My mom, The Bevinator, once told me that she had a “black thumb”.  Sure, she was an amazing cook, skilled accountant and dedicated wife, but when it came to keeping plants alive, she was fairly useless.  All the flora that would enter her house would usually meet an untimely demise. She claimed they were “defective”.

After years of trial and error, however, she finally found her calling. She would plant hearty, sun-worshipping flowers outside in giant pots and then dutifully ignore them. Of course, the flowers would thrive and radiate color in our backyard all summer long. The more she forgot about taking care of them, the better they would do.

Mom was big on Mother’s Day Weekend, and all she ever wanted was for me to plant flowers alongside her. As she got older, I would end up hauling all the potting soil, planting all the flowers and she would just sit in her lawn chair being bossy.  It was our thing. It was tradition. It was the floral circle of life.

And now I miss those few days more than anyone knows.

So, in my infinite wisdom, I decided to come home and plant flowers this weekend with my lovely Aunt Barb. 1) So that Dad could enjoy flower power throughout the summer and 2) to keep Mom’s Begonia Brigade alive in spirit.  Since our backyard backs up to an overgrown thicket, it’s rife with varmints. Deer, squirrels and the occasional fox would try and decimate our planting handiwork. The flowers always came back, unfazed and undaunted, from the pesky pest attacks.

Mom always planted the same flowers, rarely deviating from her tried and true varietals. She’d look at me with disdain if I’d try and introduce anything urban and trendy, like, say, a Lantana plant. (“GASP!”) She was impatient with anything other than impatiens.  This year I’m going to plant most of her favorites, but may deviate slightly from the norm. For instance, she’d always demand planting a sweet potato vine that would engulf most of the backyard. No wonder we had problems with critters.

Every time I visit a nursery I will forever be reminded of Mom painstakingly going up and down every aisle and snooping for her favorites. She’d spend hours trying to find just the right pot or pair of gloves to accessorize. For someone who had a black thumb, she certainly seemed to enjoy the entire gardening experience.

More than anything though, Mom enjoyed her quiet serenity. She’d sit on the back patio most mornings or in the early afternoon and simply enjoy her flowers.  Yes, she’d take time to stop and smell the roses … she just wouldn’t plant, prune, water or weed them after the fact. Go figure.

Miss you, Mom. Hope you like what we’ve created in your honor. Aunt Barb and I figured you’d LOVE it.