Like many young people at the time, I lived with my parents until the right man came along and married me. Everything was so new after the wedding, and I looked at my new life as an amazing adventure. We rented an apartment for the first few years, but we eventually bought our own home. I was thrilled it had a yard large enough for me to plant my very first garden, and I can still remember the excitement I felt.
We moved in during the winter, so I had plenty of time to plan my garden. It was more than just an adventure to me, and I wanted to make sure it was perfect from the start. The garden that was already there had turned into weeds, so I knew my first step would be to clean it out. I felt sorry for the plants, but I had dreamed for years of creating a peaceful garden of my own design.
As the warm weather approached, my husband remarked I was acting like a small child just before Christmas. He was correct, but I refused to admit it. Every day I would wander out the back door, pull weeds and plant the flowers and shrubs I had chosen. I did a small section every day, and I waited impatiently for everything to grow. When the entire garden was done, the plants were just pushing up through the soil.
Growing plants has always been an important hobby to me, but now it was different. I had always planted gardens for other people, and this would be my own special place. As the plants continued to grow, I shopped for ornaments and furniture. By the time the flowers were blooming, I had everything set up. That was decades ago, and now my grandchildren enjoy my garden with me.