I would look out the windows at those red Kanarra Hills,and take a sniff of those geraniums on Grandma's window sills...

My cousin, Claudine, commented on the geraniums that were in the back ground of one of the pictures in my last blog. The flowers were actually a gift from my sweet husband. I told him I did not want roses on Valentine’s Day. Any other time, yes, but not when they cost and arm and a leg. So he brought me the geraniums instead. This beautiful flower has always had a soft spot in my heart. I cannot think of Grandma Davis’ house without thinking of the geraniums in her house. The window sills were lined with newspaper and geraniums in cracked clay pots. Grandma’s house didn’t have a lot of color, but those flowers were always blooming. It didn’t matter what time of the year it was. However, now, I am going to let you in a deep dark secret, but you got to promise not to tell a sole. I not only liked the flowers, but the potting soil as well. By this, I mean, I actually like to taste the dirt. I know, I know, there is something wrong with me, but don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. I have since read that people who like dirt are missing something in their diet. I think they are missing something in their head too, but who am I to say. Anyway, other people dream of their grandma’s cookies, I liked my Grandma’s dirt. There was a distinct scent to the soil. I would look out the windows at those red Kanarra Hills, take a sniff of those geraniums on Grandma’s window sills—and while nobody was looking, I would take a taste or two of the soil. I am sure some of you are ready to have me committed, but don’t be too fast to act.

LITTLE RED GERANIUM

The church that day was crowded,
it was filled clear to the brim;
the organist was playing
her favorite old hymns.

I thought how folks would miss her.
For the most of ninety years
she'd been doin' things for others,
and the thought brought me to tears.

Pretty flowers lined the altar,
but among the large bouquets
sat a little red geranium
and it looked so out of place.

I wondered how it got there
but I didn't wonder long
for the service was beginning;
first a prayer, and then a song.

Then the pastor started talking
and he left the Speaker's Stand;
he picked that scraggly plant up
and held it in his hand.

He said he went to see her
just before she passed away,
and she gave that plant to him
with instructions for this day.

She first told him a story
that he'd tell to us today,
'cause she asked him if he'd share it
just before she passed away:

Her folks came West to homestead
when she was just a girl,
And her mama got so lonely
in this strange and foreign world.

But one day a kindly neighbor
brought a red geranium.
She gave it to her mama
...and that was to begin

a long and lasting friendship;
then every year towards fall
her ma would take starts from it
and she would share them all

with others that were lonely,
or sick, or needed care;
she would take a red geranium
and leave it with them there.

She said her mama told her
it reminded her of God,
how He made us in His image
from a little clump of sod.

And with a little kindness
and a little bit of care,
plants, like His love, could multiply
and grow for us to share.

She said when she was living
in a soddy in the hills,
she always had geraniums
blooming on the big wide sills.

Red was the only color
in her drab and dingy home
reminding her that God was there
and she was not alone.

Then came those awful thirties
when the hills were parched and brown;
those pretty red geraniums
were the only things around

that seemed to keep on growing,
and how she loved them so;
and kept right on a-givin' them
to visitors when they'd go.

Then wartime came and took
her only son, so brave;
it was a red geranium
that she planted at his grave.

Now her life on earth is over,
but before she went away,
she started many little plants
to give to you today.

Just little red geraniums
descended from her mother's;
through years it's been her joy
to share with many others.

She hopes you all will take one
and you'll have it in your home;
then when you're feeling lonely
you will know you're not alone,

'cause flowers fade and wither;
seasons come and seasons end,
but your plant will live and grow
if you share it with a friend.

We all were taught a lesson
at the funeral that day:
the greatest love we can receive
is the love we give away! (c) Yvonne Hollenbeck

**A very special thank you to Yvonne for personally giving me permission to use her poem. Also the flowers are in the old separator Mama used to separate the milk from the cream after Dad milked the cow. That, however, is another story for another day.