Asters and school go hand in hand for me and brought me my love of flowers. When I was a little girl growing up in Lake Tahoe, my mother was Post Master of the tiny Post Office in the little resort area called Camp Richardson. When I started school, I used to wait for the bus to come up Highway 89, standing in front of the Post Office where my mother would watch from the window.
Old Mrs. Richardson, had a large house across the highway from the Post Office and along side of her house, her wizened old gardener named Joe, grew row after row of flowers as cutting gardens to supply the house with fresh flowers every day. In the fall, the Asters were a riot of color. Every other morning, without fail, Old Joe would slowly walk across the highway with a large bouquet of those asters, wrapped carefully in newspaper. He would smile at me and hand me the flowers and tell me that they were for me to give to my teacher. The bus driver always called me "The Flower Girl".
Every summer I plant Asters, for Joe. He was one of those mysteries that life bring to our door. He was an old cowboy, he walked bent and had very bowed legs. He always wore blue jeans, a plaid shirt and a stained, well worn cream colored cowboy hat. He drove a beat up old truck with dings and rust - the kind with the painted pointy grill in the front. And Joe disappeared one day. They found his truck in the Nevada desert - I don't know if they ever located what happened to him - those things were whispered about around children. I liked old Joe a lot. I had a big imagination and he liked that about me. We spent many an afternoon in the garden chatting about all kinds of things. Hey Joe! Your flowers are blooming.....come and see....
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| Baby flower and veggie plants that I started from seeds |
