My Mother's Garden Diary

When my mother downsized to a small apartment, I found a stack of her garden diaries going back to 1983. Every spring for thirty-six years, she'd written down what she planted, when it bloomed, and how she felt about it.

"April 12: The tulips came up! Peter helped, mostly with the dirt." Peter is me. I was four. "July 3: Too much rain. Tomatoes are sulking." "Sept 18: Picked the last zinnias. Gave a bunch to Mrs. Lowry."

There are little drawings in the margins, pressed flowers, a crayon scribble that is clearly my contribution.

I've started my own garden diary this year. My first entry: "May 2: Planted the same tulips Mom did. My daughter helped, mostly with the dirt." I called my mother and read it to her. She was quiet for a second and then said, "Oh, honey. Now you know." I do.