Although the weather has been a bit unpredictable, overall the temperatures have been warm and welcoming.  After a bit of a cool, wet spring, the end of the season has allowed things to dry out.  The grass is growing, the trees are green, and the underbrush in the woods surrounding the house has grown up and become a bustle of activity with squirrels, rabbits, and chipmunks (to the delight of the barn cats). 

I have spent most of the past few days in the dirt.  Literally.  For me, working in the dirt is a labor of love.

I went to Mum’s for an afternoon of work in her flowerbeds. 

Hold on.  I need to provide some perspective.

I have flowerbeds.  Yesterday, I went around the house to each area, pulled the unwanted weeds, trimmed the edges, and clipped the straggling or dead branches from some of the perennials.  I tamed the overgrowth of mint, and pulled the clematis back on to the trellis so it could continue its upward growth.  After dumping the remains on the compost heap, I went to the vegetable garden.  I took a hoe and gently scratched the hardened soil around the plant bases.  Finally, I pulled the hose out to water the two hanging baskets on the front porch, and finally, gave the vegetable plants a good drink.

Completing all of the tasks took me about two hours.

Now, back to Mum’s house. 

She has flowerbeds.  She has BIG flowerbeds.  She has MANY flowerbeds.  I spent almost three hours working… on ONE flowerbed.  And I only completed about two-thirds of the task! 

Mum has been working the beds a few days a week, and in about another week, they will be glorious.  The beds are well-established plants and they are absolutely beautiful in bloom.  I will head back to her place one or two more times to tackle that big flowerbed, and summer can officially begin. 

The soil at Mum’s house is dark and rich.  When I was crawling amongst the plants, removing the weeds intruding on the flowers and shrubs, I took time to really look at the dirt in my hands.  I had a flash back to the day I was leaving home for my first day of college.  My father called me to meet him outside.  He took a small plastic bottle out to the front flowerbed.  He bent down, and filled the small bottle with dirt.  He replaced the cap and handed the bottle to me.  He looked into my eyes as he said:

“Don’t ever forget where you came from.”

I still have that bottle of dirt.  Dad, I will never forget.