Mama was a published poet. My sister has been typing her poems over the past year and is up to 350 and there are many more.
There were several of my mother’s friends from her garden club who came to her memorial service. One of them told me, “Your mama didn’t plant or garden much at this point in her life, but she could still write and so we asked her to make us some little poems to go on signs in our community garden project.”
Before I left town to go home, I tracked down their project on a vacant lot.
In raised beds, the ladies are producing winter vegetables. Each seemed to have a sponsor.
As a gardener, I couldn’t agree with you more, Mama.