Sunday, January 18, 2015


My first violets were given me by Eleanor, the extraordinary gardener who lived next to my childhood home.  It was she who taught me to garden, to love the smell of the earth, to tend green shoots and pull weeds by their roots.  And she shared her violets with me.   

I have planted those violets and their progeny between paving stones, under an orange tree, beneath my bedroom window.  It is tedious, but I pull the leaves aside and pick the flowers to put in an old spice jar next to my bed.  I drift off to sleep to their soft sweet smell.  Half awake, I smile, for the fragrance greets me before I open my eyes.

And I have shared my love of violets with others, and planted them in my friends' gardens.  And Ellen, an extraordinary gardener and a dear friend, sent me this picture of her violets.  
It has inspired me to go pick a bouquet of my own.  So if you'll please excuse me, I'm off to find my shears.

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