4. Language of Flowers

Childhood summers echo throughout our lives, leaving an imprint of how our fresh eyes viewed the world.  Whether your memories are sweet or salty, they are formative and require revisiting as the years go by, as you continue to re-evaluate who you are.  My grandmother, we called her Mimi, would give my parents a much-needed break and take my sister and I for the month of July.  She rented a little log cabin in the Adirondacks, in a place called Minerva.  Although Minerva was a Warrior-Goddess, known for her strategic wisdom in the battle for justice, she was also a patron of handicrafts, which seems more applicable to my summer memories, although my sister would tell a different story.

Walking up the dirt road from the cabin took you through a long stretch of dark, tall pines.   At the top of the hill the forest ended, giving way to a vast meadow, bathed in sunlight and full of wildflowers.  There were tall stems of milkweed, pods cracked open, inviting the monarchs to land.  Daisies and brown-eyed susans swayed in the breeze.  Chicory lined the edge of the dirt road and if you looked for dots of fire close to the ground you would find a little flower called devil’s paint brush.  I carry this meadow in my mind to this day, my fresh eyed view of happiness.

Mimi loved to pick wildflowers.  She would press them dry in heavy books and then brush them onto note cards with a simple mix of water and Elmer’s Glue. Each flower had a meaning, a message to convey with a mere image.  A red clover for industry, the daffodil for chivalry, a petunia says never despair.    Daisies are for participation, the columbine for folly and a crowd of crocus for joyful laughter.  My summers were filled, learning the language of the flowers, and I have carried their wisdom with me through the years.

Mimi was not always a happy person.  She had a hard life with loss and hardship at an early age.  She could be cranky and mean at times, knowing that life could be cruel, and we would need strength of spirit to survive it.  Those summers she gave us were meant to fortify us for hard times ahead and they did.  When my life was at its rockiest point I had a dream.   I was in a rickety little plane, flying through a dark and turbulent storm, battered about by the winds, and questioning my ability to survive.  Then, in dreamlike fashion, I dropped through the window and plunked down into a cushioned chair at cabin #3 in Minerva.  Mimi was there in a checkered apron, making us teddy-bear pancakes on the griddle. There was a little vase of violets on the table, faith in flower form.  I woke up and knew that I would be alright.

Growing Tips:  Nature has created an ever-flowing fountain of flowers, their colors and forms infinitely stunning and miraculous.  Get up close and study their beauty.  Seek out the scents that speak to you and listen to the stories that flowers tell.  Emerson said the earth laughs in flowers, so join in the laughter.