Dear Mom,

One of my first memories is of you and I collecting flowers together. We used to walk in the fields beside our house when I was a child and we collected flowers. You showed me how to press them in Nana’s flower press. You taught me about Black-Eyed Susans’ and Daisies that first year. Every year after that, we always spent some time looking for a little piece of nature. Pussy willows in the fall. Pink Ladies’ Slippers, wild Tiger Lilies and Lily of the Valley. I used to play in the giant bushes of lilac beside our house. They always filled the house with a heady scent. Every year we searched the woods at the end of May for trilliums. That flower, in particular, has never lost its magic for me because of you.

I rememer digging through the rich, dark earth and helping you pull weeds. At first, riding in the wheelbarrow because I was too little to push and later, taking it to the compost heap myself. During winter, we’d work downstairs, potting bulbs and getting everything ready for your spring gardens.

Mom, when I think of you, I’ll always think of all your special flowers and gardens – especially your wild red poppies. You brought home a bunch one year to plant and they quickly overran all of your gardens. Ever year we would try so hard to mow them under to make room for other flowers. But I think they chose you for a reason. They always came back every year, wilder and more beautiful than ever. Wild poppies will always remind me of you, my beautiful and enchanting mother.