how. I work very hard on my flower beds, but in the end, they do not come close to my grandmother's. I am beginning to realize that growing flowers and having beautiful flower beds is an art. For my grandmother, the dirt in the beds was her canvas and the flowers her colors. They were placed perfectly on the canvas and nurtured until they created a beautiful ,breathtaking scene. Each year she would paint a new scene similar to the last. The colors amazing, the artist's touch, beautiful.

Thank you grandma for the beautiful pictures you created that are forever in my memory. You were truly an artist.

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