Ditch Daisies

  Years and years ago, I used to love visiting my grandparents.  We had a special bond that spanned the generations.  Grandparents and grandchildren are good for each other.  It is a proven fact that older folks live longer and happier when they spend time with the grandbabies.  As a kid, I was allowed to trot down the road and then up the long lane to stay with my granddad and grandmother.  It seemed to be a magical thing and the right thing.  There was no trying to cram a year's worth of interaction in two days of visiting like it is nowadays.  Folks lived closer together and took care of each other.  Not now.  But that is a different story for a different day.  My tale, today, is of time spent with Granddaddy and Grandmother....days I will cherish always.  

  More oft than not, Granddaddy and I would wind up working in his flower gardens.  Correction!  "Grandmother's gardens"!  He always called the gardens Grandmother's Gardens even though she never planted a single seed.  He dug the gardens, planted the seeds, weeded, watered and tended each plant.  Grandmother would occasionally take her tiny snips and a huge flat, flower basket out to the gardens to pick flowers but that is as far as she got.  Granddaddy did the work...and, occasionally, I was allowed to help.  During our work time, he taught me the names of the flowers, how each loved to grow and how to appreciate each bloom as if it had opened just for me.  I am still doing what he taught.

  This morning, the sun glinted off of some bright, yellow daisy-like flowers that were blooming in the marsh.  While the bright blooms brought a smile, it was the flood of memories that stayed with me throughout the day.  "Ditch daisies!" One uncle always called the yellow blooms by this name as he was pushing his lawnmower to snip the daisies to the ground.  "Ditch daisies"...he sounded repulsed by the very sound of the name.  His mower made short work of the pretty blooms.  It always made me sad to think of the little, yellow petals being torn from the stems.  Granddaddy, on the other hand, allowed the daisies to bloom where they may.  Each year, the yard between his driveway and shed was completely filled with the bouncy flowers.  It was literally like a sea of yellow and I thought it was absolutely gorgeous.  Sometimes, I ponder if Granddaddy would let the daisies take over the yard merely to irk my uncle when he came to visit.  

  It was Granddaddy's teachings that made me appreciate the "Ditch Daisies" in my life.  Whenever I find any wild bloom, I immediately marvel at the beauty.  It matters not that others see these as weeds.  Granddaddy had made sure that I knew that "We are all weeds, until we bloom."  I am ok with being a Ditch Daisy.