My kids will remember me however they wish for as long as they wish, and a grand kid or two may have a few recollections and that's the end of the memory trail.
This is where my legacy comes in: I've put my heart into eight or so gardens in my lifetime and when I move on I leave footprints for just the right seeker.
The next owner after me might carelessly reduce the place to poison-drenched lawns and very little else. But then there might follow a woman who surveys the nothingness until she spots somewhere in the corner a little cache of snowdrops that escaped the toxic attack and she'll build her new garden around this small treasure.
I tuck special ferns back in a shaded nook where they will eventually flourish if left alone along side beautiful golden hostas.
What a rush to find the place you moved into during the winter gifts you with masses of daffodils, free-form tulips (no regimental rows for me thanks) and tiny crocus peeking out here and there. This was another woman's legacy and she'll get a silent thank you from me.
I'll learn what her favorite colors were and whether she loved free form planting or was she a tidy by-the-book person?
Three houses back, in a fiercely ambitious mood I tore out the back lawn, had simple raised beds built, then made pathways and detours lined with pea gravel and planted shrubs, perennials, bulbs and small trees. My trusty helper cluck-clucked throughout but when it was done he was amazed and delighted and added landscaping to his resume.
I left behind the beautiful wooden pergola my son built me with the trumpet vines meeting at the middle and spilling over the sides in a thick tangle and that is still flourishing when I drive past to take a quick peek.
The magnolia tree planted at our downtown Toronto house stands out like a glorious beacon while its in bloom.
So there's my legacy,left to strangers for generations to come.
On the practical side my kids should find enough money to give me a rowdy send-off with a few sips of champagne.
Then, compost me and that's an order.
1 comment:
Very poetic, Mom. I think you have a few more gardens left in you though. The best is yet to come.
Post a Comment