The Hormonal Geranium Era

Like many 16 year old girls, I was not the trophy child. I was never in trouble with the law, and I got along just fine with my Father, but my relationship with Mum was another story. In the evenings after Dad had gone to bed, and on my days off from school, Mum and I would sit side by side in the living room and watch old black and white movies together. Usually neither one of us spoke, although we were civil.

I'd come home from school around 3.30pm, do my homework and feed the family pets, then I'd be off to Dad's garden shed to select my tools for the afternoon project in the flower bed out front. Our garden was the kind which consisted of a few old stunted crepe myrtle trees which appeared to have been planted in the year 1076bc, with small tufts of fresh green grass hugging their scaled trunks, and a very poor display of burnt looking flowers at best. I don't know what first made me decide to plant Geraniums one day, but I do remember smelling them and immediately thinking of my dear old Nanna, so it made me feel better that I was remembering all of the awesome Christmas holidays with her and Poppy when the breezes came across the porch and the wafting scent of those poor, stalky little flower cuttings was in the air.

My Mum would come quietly out the door with her cup of coffee in hand and sit on the porch step in the sun, pretending to read the newspaper. Despite the fact that we'd had at least one unholy argument since I'd come home from school that day, she'd sit there for a couple of hours and I'd go on with my weeding and retrieving new cuttings for my ever expanding Geranium garden. One afternoon, after an hour or so, my Mother asked me what the scent of the Geraniums reminded me of. I looked at her and I said it reminded me of the times we'd spent with Nanny. Mum smiled and got a little glassy eyed. I looked away and said nothing more since we didn't do 'that emotional thing' together. Five minutes later Mum got up; I thought she was going back into the house, but instead she came and kneeled beside me and asked if she could help. I handed her a cutting, no words were exchanged, and we finished up and went in to dinner when Dad got home from work.

Ever since that day, and although we had a few of the usual disagreements afterward, they were never as heated. Mum and I always sat down on the porch each afternoon and drank coffee or lemonade first, we'd chat and then we gardened together. It was much more fun than we ever expressed to one another out loud, but we were both content. As the years went by we became the absolute best of friends and extremely close.

Mum passed very suddenly in 1997, and whenever I think of her I always remember my hormonal outbursts and those quaint little old Geraniums. I can actually smell them right now as I think about it. I took a small pot of them to the cemetery once, and told Mum she ought to be glad I hadn't woken in one of my 'old geranium moods' or I may have offered plastic flowers, which I know she despised but would have giggled at the gesture.

So you see, gardening for me has been very therapeutic and even though I'm not a green thumbed "horticulturist's bootlace"(except for my Geraniums, thank you)I am glad I got my hands dirty and had the chance to make some beautiful memories with my Mum.

For my beautiful Mum, Lorna
Who went to sleep on September 9th, 1997.
I love you and miss you, and P.S. the Geraniums are still growing...