Reflections on the Sixth Week of Spring

 

“How many memorial plantings have you made?” Mom asked over the phone. She'd been looking at photos of mini daffodils I'd planted for my sister-in-law's mother. The question made me curious to see if the marsh marigolds I'd planted for Aunt Jane, who was the last entry of my “In Memory” book, were blooming. I walked through the grass awash with violets and spring beauties then into the woods decorated by trout lilies. By a woods pond, Aunt Jane's marsh marigold had vibrant leaves but no buds. Had the cold winter or critters nipped them back? I continued downhill. Bluebells and spring cress flowered near Deer Creek. All the wildflowers on Wells Wood were tributes to Spence's parents, homestead founders and guides for many a wildflower walk. I circled up to catchment basin that slowed road runoff's travel through the south yard. In the trickles, Aunt Jane's second marsh marigold flourished–lots of buds and an open flower. Smiling, I thought of special flowers. Forget-me-nots, black-eyed-Susans, lilies, daisies, asters, and more would follow. I'd made twenty-seven memorial plantings.