My mother died 13 years ago next month of Lou Gehrig's disease. It was a sad and terrible way to end her life much too young. I am reminded of her as we approach Mothers Day and look into the garden.
Mom knew that my husband's favourite flower is the iris, and purple irises in particular. She had a remarkable green thumb, which I was not fortunate enough to inherit.
About three years before she died, she gave Harold a birthday gift of a single bulb for a dark purple bearded iris . He happily planted it, and watched the greenery pop up and grow beautifully tall. Sadly, it just wouldn't flower. Three springs came and went and he waited patiently for the sign that he might see something other than green, hoping it would sprout a flower. Then Mom died, only six months after being diagnosed.
As the anniversary of Mom's passing approached that following spring, we noticed a bud on the top of a stalk. We had done nothing special to the garden, not adding fertilizer or improving the irrigation...nothing. Frankly I'm surprised anything survives my thumb-of-plant-demise. But there it was. On the anniversary of her passing, the bud opened into a huge, beautiful iris. It has bloomed every year since.
