My Dad made certain that our little yard in a post-WWII neighborhood near Detroit had the greenest lawn and the most beautiful roses. I was about seven-years-old when he gave me a Popsicle stick and an old soup can with turpentine in the bottom. I was pleased to become part of his gardening routine. My task was to knock the rose beetles, or 'chafers' gently into the soup can. I was to do it gently as to not hurt the roses, the beetles were already doomed. At the time I thought it was kind of fun, since I was tired of girly-girl chores. These days I could never intentionally lob a living thing into a toxic liquid, but that was a long time ago.

My Grandmother, Dad's mom, was also an avid gardener. I think she was the model for those wood cutouts of lady's backsides bending over in the garden. I learned a lot about gardening from her just by observing. I didn't think I'd learned that much until I started my own garden and put my knowledge into action. Many of the plants she grew were from her mother's garden and perhaps her grandmother's back in Germany.
I remember the Ribbon Grass, Sedums and English Ivy. She had a killer Trumpet Vine and I was fascinated by the large, black ants that zipped up and down the vine and inside the deep orange flowers.

When Grandma passed away, my kids were eight and ten years old. We drove from Michigan to Pittsburgh, PA for her funeral. After the service our family all went back to her house. I was told to take whatever I wanted, so I went back to the shed on the hill behind the house and got a bucket and a shovel. I dug up clumps of Ribbon Grass, Sedum, Ivy, and what I thought was a Rose of Sharron. I also took a large, heavy, white ceramic planter and an aged metal plant stand. Our car at that time was a tiny Datsun and I had to carry much of it in my lap on the way home.

My Grandmother and I used to get into trouble with my Mom because of the berry stains I'd get on my clothes from Grandma's Mulberry Tree. It turned out that the Rose of Sharon I thought I'd dug up was in actuality a Mulberry tree. I think of it as a last little private joke between Grandma and me. It's huge now and had two trunks at one time. On split off, but the other is about thirty feet tall and going strong. A fellow gardener says it's the biggest Mulberry he's ever seen. The birds love it.

Now my son and daughter have their own homes and bits of Grandma's plants. They've both moved several times, but I always have plenty of starts to share, so they always plant more. Grandmas plants were planted in all parts of Michigan and now into Tennessee. My Grandchildren are starting to follow me around the garden and ask questions about the different plants and how they grow. I'm sure that some day they too will want plants from 'Grandmas' garden.

Gardening is one of the best parts of life for me and watching my family enjoy it too is a special joy. I wonder if Grandma is watching and pleased that her beloved plants are finding good homes.

Learn more about this author, Pat Merewether.
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