My Grandma Bert had the most amazing garden. Flowers of every size and description adorned her yard. Whenever I paid her a visit, she was always outside tending to her flowerbed. . She seemed to be at peace there, in the garden. She stroked each flower lovingly and smiled with delight if she noticed that one had grown a little taller.

"Flowers are like children," she said. "If you take good care of them when they are young, feed them properly and keep the harmful elements away, they will grow to be healthy and beautiful. Look at my roses. You can tell they are feeling good today. See how bright their colors are? Oh look, one of them has a new offspring," she cried, while gently caressing a new bud. "Rosie is very fertile." I watched her stroke a single petal of the vibrant red rose. "You can tell how proud she is. Her bloom is much fuller today."

She was silent for a moment and then spoke to me in a whisper. "Don't tell anyone, but I come out here early every morning, and talk to my flowers. If I see one drooping, I give it a little pep talk. Like Iris over there. She's not doing so well, and I don't know why. She may be lonely. I think I'll plant some other irises next to her. Maybe that will cheer her up."

I smiled and told her I wished that I had a garden like hers.

She thought for a moment "If I give you some of my flowers, will you promise to take care of them?" She looked very serious when she spoke and I knew that if I accepted, I would have to promise to take extra special care of them. After I agreed that I would try to give them the tender loving care she always did, I watched her pick up her garden shears and begin to take some cuttings.

"Now watch carefully what I'm doing. This has to be done just right or you'll kill the flowers." With deft hands, she cut some shoots off some of the plants. She held them in her arms gently, much like a mother holding a newborn baby, and brought them to me. She grinned and told me it was like giving away some of her children, but it would be okay because I was family.

"I don't think Rosie will mind if I give you some of her babies," she said. " I told her you were my granddaughter, and that you'll be good to them. Now listen carefully. When you get home, you must put these in water and wait until they sprout roots. Then, after they have sprouted, you can plant them in your yard. But remember, you'll have to wait until they sprout roots, or else they won't survive."

I could see the love in her eyes as she gazed at her flowers.

The next year I looked on with pride at my new garden. All the young seedlings that grandma gave me were now full-grown flowers. They seemed to love their new home. Every time I looked at each flower, I could see my grandma's face beaming proudly. She had given me a part of herself. Who could ask for a better gift?  
 

I was born and raised in a small town in the midwest. After my third child was born, we moved to Indiana. We lived there for eight years before moving to a suburb of Houston, Texas. It was quite a change used to the hot weather and the high humidity, but we like it here. Three of my children, and their families, live nearby. Two of my children live elsewhere.

I have been writing now for three years, and have been published numerous times on the Internet. One of my short stories will be appearing in Chocolate For The Young Woman's Soul 2 book, due out next April, and two of my stories are being considered by the folks at Chicken Soup. Besides holding a position as assistant editor on the Rose and Thorn, I have a staff position in the Amazing Instant Novelist Area of AOL.

I hope you enjoy reading this story about my grandmother, as much as I enjoyed writing it. She was a delightful person, whom I dearly loved.