The garden was my grandmother's pride and joy, more so than her own grandchildren. She took exceptional care of it: weeding, watering, fertilizing, and fussing. To this day I have no idea why she never planted anything edible, since she complained to no end about the cost of groceries.
Grandma would proudly point out the different types of flowers to me. "Those are snapdragons, those are daylillies, stay on the path, don't pull leaves off the mint." (She never used the mint for tea or anything useful--she just liked the way it smelled.)
It's ironic that the backyard flower garden she kept vigil over at number 12 Briarwood Road for 50 years was her whole life because the garden killed her, literally.
Grandma didn't drive if she could walk because she complained to no end about the cost of gasoline, so she often walked to the hardware store to buy goodies for her flower children. One morning she walked there to buy fertilizer for her precious shepherd's purses. The smallest bag the store had in stock was 50 pounds.
"We'll deliver it to your house, Mrs. Lang, for $5.00."
Did I mention Grandma was a tightwad? She didn't even walk home to get the car, but carried the 50 pound bag home in her arms, which gave her a heart attack.
From which she never recovered.
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