But when my grandmother left that house, she took some of her daylillies with her. And later, when my grandmother moved to my mother's home, my mother transplanted some of those daylillies to her flowerbed.
Last spring (2009), Mom gave some to me. I'd admired them in her garden, the variegated leaves a living green fountain. I built a raised bed for my generation of daylillies in sight of my bedroom window.
The daylillies didn't bloom, and I put that down to shock. Last summer was torrid, an epic of drought and heat. The daylillies looked puny. Then the foliage failed in November. My raised bed was a patch of bare ground. I didn't tell Mother.
This spring, soft green leaves emerged from the soil. I finally told Mom about the death, and the resurrection. She laughed. If I'd told her last fall, I wouldn't have spent the winter thinking I was a daylilly failure.
All of that time and effort and worry and I'd never even seen the flowers. Until today.
I knew that planting living history was good. I didn't know it would be so beautiful.
Copyright 2009-2010 Kathleen Scott ,for Hill Country Mysteries. Unauthorized reproduction is prohibited.