In Hindsight I Can See...
I have always enjoyed gardening. Originally I thought that I had inherited this love from my mother who always had houseplants of one type or another in the house for as long as I can remember. She was the one that I remember caring for the huge Crown of Thorns that we had in our huge south-facing front bay window. It would have flowers on it all winter, but it was when it came time to put it outside on the front step that it came into its full glory. Covered with small green leaves and small red flowers, it was a sight to behold and a danger to anyone unaware of the huge thorns that lay beneath the leaves! I loved that plant. We also had ferns, spider plants and various other houseplants. These my mom nourished and she had success with them.
When I decided to try my hand at plants, it was she that gave me the cuttings to root and it was her that helped me plant them. I remember naming them and talking to them as to a friend. Every one I had seemed to thrive and my mom always teased me about how roughly I handled them, yet they didn't seem to mind. It was later that I became familiar with the term "green thumb" and I never questioned my having one. Soon my room was overrun with gorgeous plants. I remember putting in ceiling hooks and shelves beneath the windows to hold them all. My favorite at that time was a Swedish Ivy that I named "Woody" after my favorite Bay City Roller. They are still a favorite of mine to this very day, although I have no houseplants now, thanks partly to my daughters' cat, Cosmo, who likes to eat anything green.
I said originally in my opening paragraph, though, because it wasn't until last year, after the death of my father, that I realized that my love of gardening was similiar to his. Sad to say, I had ongoing issues with my father and never got to thank him for this gift. But the evening after he died, I went to his apartment that he shared with his wife, and it was when I saw a gardening catalog lying on a table where he used to sit that I got my first inkling. I noticed markings on the catalogs cover and inside; there were circles around the flower bulbs he had planned to plant that fall. Each choice was marked with a notation as to where that bulb(s) would go and I smiled in spite of myself, because I saw myself doing the same things in mine at home. When I went outside later, I was surprised to see a small area that he had filled with flowers and various garden accents. There were small trellises and a raised bed edged in rocks, stepping stones and little ceramic creatures. There were hummingbird feeders and bird feeders and in that very limited space, again I saw myself. His garden was designed the way mine was. Suddenly, I became aware of the summers my father had spent in our yard, tending to a large vegetable garden in the back and a beautiful lawn and flowers (usually zinnias) in the front. He tended my mothers roses and lilacs. Every spring, my mom would get mad at him for pruning bushes back too far. "They'll never come back!" I remember her chiding him, and yet, they always bloomed beautifully the following year! I remember him always being tanned to a deep Indian brown and rarely if ever, wearing a shirt as he would labor outside. We always had birdfeeders, too. There was always some bird or new flower to marvel over. Today, I know where I get my love from. My eyes were blinded all those years. You see, my dad was an alcoholic during my childhood and my memories from then were not the kind I wanted to remember. But now, I can look back and find something good. I didn't get to tell him, it's true, but perhaps in the future I will be able to. I look forward to seeing him again in the Paradise ahead, and I am hoping that he and I will be able to nurture our love of gardening as well as a better understanding of one another. 
