Gardens and Grace

When I was a child, I remember my mother growing beautiful flower gardens every summer. The rich colors of the sunflowers, hibiscus, and irises graced the border of our home, transforming it from a beige, boring modular home to a romantic oasis. Ivy and roses grew along the trellis on the deck, and petunias overflowed from the hanging planter by the door. My favorites were the peonies -full, elegant, white blooms with a sweet fragrance. They usually made it to the dining room as a centerpiece.

Mom had a vegetable garden as well. She grew lettuce, onions, green beans, tomatoes, and other plants I just don't remember. Summer dinners were especially satisfying and rich. It felt like eating out, but better! There was no bill or tip - just eager smiles and tomato juice running down our chins.

This is how I remember the gardens and the summertime. It's probably not how Mom remembers it. My brothers and I only enjoyed the fruit of her labor...planning the garden, tilling the ground, pulling the weeds. In fact, I'm afraid there isn't much that she remembers well at all.

Planning my own gardens this year, I felt a strange mixture of guilt and frustration. I could not recall the names of several of the flowers from my childhood memories. After doing some research and planning with a more experienced gardening friend, I called my Mom to share the excitement and ask questions. She only wanted to tell me about the new baby at her church and oh, what's her mother's name and she's from a drug family and I'm going shopping what does your boy wear these days does he drink milk and don't rush to have another baby and have you lost any weight - and when I could finally get a word in about gardening, she harshly criticized the bed that my dear sister and mother in love planted for me last year.

She knew that.

I was deflated.

But then I realized that I probably did similar things when I lived at home. She probably wanted to talk about heavier things, but there is this boy at school who likes my best friend and I think they'll get married and can you believe that the girl down the street cut her hair so short and why won't you let me dye my hair and can we please go shopping this weekend so I can have a nice pair of shoes for the dance have you signed my notebook yet - and when she asked if I could water the plants, I probably complained that the boys never had to do any chores.

I was deflecting.

She knew that.

Perhaps the grace she gave me then, I should extend to her now. Why is it so hard?