farm signMy mother loved flowers. When I was a child her yard was her pride and joy. It was filled with flowers and shrubs.

She had no pattern of placement other than knowing which side of the house a particular species would flourish on, and whether it needed full sun, partial shade, or full shade. Her paradise was daddy's nightmare, because often the placement made it hard to mow.

In 1986 they sold the property and moved over here to the original homestead next to me. The people who bought the house brought in 14 hound dogs who promptly destroyed the 26 years of mother's labor of love.

Within a week, the yard was completely dug up, not even leaving hardly any grass to mow. Mother mourned it for the rest of her life.

How thankful we both were that we had brought starts of nearly everything over to the homestead. Now, when I walk round my yard, I can still enjoy those things my mother loved so much.

I ask the pardon of any horticulturists and master gardeners out there who may read this. I only know these flowers by the names my mother called them, and some of them may be incorrect. But they are my old friends and evoke such memories of love and joy every time I look at them.

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