Journeys that surround us fascinate me. It makes no difference if it's flowers, creatures, or people; each has a story. Sometimes the stories are shared.
The gardenias at Mahogany Oaks told me their story while I visited, and reminded me that they share a story with Mom and Dad.
At the urging of his brother, Dad left LSU and came to St. Louis where he met Mom. These two southern boys moved north, and both married local girls.
Mom loves flowers. She and Dad had many occasions to get dressed up in evening clothes. He'd always bring her a corsage or bouquet of some kind. I loved listening to Mom tell me about the time that Dad brought her a flower she didn't know. He'd told her it was a flower from "home"...a gardenia. Gardenias are not easily found in St. Louis. (I'd bet that men like my Dad weren't either.)
Having hunted for them in St. Louis; finding this huge shrub of gardenias at Mahogany Oaks made it even more special. If it weren't so wet, I'd have found a way to get in the very middle and just sit there. I'd close my eyes, soak up their aroma, and let the breeze brush my face and soul with their lush, white, velvet flowers. I wonder what other stories we'd conjor together?
From south to north, from bud to white that wanes to yellow; gardenias will always say Mom and Dad to me.
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