Because Mom loved her gardens, we donated the funds sent in tribute after her death to the charitable foundation of the nursing home, to be used by the groundskeeper for the garden area he had long envisioned.  It turned into a much bigger project than we had thought because the groundskeeper was able to apply for a larger grant using Mom's tribute as seed money.  Our donation also inspired other families of residents to contribute.  Within a year this serene outdoor space was created and has been a gathering spot not only for families but for planned activities for the residents.

Mom and I shared an enjoyment of gardens and gardening.  It is one of the most essential of characteristics of my mother as I remember her. A city girl and military wife, gardens really were not as intrinsic to her life as they seem in my mind.  Nor was the knack for growing things a native talent. She herself would joke about her "black thumb". Yet the spring ritual persisted:  early season drives to the farmers markets and nurseries, hunting down the implements and supplies stored away last year, turning the soil, placing the plants or seeds.  Many a sprout failed or faded, but never did her hopes and dreams. 

It wasn't until my father retired from the military that she began her puttering in the yard. A yard that would not need to be abandoned for the next military assignment, one that would persist longer than the 2 years of our typical residency. It takes time to establish roots. With time to experiment, she eventually met her dream plants in azaleas and zinnias. They had the stamina to bloom ebulliently among the mite infested and withered specimens of other varieties that made their annual rotations. Later still, she accessorized her garden with statues and pinwheels and hummingbird feeders. For 32 years, she nurtured beauty and serenity and a determined optimism that all would turn out right in its own season.