Guilty as charged. (I’m also raising my hand, you just can’t see it.)
My father loved gardening--a trait I inherited. But I liked a variety of flowers. I love annuals for their non-stop season of blooming. I love perennials for their variety. But I avoided roses. Why you ask?
Because that is all my father grew in his garden. I could have overdosed on their scent wafting in from the back yard!
Now three things in my life are making me confess: I wish I had listened.
The first is the fact that I moved to Nevada. Have you ever tried to start a garden in the desert? Well let me tell you, that although it isn’t impossible, it’s hard work. In Ohio, I just jammed a plant in the ground and it grew. Such is not the case in Ohio. But I did find that roses grow amazingly well here.
The second is my current work in process, a story called One Last Miracle. An elderly woman, who is trying to “arrange” a romance for her grandson, hires a companion to live with her—a woman she feels is a good match for her grandson. The elderly woman has a rose garden with which the heroine helps her tend.
The third is a change in my website and blog to be more “gardened centered” . . . more news of that later.
Now it’s time to dig into my roots (excuse the pun), and relearn what my father tried to teach me long ago.
Your turn: Have you ever looked back and said, “I wish I had listened?”