My Grandmother's Garden

Longo, I can see the small herb garden in the sink. Grandmothers have alway been amazing. wcw

Reminds me of my mother, who gardened and landscaped. I loved being in the backyard. And the house was filled with gardening books. Good childhood memories always seem esp. tender or magical, don't they?

How I miss ("vildapal or vild epli-Norsk- potatoes are jord-epli = earth apples like the French) the wild bitter apples that we used to find in the hedges or out in the fields of farmers and have to ask to pick them and make that red, so red jelly, sometimes mixing them with blackberries, the English bitter sweet ones. Yes the real garden has a wildness about it too, where the robin and the worm each play their part in the gardening, and Grandma bent like a right angle, dressed with an ancient apron and the old bucket and trowel, fusses about among the roses and vegetables like a flower herself, so sweet natured, so kind and so beautiful in her expressive face of wrinkles and smiles. I loved gardening and used as much time at it as I do on this site, out in all weathers in Devonshire with my old blue mackintosh, a string round my waist and boots on, there I would be listening to the birds and smelling the wonderful perfume of the earth, there is no perfume like it in the world. You have said it in your poem, the memory of grandmothers and their gardens will remain in our memories now strengthened by your poem Joe. and I had a sink, but one of stone that the horses probably drank from in past times. Your Ann of Norway.