Random recall

As I stepped out onto our back deck, the sweet familiar scent wafted by. My iris friends had most certainly arrived for their annual spring visit. I followed the scent like I always do because I still marvel at these flowers as much as I did when I was a kid. How do they open from those buds into something so delicate? If you are a botanist and know the actual answer, don't tell me because we all need to keep a little magic in our lives.

Apparently some bees thought this patch needed some plain green mixed in

My great-grandmother had iris with variegated leaves in the beautiful gardens that lined her driveway. I am guessing she tended to her flowers with far less complaint than I manage to. Rhizomes were shared and made their way to my grandparents' garden where they were eventually divided. Some tubers were planted at my mother's, and then traveled to join my weeds. My landscaping (and I use that term loosely) does not have quite the same panache as the beds these iris inhabited before. I admit that as much as flowers fascinate me, I do not really like to garden. I want to have all of the flowers, but don't enjoy the heat, allergies and weed patrol.

My grandmother used to "let" me help her weed her garden. She made it look like something a seven year old should want to partake in. Gloves and tools? Sign me up! I know she often regretted her decision because I did not perform the task up to her standards. Was this story going somewhere? Why yes, I believe it was. As I inhaled the irises, I was reminded of the time my grandmother asked me what my favorite smelling flower was, as we were out working in the soil. Without needing time to think, I told her it was the iris. Her response was kind of an abrupt "Really? I didn't know they had any smell to them." I stood my ground, as I often did, despite her doubt.

These types of stories about conversations with my grandmother used to bother me, a sort of indication that we struggled to relate to one another, or argued about who was right. I really wanted to be "right" one day. Certainly the time would come for me to show her. These tales have lasted through the years, but have taken on much more of an endearing quality. They are just part of our history...our very rich history.