White Iris
(written May, 2005 by me as we moved
from Cheney, WA. to Astoria, Or. )
(written May, 2005 by me as we moved
from Cheney, WA. to Astoria, Or. )
This morning I dug the white iris, cut it, labeled it "white iris" and wrapped the label around it with twine.
I want to take it with me on our move to Astoria. It is the iris my grandma bought from an iris garden in the Willamette Valley over 70 years ago The iris itself is not the most striking that I have. It is tall and plain. The memories it holds I want to carry with me.
The memory of lessons from grandma about picking and arranging the iris; of being with grandma as she gave away her “starts” of iris and of the day she brought one of those “starts” as a gift for my first garden.
The memory of driving my son to visit my Grandma. They spent the morning digging, cutting the iris, labeling them and wrapping the labels on with twine. And they talked.
Today, after finishing with the white iris I dug another. I cut it, labeled it “orange frilly iris” and wrapped the label on with twine. I purchased it at an iris garden in the Willamette Valley just two years ago. My son was with me. It was the day before he graduated from law school in Eugene.
Someday, I am thinking, I will sit with my grandchild, and we will dig the iris, cut them, label them "white iris" and "orange frilly iris" and wrap the labels with twine. And we will talk.
I am glad that I have this morning." Karen
(note: it is with sadness that the iris didn't survive the move and the long wait for me to plant them. I have dug some from my sister in laws collection - we shared so many of my grandmothers - but they don't seem to want to bloom.)
I want to take it with me on our move to Astoria. It is the iris my grandma bought from an iris garden in the Willamette Valley over 70 years ago The iris itself is not the most striking that I have. It is tall and plain. The memories it holds I want to carry with me.
The memory of lessons from grandma about picking and arranging the iris; of being with grandma as she gave away her “starts” of iris and of the day she brought one of those “starts” as a gift for my first garden.
The memory of driving my son to visit my Grandma. They spent the morning digging, cutting the iris, labeling them and wrapping the labels on with twine. And they talked.
Today, after finishing with the white iris I dug another. I cut it, labeled it “orange frilly iris” and wrapped the label on with twine. I purchased it at an iris garden in the Willamette Valley just two years ago. My son was with me. It was the day before he graduated from law school in Eugene.
Someday, I am thinking, I will sit with my grandchild, and we will dig the iris, cut them, label them "white iris" and "orange frilly iris" and wrap the labels with twine. And we will talk.
I am glad that I have this morning." Karen
(note: it is with sadness that the iris didn't survive the move and the long wait for me to plant them. I have dug some from my sister in laws collection - we shared so many of my grandmothers - but they don't seem to want to bloom.)
No comments:
Post a Comment