In the beginnings of our nuclear family, when it was just Jack & Jean & Jaki Jean & baby Janet (& not so far after Janet, baby John) we lived in a rent house across the street from my father’s parents.
My grandfather, Papa, was dying of
ALS, Lou Gering’s disease. When he was
well & strong, he used to take me to watch the planes take off at Love
Field. Ironic, because eventually my
grandparents’ house on Wylie Drive became a part of Love Field, a runway.
But when we lived there, it was a cul
de sac. And in the circular part of the
street, my grandmother planted bulbs.
And the cul de sac bloomed.
Among those bulbs were Spider Lilies.
During the days before my grandfather
could no longer walk, he gardened. He
had a greenhouse & started plants from seeds in flats. Among the flats, to the side, was a sandbox
where I played.
My grandmother worked for a garden
shop & was also an avid gardener. We
were destined, we children of Jack & Jean, to like gardening & growing
things – farmers on our mother’s side, gardeners on our father’s.
When we moved from Wylie drive to
Morningstar Lane, my mother Jean took Spider Lily bulbs with her & planted
them in her flower beds.
When we moved from Morningstar Lane to
De Leon Street in El Paso, Jean took Spider Lily bulbs with us & planted
them in her flower beds.
When we moved from De Leon & El
Paso, Jean dug up those bulbs & brought them to Dorrance Lane.
Over the years, Spider Lily bulbs have
spontaneously appeared in various places in Jack & Jean’s yard.
Earlier this year, a bulb appeared
& I planted it next to basil in a pot with tomatoes
.
And a remnant of the bulbs Jean
carried with her & planted for over forty years bloomed.
Of course Jean planted more than just
bulbs in her flower beds.
She planted faith & joy &
wonder & curiosity & desire & family in each of us.
Her Spider Lily bloom reminds me of
those cultivations.
