The memories of my fathers' parents are so woven into the fabric of my life, that to try to separate them would be an impossible task. The telling of this story is the telling of my childhood. For I grew up under the tutelage of loving grandparents in a beautiful garden.

I was born into a Greek family. Maybe that explains the love my family members have for all things growing. Greeks are very connected to the soil of the land they have fought and died for through many generations.

George and Rita Marmaras immigrated to the United States and soon bought a home on Rose Street. I always imagined that they chose that street because of the name. As far back as I can remember, I spent almost every afternoon trailing my grandparents around their vast property. My grandmother or Yiayia in Greek, was responsible for all the flower and herb gardens. That was no small task, as she had many large gardens. My grandfather or Papou, was in command of the vegetable gardens, fruit trees, grape arbor and the chickens. When I reflect back now, I see my grandparents property as a botanical paradise and the place where I felt the most loved and secure.

My Yiayi would only converse with me in Greek. She was adamant that I kept the language even after learning English. We would carefully walk through the herb gardens bending and weeding while Yiayia told me the name of each herb and its' medicinal usage.

"Yazmou (spearmint) is used for an upset stomach, and it's one of the seasonings used in a lamb marinade."

"What's this one used for Yiayia?"

"Chamomile is also used for an upset stomach and to prolong life."

We would spend an hour or so doing this and then move onto the flower beds. She would point out a flower and give me its' name in Greek. I remember when she pointed to a beautiful plant with little red hearts hanging in clusters from it.

"What's that plant with the little hearts Yiayia?"

"That is a Bleeding Heart plant."

"Is there really blood in those hearts?"

"No, and don't go squeezing them when I'm not looking either!" She admonished me with a chuckle as she knew I was her heart child's daughter, and the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree.

Of course later on when she wasn't looking, that is exactly what I did! I can remember being disappointed when no blood came out.

I have so many wonderful memories of picking and eating cherries, pears, peaches with really fuzzy skins, grapes and apples. Yiayia would tell me when they were ripe enough to eat. I used to pick honeysuckle

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