Sunday, 2 September 2012

Gardenias (02 SEP 2012)

It was three weeks ago when I visited my Mum to help out and have Sunday lunch as usual. In the afternoon, I inspected the flower-basket which I had assembled, quietly satisfied that the petunias which had sparked the idea originally were filling out, though the extra flowering plants which we had bought at the nursery had faded. Rather annoyingly, my mother had poked in an inappropriately salmon-pink geranium at the back, to make her mark probably. I tried to find an angle to take a photo without the misfit showing.



Checking the photo in the camera screen, I saw in the blurry distance some white roses against a camellia bush, almost but not quite my fantasy plant ...

(Fantasy Plant #3 : Gardenias for their dense, pure whiteness, dark shiny leaves and fragrant scent which I have only ever imagined   http://www.thegardeningblog.co.za/gardening/gardenias-101/)


My attention switched from the petunias to the roses instantly. Maybe I could take a photo which gave the impression that the white roses and the camellia leaves belonged to the same plant ... a pretty, pale pink hollyhock which I hadn't noticed before was surplus to requirements in this case.  It was lovely nevertheless, the flowers lower down on the stalk had cut-outs in the petals which looked as though they had been removed by a giant hole-punch. They reminded me of holes shown by bloggers complaining of damage done by leaf-cutting bees sourcing materials for their nests.


I had read about bees that do the same with flower petals but weren't they only found in exotic places like Turkey ?

What were the chances that a bee would actually approach the hollyhock, as I stood there with a camera in my hand, distracted from first the petunias then the white roses ?


My mother was asking me what I was doing, staring at her flower-bed. I asked her why she had planted a geranium in the flower basket. Neither question was answered.

I don't think she knew exactly what a blog is. It was just one thing that didn't need to be announced proudly to the family and all of her friends. She called it my "work", though she knew it wasn't really. Sometimes she would point out a flowery scene and say : "Why don't you take a photo of that for your work?"

The next day she suffered a stroke which she didn't recover from.
The worst week of our lives so far followed then she died at the end of it.

God bless you Mum
 
 
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