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Memories of a loved one were cultivated when I was forty one and a novice gardener. That was when I met Della Kuelke, who was a Master Gardener. One of the best things I learned from her is how gardening keeps a person humble.

At eighty something, she'd been a part of the land since a very young age. She never presented herself as any kind of an expert. Simply understood, there are infinite variables that stand in the way of knowing everything about gardening. She had hired me to help her with her heavier tasks, and eventually she became a loved one through gardening.

In her younger days, she trained in accounting, and moved to Cleveland for some time. There she got hooked on the smoking habit. After retirement, she returned home to care for her mother.

Della wasn't very nice to me. She wasn't rude or anything, but for example, she'd give me the job of digging out lilies underneath a big, gangly lilac bush. This was extremely hard on the back, not to mention scraggly little branches catching in my hair after they already knocked off my hat. My memories of her as a loved one and gardening eventually found a place in my heart, all the same.

I slogged on, too, because I also knew this woman had a lot of knowledge she could pass on to me. She agreed to let me hang around with her, as long as I did some work. She didn't pay much, and sometimes, she forgot all about paying me at all. Money comes and goes, but Della Kuelke's wisdom was priceless.

For over a century, her family occupied a piece of Northern American paradise encompassing hundreds of acres. Some was wooded, but most of it was pristine, sprawling meadow land. Our house was situated on the now adjacent acreage that was sold to my husband after Della's father died.

Usually, I'd trek through the pine tree grove, and up the hill to her house to report to work. Sometimes, I would get to visit her charming mother, ninety eight year old Maude. She too became one of those memories of a loved one and gardening.

Although riddled with arthritis, Maude stayed cheerful and congenial. She taught me some canning tricks, and shared some of her best recipes. (Zucchini relish to die for!) Maude had almost made it to the hundred year mark when she passed away.

On voting days, Della and I went together to the township hall about a mile away. Her eyesight was getting so bad, I'd have to be the driver. A very independent woman, she wouldn't let me help her with the doors, or stepping up into my van. One time, she got her little leg

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