Can We Talk 2

Irises

         My grandmother had a green thumb. She could grow anything. People would bring her their house plants that looked sickly. She'd keep them a few weeks or months, tending to them daily, and they'd take them home full and healthy and promising. She would adjust them in the light, keep off the frost, the wind storms, the burning sun. They'd be watered and pruned just right. She didn't talk to them.

         She had a long driveway on a busy street. You could park in the back yard and even turn around. She planted irises along the fence the full length of the drive. People admired it. One stranger parked the car and came over to speak to her, to tell her how much she enjoyed seeing them every day as she drove home from work. That paid off, because Grandma cut her a bouquet to take with her.

         When she died, the irises didn't get as much attention, but they continued to multiply. Dad dug some up while the house was being rented out. He planted them in his yard. Then they sold the house. So Dad and my brother dug up a lot of them. They went to different locations. Then my parents moved and they dug up irises again and brought them to this house. We still have some from the original bulbs. We only have a few colors. My brother has some in another town. The originals are gone, but their offshoots are still being admired by her family. They are one of her legacies to us.