Flowers of My Memories

   I woke this morning with a memory stuck in my head. Not unusual. Maybe my brain is it's 'clearest' then. 

  I remembered walks. Walks with my Grandmother.

  I was young, I'm sure just a knee high kids when these walks started, but they went on well into my teen years. 

 Spending time with Gramma, I was never too old. 

 On warm spring and summer days, we would walk down the long driveway, and many times down the dirt road. 

 Picking wild flowers, from Black Eyed Susan's that grew wild along the Wisconsin roadside to Queen Ann's Lace and Daisy's. Just to name a few!  Everything seemed to be a flower with Gramma. And...the me.

  We'd walk down the roads and she would tell me about her child hood, and her teaching days, and her life as a farmers wife. 

 She loved the farm. 

  I loved the farm. 

I would get on my blue 'Huffy' and ride that bike to her house, a seven mile ride, and a pleasant one. 

 Except for one small stretch. 

 There was a dog. That dog, I knew, would be on my 'fender' or worse, the minute he spotted me, and oh that dog could run. 

 About a quarter mile before that house, on a gravel rode, top that off with a sharp corner and up hill, this was no small feat, but that was when I gripped those handle bars until my knuckles turned white, gritted my teeth and peddled that one speed bike like no girl has ever peddled before. (I'm sure of that, I am.) 

I was terrified of that (probably really nice) 'evil killer' dog. 

 I would peddle until my legs hurt, get close to that house and, there he came, barking and ready, (I was sure) to take my legs off. I was going at the speed of, well, about as fast as a 'Huffy' one speed, can go.  I usually managed to keep him just at my heel, and when I rounded that sharp corner on the usually loose gravel I'd say a quick prayer: 'God please don't let me 'wipe out' on this corner'.  (He must have been listening. )

 I rounded the corner, and I stood and peddled harder. I had to make it up that hill and get away from the Killer Dog. 

 I always did, and at the top is where Killer turned around and went home. His work done apparently! 

 The rest of the ride was very pleasant. Long hills to coast down, beautiful scenery of the hilly Wisconsin Country side, the Drift-less Region. Blessed to have lived there I am. 

And I would arrive at my Grandparents, a quick left turn into their long drive way, and I'd coast until I got to the house.

  A quick swing on the long rope like branches of the biggest Willow tree I've seen to date, and into the house for a warm hug, a huge smile and a glass of lemon aid. 

  If it was the right time of the year, there would be fresh strawberries, to eat, and to pick. I always enjoyed picked berries with my grandfather. He had a 'pick yourself' patch and it attracted many. He had us kids pick as well, to sell to those who didn't want to crouch in the dirt, have the occasional toad jump out at them, and were sometimes just too elderly to do it.   

   My Grandpa:  'Linda, ya eat more than ya pick?"

   "Why do you think that Grampa?" 

  " Mirror''.  

Always just 'mirror'. And yes, my face was covered in red strawberry 'juice' and yes, I did eat more than I picked. Resist a fist size juicy berry? Not a chance. 

He didn't care. 

 Strawberries, milk and sugar would be our reward later, as if we hadn't already eaten our fill! 

 Then those walks. Chicory was one of my Gramma's favorites. She would always tell me stories of her walking to school to teach and how she would pick a 'bouquet' every day, her one room school always had a vase of fresh flowers. 

 The daisy's and the Queen Ann's Lace held a special magic. 

I was sure my Grandmother was the only one who knew this magical 'secret'. 

A little food coloring in the water in an old mason jar, and the flowers would suck up the water, turning the color she had added. 

It is such a small thing, but such a large, impacting memory.  

Queen Ann's Lace and Chicory don't grow on the roadsides in Barron County where I reside on my one acre of the earth. 

 I am fixing that problem however, the Chicory seeds arrived, and the Queen Ann's lace are on the way. 

Black Eye's Susan seeds or plants, are always stocked at the local nurseries, though they do grow wild here.  They were my father's favorite. A few years ago I planted some in his little flower garden, hoping for a great result the next summer. He gazed at them with a thoughtful look on his face. Always wondered what was going through his mind.  

   He never made it to that next summer. On this day, a few years ago, the day before his birthday, he passed.

  He left to go be with my Mom in the Heaven's.  I often wonder if the flowers still bloom in his garden.  

  I often thing of the walks on the dusty roads with Gramma and the time in the strawberry fields with Grampa.

  My mom loved the Queen Ann's Lace, though wild violets were of her favorites. I had planted those too, before her passing. 

 I think I should order some violet seeds today. It may only be February, but spring will come soon enough (well not really soon ENOUGH) and my garden will host the Flowers Of My Memories. 

Save a place for ya'll. I 'll see you again.