My Daddy's Flower Garden

My Dad celebrated his 61st birthday this month.  So instead of the usual movie, fruit basket (which I can tell you is one of his favs), or dress shirt...we made him a book.  Can I tell you that this was about the most fun I've had in a while?  Which might tell you how utterly sad and predictable my existence is presently...which might need to be addressed in another blog post or possibly therapy.


Mom is a very talented photographer and over the years has taken pictures of one of Dad's true loves...his flower gardens.  Yes...gardensssss. When the man does something he does something big. At one point he could have charged admission for a "look see" and would have gotten away with it.  So Mom sent me a disc of pictures and I uploaded them to Walgreens and made Dad a book of some of the favorites for his birthday. It was a hit. At least as best as we could tell. My daddy is very reserved. As was his daddy. Those crazy Wilsons.


I wrote a little something for the beginning and then filled the book with flowers and snippets of classic poetry about flowers.  Here are a few of my favorites, plus what I wrote in honor of my Daddy's 61st Birthday.

It must be something one loves. To grow things. The farm boy grows the things that can sustain his family. Potatoes, melons and corn.  He grows, too, things that will sustain the soul.  Beautiful flowers. They delight the senses and remind us of God’s great love for us.   What great patience it takes to grow a flower garden.   Bulbs that show no hint of their future glory are placed in the ground when the fall air starts to nip noses and toes. They lie dormant under the frozen winter soil.  Waiting for the first hints of spring.  Sassy Daffodils make their entrance first.  All through the spring and summer, old friends and new bloom in exciting forms and colors.  Exotic blooms like calla lilies take their place next to the old-fashioned peonies.  The farm boy, who now has grown into a man, patiently cares for his beauties.  He spends sunny summer afternoons among his flowers. Naming each one to his grandchildren. So maybe when they are grown and have a patch of dirt all their own. They, too, might plant a flower.