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"When I was a child I often saw my mother, a great plant lover, snip a piece off a friend's bush or cut a sprig off a relation's house plant."
Reading Glory Lennon's article Growing Plants from Cuttings' made me smile as I will never forget the first time I witnessed my mum's quick pincer fingers plucking a couple of inches from a plant in our local shopping center. I was just old enough to be really embarrassed! Mum didn't turn a hair; convinced that propagating her carefully selected cutting was a good thing, she popped the greenery carefully in to her handbag and took it home. There she poured water in to a jam jar, popped in the cutting and left it until it sprouted roots.

Like Glory, I remember that feeling of sheer incredulity that a tiny piece of nothing much, could find strength within itself to create new life. Mum taught me all she knew about heel cuttings, rooting compost and Baby Boo. Plant names though were quite a different kettle of fish. I only seemed to be able to absorb names like Snapdragon, Lily and Rose, those communal garden and typically English flowers. The long and complicated Latin names went straight over my head (I guess that is why I never went in to medicine).
Mum loved to look in other people's gardens; she would stop and stare, talking about a delicate plant or stunning shrub. She never minded who was looking back at her over the hedge or through the window. I wonder how old I will be when I first stand and stare like this to see how my neighbors' garden is growing?
During inclement weather Mum taught me how to grow plants and seeds indoors; she knew everything! She even had a propagator! Mum could grow' carrot and pineapple tops in a saucer of water, and cress hair on the head of a painted egg.
With each passing season we walked arm-in-arm around our gardens, chatting and admiring, planning and giggling as we recalled where that cutting had come from. When the fancy took us we dug and planted, harvested and dead-headed. Innumerable plants were transferred to my own garden; they always grew. I claim no credit for this; rather, I praise God for His wonderful creations.
In true Mum style, I passed on Mums' love of the garden to my own children. Her plants are mirrored and established in their gardens now. What a pleasure to gather arms full of shrubs (with Mum's permission), wrap them in newspaper and pile them in to the boot of our car. Often we had so many they filled the back seat too. After a long hard day of plant sharing we would have to drive with the windows wide open to avoid pollen headaches on the way home. Those days seemed to last forever; no matter how tired we were we would transplant in to the new garden immediately. This would take us well in to the night until finally we were finished. Then, with linked arms we would do a quick circuit of the garden to admire our handiwork and pray for rain.
These linked arm circuits of the garden became know as granny walks. Granny walks could be done at any pace; there were tow criteria. We had to link arms and complete a whole circuit. As Granny walks with Mum grew slower, they became more and more precious. We have walked our last granny walk together, but those memories, oh those precious irreplaceable memories live on. They live on in my garden, the gardens of my children, and they live on in my heart.
Mum taught me so much. She showed me how a simple cutting could become a magnificent shrub, and how a seed contains all it needs to become a beautiful flower. Most of all Mum showed me how to share the beauty of motherhood with my children.

Learn more about this author, Margaret Simms.
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