I am called to the garden by recollections of the first ladies who influenced me.
Someone once asked me why I’m so drawn to the garden. I paused… and realized the answer wasn’t just about flowers. It was about memory, connection, and the women who quietly shaped me.
I am called to the garden — to the connection with the past, to this exact moment of calm beauty, and to the possibilities of growth. It soothes my soul and gives me peace.
All of this was quietly taught to me in my youth by ladies who took the time for a young child. Because of them, I carry wonderful memories of time spent in the garden—these beautiful-soul women who shared their love and knowledge of flowers, gardens, and friendship.
I’ll share a few of those memories…(warning, the story is a bit long but has loving memories and a few heartfelt ponderings).
My Grandmothers, my first influencers…
My Grandmother Lucille
When I was a child, my grandparents had extensive vegetable gardens with raspberry bushes, grapevines, and apple trees. When I visited, I would run through the rows to grab a cherry tomato, a handful of raspberries, or an apple—rubbing the dirt on my t-shirt before taking a bite.
The tomato would be warm and burst in my mouth. I can still remember the taste.
And I can still see my grandmother walking through the rows with her hoe, smiling and saying,
“You’re supposed to eat a bushel of dirt in your lifetime.”
Grandmother, Lucille, especially loved pansies—their painted faces bringing her such joy. Oh, the smile she’d have looking at all the colors of faces as she planted them around the big tree by the side porch. Every year, I still plant a few and think of her.
Another flower shared between both of my grandmothers was the peonies. They had received “slips” from their mother’s gardens, and when I purchased my first home, they each gave me divisions of theirs. Those peonies in shades of pink, fuchsia, and white have moved with me to every home since, and I’ve passed them on as well.
There is something deeply comforting about watching them bloom—feeling the ties across generations.
A little note ~ If you haven’t noticed yet, I am sentimental about peonies too ~ wink.
My Grandmother Elma
My other grandmother, Elma, worked at a small-town hospital. She took great pride in her perennial border between the house and barn.
At some point during every visit, she would always take you out to see what was blooming.
One of her favorites was Sweet Williams (Dianthus barbatus). She would cut them and share bouquets with others at the hospital. To this day, when I catch their soft, clove-like scent in a garden, I’m taken right back to her—walking gently among her flowers after she got home from work.
The other Beautiful-Soul Ladies…
My ‘Great-Aunt’ Agnes, who lived across the street
She lived across the street, and whenever I ran over, her kitchen window would be cracked open to let in the scent of lilacs.
She’d hand me a knife and a hammer and send me out to “go cut” bouquets.
Her instructions were simple:
“The only time to prune a lilac is when it is blooming—so go cut armfuls for the neighbors and the church.”
I didn’t understand “last year’s growth” at the time, but she was planting something deeper.
And yes… the hammer?
She taught me to gently pound the stems so they could drink water.
Looking back, I smile—who hands a child a knife and says, “Go cut”? But I never did get hurt. She knew what she was doing. Besides, I loved standing in that hedge with the aroma of lilacs and the buzz of bees.
Side note:
Her lilac hedge was carefully curated—early to late bloomers, white to deep purple—so she could enjoy an extended season of her favorite flower.
Mrs. Jensen, who lived next door…
Lastly, the other gardener who showed me patience when I was young was our dear next-door neighbor, Mrs. Jensen, who gardened in her day dress, apron, sensible heels—and rain rubbers if needed. Her hair always tidy.
Each spring, she carefully pruned her treasured ‘7-Sister’ climbing rose. At the base of the trellis were primroses in shades of plum and gold that bloomed so faithfully on May 1 in Michigan, she called them “Mayflowers.”
She always paused her work to speak with me, as if time slowed down in the garden.
Years later, she gave me some of those same “Mayflowers” for my high school graduation. I took a few of those plants with me to my first home. Now, they bloom in April here in Kentucky—but I still call them ‘Mrs. Jensen’s Mayflowers”.
How they shared their joy…
Through the catalogs & places visited…
These women also shared their love of learning.
Catalogs would arrive in the mail, and they would sit and page through them—admiring new colorful shades of gladiolus, the “dish-plate” size of dahlia blooms, and the latest variety of roses.
They took me to places that deepened that love:
- The Ionia County fair flower show, with gladiolus fanned out in large wicker baskets
- The Greenville Flower Club’s floral design exhibit every summer
- Specialty herb gardens tucked away on winding dirt roads
One of my favorite memories is visiting the International Rose Test Garden in Portland, Oregon, with my grandmother, Elma. She was 88, and I was 40. We came home and ordered the roses we had seen together.
A priceless memory.
Through shared bouquets, lessons were learned…
So often, I would come home with a bouquet—stems wrapped in damp cloth, tucked into a mason jar with just a bit of water.
Looking back, I see their quiet smiles, their gentle way of teaching.
They showed me:
- the beauty of giving
- the patience of growing
- the joy of sharing
Please take a moment to inspire someone younger with something you love.
Or spend time with someone older who has something to share.
They taught me the meaning of “to each one, teach one.”
Why I Am Called to the Garden
This is my answer to that question.
I am called to the garden because of these women who came before me.
I feel them there still—in the quiet, in the blooms, in the tending—gently guiding me.
And now, I find myself wanting to pass that on.
These days, this way of living—of noticing, remembering, and tending—is what I call loving the ordinary.
It’s not about having a perfect garden, but about being present in the one you’re in.
A Few Lessons That Stayed With Me
- Vegetables plucked straight from the garden have outstanding flavor, and a little dirt is okay.
- Pansies have faces—it takes a pause to see them.
- Peonies and lilacs need to be sheared and shared so they can grow stronger, both for the plants and for friendship.
- A scent can carry you back to a moment in time.
- There is outstanding beauty in flowers wrapped in a damp cloth in a mason jar with a titch of water.
- Sharing ‘slips’ of plants can connect generations.
- We are never too young or too old to explore new ideas, places, and plants.
- Each of us has the power to inspire a child by taking a moment.
- Life is beautifully richer when we cultivate friendships across generations.
If this stirred something in you, I’d love for you to stay close.
You can explore more seasonal reflections through the Loving the Ordinary eBook series or join me in the monthly rhythm of the Curated Life Journal.
Or simply leave a note below and share your own garden story—I would truly love to hear it. Sending you flowers and warm wishes, Bobbi
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