My flower beds would be bare were it not for the beautiful irises given to me by some very important women in my life: double-blooming purple ones from Grandma Marge; statuesque white beauties from Marinan, my mother’s best friend; petite lavender blooms from Bonnie, the president of the neighborhood garden club; and bearded golden blossoms from Nana, my husband’s grandmother.
Every few years in the fall, I thin the irises out and pass on the rhizomes. These are the underground stems that send out roots and shoots when planted. This year, I’ll give some starters to a neighbor up the street who admired my flowers last spring. I’ll give a few more to a young couple I know from church who just bought a house; the iris will bloom in time to commemorate the first year in their new home. And I’ll set aside a few for my best friend, Kelly, who loves irises as much as I do.
The women who helped me start my garden have all passed away. But every spring, their generosity brings beauty to my world.
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