I've spoken before to the power of crafting, but what about the power of gardening? Even flower gardening – which can not feed the body but instead feeds the soul – leaves a legacy.
This birthday bouquet is brought to you (well, me) courtesy of my grandfather and the daughter I named after one of his favorite flowers. Grandpa Les has been gone since Sage was a baby, but his daffodils (curiously planted in rows, the flower bed now overtaken by blackberry canes) shine on. Dozens and dozens of them.
Technically these flowers were stolen. They grow in the gardens next door to our cabin. Once my grandparents house, now an empty "summer cabin" for a family from the city. The garden was full of spent daffodils that no one enjoyed, so we took the initiative to steal a boquet from the masses for ourselves.
I know. I am setting a terrible example for my daughter. Truth be told, Lupine is named after the flowers that my grandfather would steal (with me in tow) from public land alongside the river. (Clearly I come from a long line of garden hooligans.) I'm sure he would have called it transplanting, but let's be honest. It was stealing.
And somehow remembering him in his brown work boots, blue work shirt and pants, and cap, his gnarled hands planting these bulbs in those odd little rows made me want to have a little bit of his spirit at my birthday. And I'd say we did. Even if I did steal to do it.
(Yes, I miss him so.)