What Great Grandma's Peonies Preached

Hazel Bleeker, how can I thank you? My mother's mother's mother. I still remember you. How could I forget? A kind, quiet farmer's wife, you were the first adult to treat me as an adult. As a seven year old little girl, you poured coffee for me when mom and I came to visit. More milk than coffee to be sure. That's beside the point.

With that simple act of intention you spoke volumes. You said, "I see you. You matter. You're one of us."

"You're one of us. You're one of us who came over on the boat from the Netherlands. You're one of us who till the earth and bring forth goodness from it. You're one of us who know life will throw its curve balls and you'll be stronger for it. You're one of us who comes from a long line of simple, hard working folk. You belong. There is strength behind you, beside you and before you. I promise."

Little did you know that those peonies you planted and tended and treasured would become your daughter's, and her daughter's, and now mine. Divided, multiplied, thriving. Bursting with fragrance and the quiet secret that goodness and beauty trickle down through the generations because of you.

These peony roots of yours came to me by means of family tragedy. A dying, a rebirth, a moving on. I accepted them from Mom with gratitude and humility and tucked them in the ground three Springs ago. I planted them with baby visions and dreams of starting my own flower farm. And now, here we are.

It has taken those three years for them to establish themselves and now, OH MY. They are stunning, abundant, and so inspiring! So much more than I ever thought they would be.

Grandma Great of Mine, did you know when you put those bare roots in the ground that three generations later we would still be arising and calling you blessed? When Dementia took over your mind and you forgot who we were, did your heart know we would not forget you? Did you know the beauty would remain and the darkness would flee?

And so. Your peonies have preached to me. And I am taking their sermon to heart.

If it were a good three point sermon, it would go something like this:

Point 1: When you plant beauty, expect bounty. Maybe not in this life time, but most certainly in the generations to come and into eternity.

Point 2: The little things are the big things. Hands in the dirt, faithful watering, weed pulling (literally and figuratively) produce big results beyond what we could imagine.

Point 3: Never underestimate the power of respecting and inspiring little ones. They remember.

Thank you, Great Grandma Bleeker. I raise my steaming coffee cup to your memory. Hope there are fields and fields of peonies in Heaven. Love you!