This is a Mother’s Day story about bluets and all those other “things” that aren’t really “things.” I don’t want fancy or expensive presents as an expression of my daughters’ love on Mother’s Day. I want my daughters to be kind, compassionate, courageous, caring, and joyful human beings and to spend time with me when they can. Because in the end, as this story demonstrates, it really is the simple things that are remembered all these many years later. I bet many others would agree with this. (Originally posted April 19, 2017.)
Of all the flowers in my garden, these sweet bluets (Houstonia caerulea) rank way up on my favorites list. There’s a reason for this simple spring ephemeral’s prominent place in my garden and heart. When my youngest daughter was about seven years old, she went down to the little stream by our house and dug a clump of these to give me for Mother’s Day. I saw her trudging up the trail carrying a cumbersome red bucket, arms pulled down by the weight of it, skinny legs struggling step by step. She didn’t know I was watching, but I was that mother that always watched as her children thought they played freely outside. I wanted them to know the freedom of a feral childhood like I had experienced, but I also wanted them to be safe, this was a different time and place.
But, I digress.
She made her way…
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