My mother died seventeen years ago. It is not only her family who remember her. Friends and neighbours remember her too. One thing they remember is her garden. Close to the street, she had a bed of freesias. Every spring, anyone who walked past her house could smell the beautiful perfume of these white spring flowers.
When my mother died, we had to sell her house. But family and friends took freesia bulbs to remember her by. There were 1000s of bulbs so the people who bought her house did not lose her famous freesias.
I didn’t live in NZ then. My sister saved freesia bulbs for me. She gave them to me when I came back to live in NZ.
The freesias did not do well in my garden. Every year the green leaves would come out of the ground, but there were no flowers. This year is different.
This year I have some beautiful perfumed freesias. I cut some and put them in a vase in the entrance hall. Today I went to visit my childhood friend. Seventeen years ago, she took freesia bulbs from my mother’s house.
She had some freesias in a vase in her house. We drank coffee and laughed. But for a moment we talked about freesias and we remembered my mother.
By Patricia @ I Talk You Talk Press