My Mother passed away a few weeks ago. It was then that I started looking at some photos taken of the yard around the family home where I was raised from the age 13 or so. The house is for sale now, awaiting its new family. The photos revealed something quite remarkable to me. My Mom was a secret landscape artist.
I remember hauling broken concrete pieces in a wheel barrow to the back yard when we first moved to the neighborhood. That is about all I recall about my own part in the secret. I know my brother had his hand in it too, in recent years. Yet, it was my mother who planned the whole complicated, lush green environment behind and around our home and she was the one who nurtured it throughout the years. The garden and the secret were kept, while the kids were raised, the husband was loved and the books were always balanced.
Some of the plants in Ginnys garden were gleaned from her mothers family home in Kentucky. I transplanted a few of these living family heirlooms to my own yard and now in the spring when the variegated hostas are sprouting I can see Moms secret creeping into my own garden.
She really knew how to keep a secret, proudly accusing me all the while of being an artist. Yet, a person would only have to stand back from the canvas of our family home landscape and see that the secret is out. The garden is a work of art and my Mom,Ginny was the artist.