I am not much of a gardener, even though I really want to be. Last year I was given a peony by a good friend. I was very touched as she recalled my love for them and my memory of my grandmother having them just outside her back door.
As much as I was touched, I was a tad concerned. I wanted to take good care of this thoughtful gift and given my track record, it’s livelihood was in jeopardy.
I planted it and crossed my fingers. I was instructed by trusted gardening friends to cut it back, way back, when winter set in.
And when someone announced that their peonies were already breaking through the ground and mine weren’t even making an attempt, I got worried.
So, I was relieved yesterday when I found my sweet little peony poking through, standing tall and proud. . . almost as proud as its owner.