OH—-I MISS THESE AT THE COTTAGE–WHICH WE HAD TO SELL!
There they were. As a child, I first discovered them while skipping along my maternal grandmother’s winding, weathered sidewalk path. It led to beautiful backyard gardens of assorted tulip beds and pastel petunias planted along an aging wrought iron fence. Nearly growing wild in patches abutting cool cement basement blocks under Grandma’s kitchen window, I kneeled too low for her to see me outside or underneath the sill. I’d snip off a stem or two, until before I knew….I had almost more than I could hide or carry!
Sneaking off into the back of Grandpa’s shingled garage, I’d sit in the sun, where crossing gangly legs, newborn spring rosied my face. Then, between youthful growing forefingers, I’d gingerly roll the stronger green, lifting the tiniest white bells I’d ever seen. Did they ring? A ‘twinkling’ sound couldn’t be heard, but oh, the sweet aroma wafting just below my nose! Like…
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