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I was a sad soul. I had graduated college and had moved back in with my parents. I hadn't found "the" job that would make the best use of my (expensive) degree and my passions. I was working part time at a design firm and I wasn't very happy about it. My dating relationship was floundering. It was a rough time all around.

On a Thursday afternoon, my mom called me at work to tell me she was going to the seed store that evening and asked me if I would like to join her. I rolled my eyes at the thought of going to a seed store with my mom but looking at my empty social calendar, I agreed. I knew I needed to get out of the house.

On the way over to the store, my mom told me all about the "salsa garden" she was going to plant. Tomatoes, onions, peppers...multiple varieties of each. She was going to have beautiful vegetables that would in turn make amazing salsa.

She asked me what I wanted. I shrugged, poking my fingers through the bulbs and seeds, looking for something to speak to me. She pointed me in the direction of gladiolas, knowing me well enough to know that I wasn't much for delayed gratification. Gladiolas have a very fast growing period and I was assured that I would have flowers within a few weeks. Still moping, I picked out ones that had my favorite colors, red and yellow, and my mom purchased them for me.

Over the weekend, she planted her vegetables and told me I could put my glads anywhere I wanted. I decided they would look nice by the edge of the garden, kind of as a fence to the rest. So I got on my knees and dug into the dirt. As I spaced them apart and alternated the colors, I found myself losing my sense of self pity. I was dirty and it was hot but my fingers were in the cool dirt. And I was working with my mom. She and I have had to work hard at our now wonderful relationship and for her to take time to help me pick out the right bulbs and give me a space to plant them meant a lot to me.

My mom finished before me and went inside to make lunch. I looked up and saw her watching me through the window above the sink. She smiled at me and I kept digging. Finally, my bulbs were planted and I went in to join her for a summer lunch.

Over the summer, most of the glads grew in. We lost a few to weather and to rabbits but they stood tall and bright. I learned about having to stake them so there tall stalks wouldn't topple when the wind came up. And I learned about choosing peppers and onions from the salsa garden. But I was particularly proud of my gladiolas. I brought the cuttings into work to brighten up my dull office space. They really made me smile.

About a year ago, my mom and I were once again in her garden. Ten years had passed since I was the sad girl planting bulbs. I've gone through a marriage and a divorce and am now happily remarried. I've had several jobs, some that I loved and some that I didn't, as well as the passing of friends and family. I am not that sad 22 year old girl anymore but she is still a part of me.

As I plucked tomatoes, my mom asked if I remembered the summer that I planted the gladiolas. I told her that I did. She told me that she watched me throught that window and started talking to me, knowing I couldn't hear her. She told me that live would make sense soon and that growing is always tough. She talked to the gladiolas and told them to grow for me, so I could see my own growth reprented in them. Until that moment, I hadn't ever been able to articulate why those glads were so important to me. But at that moment, the amazing power of a garden growing made all the sense to me in the world.

Learn more about this author, Kris Olds.
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