By: Lydia Monroe
In a moment that felt almost surreal, my grandmother handed me a crumpled envelope one day, saying, “Here, take your seeds.” As I opened the envelope, I recognized her distinctive handwriting that read “Hollyhocks.” It filled me with warmth. I had almost forgotten that I had requested these seeds of the tall plants adorned with bright, crepe-paper petals that used to flourish in her garden. They were heirlooms, carried from one generation to the next since my grandmother’s youth when she had planted her first batch alongside my grandpa decades ago.
“I’ll save some seeds for you,” she had promised. True to her word, she had delivered.
I intended to plant them that spring, envisioning a vibrant display along the bare siding of my home. However, life’s distractions led to the envelope being relegated to the depths of my kitchen junk drawer—an untouched promise of potential.
During a routine phone call one autumn morning, our conversation drifted to flowers—a topic I always cherished discussing with Grandma. Her wealth of knowledge on gardening, sewing, and cooking was unparalleled. Despite her limited education, her wisdom in self-sufficient living was remarkable.
“I didn’t get around to planting those hollyhock seeds,” I confessed, feeling a pang of regret. “Looks like I’ll have to wait until next spring.”
“Nonsense!” she replied with her comforting Southern drawl. “Just plant them now! They’ll sprout when the weather warms up.” Although I was doubtful, I decided to trust her instincts. Later that day, I prepared the soil and scattered the seeds, covering them lightly with dirt, half-expecting failure.
As winter passed, the ground remained barren, despite the vibrant blooms springing up all around the neighborhood. My attempts to nurture Grandma’s seeds seemed fruitless.
Tragedy struck when Grandma passed away suddenly that spring. Her absence left a profound void in my life. I struggled through the painful months that followed, feeling lost without her guidance. I had not only lost a beloved family member but also a mentor who had promised to help me grow the hollyhocks.
Yet, a month after her death, I noticed something surprising: delicate sprouts emerging from the ground. It felt almost miraculous. My hollyhocks were thriving, driven perhaps by my grandmother’s spirit. Though they bore no flowers that summer, the sight of those green shoots brought me immense joy.
As spring arrived the following year, the hollyhocks had matured, boasting sturdy stalks and lush leaves. One day, while returning home from errands, I caught a glimpse of something pink among the green. Rushing out of the car, I discovered all my hollyhocks were blooming—delicate blossoms of various shades, reminiscent of my grandmother’s own garden.
What made this moment even more special was the timing: the flowers bloomed on Grandma’s birthday. She would have turned 87 that day.
I no longer doubted that she was watching over me, ensuring that her legacy continued to bring beauty into the world. Thank you for the guidance, Grandma.
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