Two weeks before Mary was born, I planted several hundred bulbs. It hurt.
But the pain is a distant memory, especially as we’ve enjoyed the splashes of color: first the yellow daffodils…then the purple tulips…then the yellow streaked with orange tulips…then the pinkish tulips…and now just a tiny bit of purple irises.
Recently, Katie realized that bulb plants come up year after year. “Will the people who live here after us see the tulips, Mommy?”
She, like I, thought that was neat. Next spring, some other family will be watching little plants push up through the ground and wondering what surprises await them. Even if they recognize tulip plants, they won’t know what color until it opens up and shows the world.
It was probably just a federally paid worker and not a private gardener who planted the azalea bush in the front that is finally losing its purple flowers. Same thing with the cherry or crab apple tree in the back. But it doesn’t matter who planted them or why. I just wonder if the gardener anticipated the joy his or her work would bring to me years later.
The leaves of the tree in my back yard are now pushing the flowers off. Pink gives way to the green. Bill installed a birdhouse Billy made for Scouts on that tree, and sparrows seem to have claimed it as their home. How lucky we are to be able to watch them from our dining room table as we do school.
My only disappointment, if you could call it that, has been the irises. Unusually hot weather in October caused the bulbs to grow instead of sleep. By November, they were all out of the earth and wondering why the days were not getting longer. In early spring, while tending to the beds, I pulled the dead leaves off, but left the green ones. A few weeks ago, I considered trimming them to the ground, but they just looked so hardy that I decided to wait. Sure enough, I have a few blooms and see more coming. But they are pathetic looking! The fall growth and improper dormancy caused them to be stunted. That’s okay. Next year someone else will see them in their full glory.
Reit This Way 
We leave so many pretty little things in our wake, leaving them for the women who come after us. I’ve thought all along, since we moved here, of the woman who will live here after us. I feel sorry for her because David painted the downspout and the electric meter red, but I think she’ll like the patios and the dishwasher. 🙂
IF I ever get off the Fort, I’m not leaving anything pretty like you are leaving. Why? The privatized housing folks never landscaped my yard (or anyone else’s in my circle) and I’m certainly not dumping money into it. However, I did plant planters on my porch with my girl. Those look nice . . . . even though my yard is a desert wasteland.BTW, your yard is lovely and the pictures of your flowers are beautiful. It takes a great heart to know you are planting something someone else will get to enjoy later.
It is so hard to leave the beauty we planted. Yet, we are passing that beauty on to the person who will follow and perhaps blessing that person.I loved that quote. Your flowers are beautiful. I was so excited this spring when I noticed a few daffodils coming up in back of my house. I didn’t know they were there! That is such a nice surprise.
Beautiful flowers! And, I love the idea of leaving them for those who come after us, sniff sniff.
I love your tulip colors — they look so pretty all mixed together.
The flowers are gorgeous!
A very touching post! It has given me a little boost as I was starting to get frustrated and wonder “Why should I bother with flowers since we’re leaving?” (Of course, I’d have to do something to sell the house.) But now I’ll have a little something extra to think about as I plant my last spring in this house.
My friend is PCSing to your post in a few weeks…I wonder, if we put in a good word for her, maybe she can get your house. If only it were that simple, lol. What a wonderful surprise for the next family.
What a beautiful post.
Simply lovely! 🙂
That’s sweet. 🙂