Glad for Glads

As much as my dad was a country boy, he had no time or patience for flowers.  He grew fruits and vegetables; in his eyes, flowers had no practical purpose.  And Dad was nothing if not practical.

My mom, on the other hand, LOVED flowers.  Born and raised in Michigan, Mom had a Midwesterner’s appreciation of the start of spring, and the blooming of all that grew.   Mom was a girly girl like me, and loved getting bouquets on Mother’s Day and Easter.  She didn’t necessarily want to actually grow flowers, as she wasn’t much of an outdoor girl, but she loved getting them.  She did, however, grow a few.  In addition to a couple of rose bushes, a gardenia bush (or is it a shrub; I can never remember), and carnations, she also grew gladiolus every year. 

Mom’s gladioli were remarkable for their height.  She used to send photos of herself next to her glads to her relatives in Michigan.  The relatives were astonished that some of the gladioli were taller than Mom, who was 5’2”.  Here’s one of those photos:

 This one was taken in 1973.  Yes, we did have a pink house.

I was at Osh today to buy some paint, and I happened to pass by a display of bulbs.  The gladiolus caught my eye, because, like Mom, I just love them.   To some, gladioli are too big, too showy and much too gaudy.  But for me, a girl who, after all, loves her bling, there’s no such thing as too showy.  And, they remind me of Mom, whom I miss terribly.

Aren't the colors just gorgeous? I can’t wait for these to bloom this summer.