Happy Mother’s Day, Mum

No matter where we lived, our mum always managed to have a garden.

Before our family emigrated to Canada, there was the Cotswold farmhouse with its massive vegetable plot and borders of old fashioned hollyhocks, wallflowers, poppies and snapdragons — which form some of my earliest memories. Cowslips and dandelions from surrounding fields were gathered to make wine.

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In Canada, even when we lived in an apartment above a store, the roof was commandeered to grow scarlet runner beans, or marigolds, geraniums and petunias in pots. Indoors, there’d be something grow

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ing on a bright windowsill; tomato seedli

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ngs or a pothos, or a sweet potato rooting in a vase. Later, after we’d left home, she had a small house on a large lot, and the veggies re

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appeared. She’d bring us huge bouquets of multihued China asters, or ripe tomatoes still smelling of sunshine.

Our mum passed away too soon 21 years ago, when she was about the age I am now. Today, Sarah and I made our yearly pilgrimage to Humber Nurseries in her honour. Happy Mother’s Day, Mum. We think you’d like the hosta we picked for you. It’s called, ‘Remember Me.’

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