Tina Hillel wrote:Good sentimental or bad? 😀
Dustin Rhodes wrote:Geraniums - Dusty Miller (Artemisia stelleriana) - My grandma always pointed it out by name when I was young, so I thought she just named the bush in her garden after me - and now I grow it in her memory instead
Stacy Witscher wrote:Blackberries - we had them trellised alongside the back fence of my childhood home. I would spend hours out there picking and eating, it was rare any made it inside.
Bryant RedHawk wrote:For me this one is a toughie, I remember when I was four, helping my grandparents plant their garden (2 acres) I was put in charge of planting cantaloupe, watermelon, crook neck yellow squash, pole beans, bush beans, acorn squash and cucumbers.
I also remember "I like Ike" but that's another tale that tells how old I am. Now that I'm strolling along memories lane I come to my most favorite memory, planting a new strawberry patch, I got to pick out some of the varieties that went into that patch so, yeah that is a very fond memory.
Sonja Draven wrote:On the other hand, I won't try cabbage. We always ended up with moths and worms in them. We would run all over chasing the moths with racquets to kill them. That was sort of fun though ..
Tyler Ludens wrote:I am growing Roses in memory of my grandmother who grew them. I have a Bearded Iris that I treasure because it was given me by our nice neighbor across the street when my husband and I lived in Van Nuys, CA. I call this Iris "Logan" after the neighbor, actor Logan Ramsey.
Nicole Alderman wrote:I have two:
As a kid I LOVED picking these. My neighbors and I once spent hours picking the little red berries to make into juice. Having no idea how to make juice, we mashed the berries up and added water...and then sugar...and then more sugar. It really wasn't that great, as it was pulpy (we didn't know to strain it!), but I still remember holding that little cup of "juice" and drinking it next to the garage sink that we used to fill up our cups).
As a I grew older, I became a connoisseur of huckleberries. There were probably 12 different bushes on our property, and they all tasted differently. Some were tiny (half the size of a pencil eraser) and seedy. Others were three times the size, less seedy, juicy and sweet. I would ponder whether it was the sunlight, or the stumps they were growing on that changed their flavor. Knowing more about plant breeding, I'm thinking it was probably largely inherited traits, and there was just a TON of diversity on my property!
About two weeks after I met my now-husband, he came up to me with a little bunch of purple hydrangea flowers. He said, "You know a lot about plants--can you identify these for me?" I said, "These are hydrangeas. They're usually blue and my mom has some growing in her garden"....and then I handed the flowers back to him (because, clearly, no one would ever give me flowers for any reason other than to ID them and hand them back). He replied, "They're for you." The poor gears in my brain had NO IDEA what to do about that, so I gave the oh-so-elequant reposnce of, "Oh." and put them on the nearby table.
Of course, I saved the flowers, but he thought I didn't like him and so stopped coming to church where we met. Thankfully, he came back a year latter, and we started hanging out and then dating, and the rest--as they say--is history. We of course had hydrangeas as our wedding flowers, and every 5 years we buy a new hydrangea bush to plant in our garden. I look forward to so many hydrangea bushes that I don't even know where to plant them!
James Landreth wrote:When I was a teenager (not so long ago) a family that fostered me grew goumi berries. They’re special to me because that was a very special summer for me, and a lot of the people that were in my life then aren’t in it any longer. Rhubarb and swiss chard were grown by a neighbor during that time, as well as nasturtiums, so I always think fondly on those too.
Tereza Okava wrote:every gardenia reminds me of my mother, who had a giant gardenia that had belonged to her mother (who died young and I only met once that I remember). The gardenia has since shuffled off this mortal coil but I now have my own, and I often take pics of the flowers and send them to my mother.
My other grandmother had mulberry trees in her urban yard and used to constantly curse them out for the pink bird poop that got all over everything. The trees were cut down in the late 80s and now that neighborhood in the greater NYC area has no trees whatsoever. But where I live I have a giant mulberry in the property next door that gives me fruit every year, and I just planted three small trees of my own for when that tree goes (it has a parasitic vine and the owners don't care for it, so it won't be around too much longer). I eat a lot of mulberries, and always think of my Gram (who would never have DREAMED of eating mulberries, she was a TV dinner kind of city slicker and anything "from outside" was only good for throwing away).
Emilie McVey wrote:My father planted eight pink roses and what became a huge pink oleander bush and pink crepe myrtles and a pink redbud tree at the pink house he built for our family because my mother's favorite color was pink. The one rose that I particularly think of when I think of my mother and father was a climbing rose, dark red and incredibly fragrant. I think it was called Don Juan. My father planted that one for my mother and for him, because beneath his bluff exterior he was a romantic, and crazy about my mother. Someday I want to have a Don Juan in my garden to daily remember them and their love for each other.