A Blossoming Relationship

In the 27 years of my life so far, I have never been able to keep a plant alive.  Several years ago, I tried to raise a spider plant, which I was told is impossible to kill.  Well, one day, I put it out on the patio and forgot about it.  Then, it rained for three days straight.  A couple of years ago, when we had just started dating, my boyfriend bought me the most beautiful red orchid.  He asked the florist for very specific instructions on how to care for it.  But, I went out of town two weeks after receiving this incredibly thoughtful gift, turned my air conditioner off in the middle of July, and it sweat to death.  Last year, I received a tomato plant and a little herb planter with basil, oregano, thyme, and Italian parsley.  I managed to keep the herbs alive for two months, but I did not get a single tomato.

Now, onto this year.  I'm determined to keep things alive!  I planted some basil and sage and yellow peppers (I have officially given up on tomatoes).  I also bought a couple of begonias and a limelight dracaena.  Keeping my fingers crossed that this year will be the year, because despite all my failed attempts, I just know I love plants and I would love to have a successful garden.

What does this have to do with my father's book, you ask? 

I just finished a chapter where my father talks about my great-grandmother's love for gardening.  When she lived at Tao Sheng Lo with her mother-in-law, she did not have the freedom to garden.  That was a job left up to the servants.  But when they moved to Shanghai, my great-grandmother managed to turn their tiny little courtyard into a beautiful flower garden.  Her favorite flower was the rose.   She had lovely rose bushes with big blooming pink, yellow, and deep red roses.  What I love about her, among many other things, is what she did with the roses.  She planted them, cared for them and, of course, admired them.  She plucked them and put them in vases around the house.  But, after they would wilt, she would pull the petals and put them in water to preserve the fragrance.  Then, when the water would evaporate and the petals would dry, she would crush them and make what we would now consider little potpourri pouches.  Brilliant woman, my great-grandmother.

Maybe it sounds silly and shallow, but I like knowing that I share this love for gardening with my great-grandmother, even though my skills could take a little more cultivating.  While I admire and respect her will and strength, I know I will never completely understand what she went through in life because I will never have life experiences as difficult or as frightening as hers.

But through a love for gardening, I can connect with her just a little and possibly experience a tiny fraction of her life.