This is a short story,I wrote in dedication to my grandmother’s spirit.It is about finding my artistic self,through her love for gardening.
(Above:Painting by Monet,Monet’s Garden)
I could write about how I completely redesigned and installed my mothers garden for her as mother’s day gift and how much satisfaction it gave me to do that for her, I could write about gardening with my daughter and the time we shared in the garden together and what a wonderful feeling it was to have shared that time together, I could write about how I voluntarily designed a convents garden spending many hours creating numerous gardens for them and how it felt to do something for the nuns and God but today I am not going to write about any of that,today I’m going to write about my grandmother and how she passed her love for gardening on to me.
As a child I remember following my grandmother everywhere, she was always in her garden’s and was always getting me to help her,thinking back I realize a child really is not that much help in a garden,however;she made me feel as though I was helping,regardless of what I was doing. I loved every second of it because I got to spend time with my wonderful Grammy.
By the time I was six I knew what every kind of edible berry was and how to pick them properly. By eight, she taught me all about plants ,how to prune trees, and by then I was even helping her make strawberry jam, strawberries I had picked fresh out of her garden. She always thanked me for my help and I felt loved and appreciated by her so it gave me all the more incentive to try and please her, to try and help her.
At nine years old I remember she came up with an idea about how to retain moisture in her flower beds so they wouldn’t require as much water. “Moss”, she said, “I need moss.”
Happily I agreed to help her to get some. I have to admit it was a lot of hard work but armful after armful we trudged to the woods, picking moss where ever we could find it. We worked for many hours and after we finally had enough, and trust me there were piles and piles of it, she gave me my first independence as a gardener and said, “Now show me what you can do.”
She wanted me to place the moss as I saw fit and showing her trust in me,she turned and went into the house,allowing me to do it my way. I sweat it out for hours,covered in dirt,thirsty and hungry but I refused to go inside until I had placed the last piece, wanting to make it perfect.
It became rather addictive,the more I placed, the more enjoyed doing it, liking it what I saw. It was as though I was creating a painting,like those in the lovely books I read, and with each piece the painting became more vivid and beautiful. I was now the artist, adding my own vision to this painting, making it even more beautiful. I had found my artistic self that day and from that day I knew the real meaning of having a love for gardening because she had opened up a whole new side of it to me, the artistic side.
From that point on, as each year passed I avidly helped her with her gardens learning all that I could until she became too ill to do it any longer. I remained faithful, always trying to help her as much as I could so that she could still enjoy them.
Years later, I sat contemplating the fact that even though my grandmother had passed away, she gave to me something I could never forget, something that allows me to remember her each and everyday, her artistic spirit.
More Short stories By Mystify
The Keepers (Part 4 The Final Chapter)
Saving The Innocence: Possession
Copyright © 2007 Tanya Kime-Wallace
You are blessed with 2 gifts. From your late grandma, the skill of gardening and also writing. Keep this up.. 
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