Fran's Garden

Every morning, as I would head into town, Fran would be putting on her gloves to spend a few hours with her friends the plants. She had a green thumb, and green fingers to go with it. The front garden was mainly flowers and herbs, and the side garden was flowers and vegetables. I knew that when she died, I would have a hard time doing what she did with the plants.
And indeed, I have. However, she took such good care of them, and listened to each one as it told her where it would grow best, and how it would return year after year, there really was not a lot for me to do, or at least not a lot that I could do to undo all of her work.
So a few weeks ago I talked to Paolo, and he talked to one of his contadini, and the man came over for a day of working in the gardens, getting rid of all of the weeds, and giving room to the plants that Fran loved to care for. And I have been paid back in spades. The flowers are coming out more and more, and the three types of lavender Fran had planted, each a different size, each with slightly different colored leaves, look beautiful.

Indeed, even Bridgette, who loved Fran and loved Fran's garden, had to admit that the garden did not look too bad, and while it was certainly not up to Fran's standards, it was making it as some sort of memorial to her. . . a memorial I can look at and learn from each morning as I sit on the terrace sipping my morning coffee, listening to Lidue sing his little canary brains out.