My parents kill anything that is green. It’s not their fault though. Apparently the horticulture gene skips a generation in our family.
My grandpa had three loves in his life: his family, motorcycles, and gardening. Both of my grandparents passed away when I was little, but I still remember their backyard. Every Easter the yard was full of tulips, and it’d be bursting with color all summer long. Grandpa had a large cold frame for his vegetables and bedding plants.
Red Salvia from Grandpa’s garden
Grandpa would come to our house every summer and fix up our landscape with the same three flowers every year: red salvia, yellow-orange marigolds, and dusty miller. They would be the only plants I’d be able to identify before taking horticulture in high school. And even though they are not the most striking or most interesting plants that you’d find in a garden, they hold a very dear place in my heart.
Matching socks! And I do not know why they made me sit on that stool.
Today I worked hard around the yard, filling in our landscape with impatiens and coleus, snapdragons and pansies. I divided our hostas, created my own flowering containers and hanging baskets, and prepped some seeds for the vegetable garden. I love the purple, silver, and pink-accented theme of our front garden; the yellow, blue, and purple scheme by the back entry.
But I saved one special place by the garage for red salvia, yellow-orange marigolds, and dusty miller.
