My stepmom has had prize flower gardens in three counties. In February of 22’ she told me she wanted to put a flower bed around the front of my house because “it’s so bare and bachelorfied.”
I told her I’d be more than happy to let her beautify my landscape but that I had no interest at all in planting anything I couldn’t fry in grease or sop with cornbread. She just rolled her eyes and made plans to bury half my yard in begonias and something that sounded like “hot buscuits.” But in less than thirty days she was dead. A rose cut too soon.
Two weeks ago I told my dad that I was going to plant a flowerbed in memory of Sonya.
“When?”
“I aim to start Tuesday. I’m going to go get some dirt and pick out a few flowers Monday evening and set to work sometime Tuesday.”
“Gonna be a lot of work around your place. Half of what you’ll be digging up will be brick and concrete”
“I think it’ll be worth it.”
“Gonna be a lot of work,” he said again.
But around noon on Tuesday he showed up with a truckload of tools and trailer full of plants.
“Too much for one fella to do,” he said. “And I knowed you wadn’t gonna have nearly enough plants. I have Hostas here that no one else had around here.”
And we set to work.
It’s taken nearly two weeks due to inclement weather and the fact that our backs are both a mess but we finally got Sonya a flowerbed planted.
Dad misses her something fierce. And I think this was good for him too. He has no real hobbies. He doesn’t care to watch movies or go to restaurants. So I’ve learned that the best way to spend time with him is to think of a project we can do together. Then let him fuss at me the whole time. He seems to really enjoy that part.
I hope the flowers turn out, Sonya. Sure wish you were here to help us with them.
Best conversations between the men in my family, including me and my son, occur when we are working together on a project. Second best is while driving. Seems we need a distraction of some sort to provide space for intimacy.
My backyard plantings keep me busy.