Zinnias

I planted flowers this past weekend -- on Mother's Day. That was my "gift" from hubby. Lots of flowers for the bed on the side of the house. I wanted to have flowers that I can cut and bring in for a splash of color.

I don't think I can ever recall my father buying flowers for my mother. Instead he grew them. My father, a farmer, would spend his time off taking care of the yard, a small vegetable garden and flowers. My dad always planted Zinnias. Lots of them every summer in the flower beds around our house. As a little girl, I loved to pick the flowers and bring them into the house to put in a vase in the middle of the dining room table. We always had fresh flowers.

My husband reminds me a little of my dad. He's not a farmer. He's an accountant. But he might have grown up to be a farmer if when he was five years old, his dad hadn't died. His parents sold the farm and moved into town shortly before my husband's father died. He knew he was dying.

But my husband, the accountant, likes to grow things. He's the designated plant keeper in our house. I manage to kill indoor plants.

But buoyed by the resurgence of mums I planted last fall -- I can't believe they're coming back since shortly after I planted them the blooms fell off and the leaves turned brown no matter how much I watered or gave them plant food. But they're back. So my husband is indulging me and letting me try my hand at gardening. I have a whole flower bed to call my own.

I planted zinnias.