For those of you that have been to it, you know that my father's garden is spectacular. The word passionate can barely start to describe the way my dad, whose name happens to be Basil (pronounced baa-sil not bay-sil), feels about the various plots of green space that exist around our home in Pittsburgh, PA. Living in a city doesn't give him too much land to work with but man oh man does he do his land well. Think of all the flowers you love...roses, hydrangea, zinnias, bleeding hearts, tulips, lilies. Well, if they grow in Western Pennsylvania, my dad has 'em.
I remember once asking him once why he doesn't grow veggies, like tomatoes, lettuce, or chard. Having left the nest, I have realized that there are few things I love less than growing my own food. His response..."If there was enough space to grow all the flowers I love, I'd do it. But there isn't and honestly, I keep falling in love with more flowers."
Really, who can deny the power of love?
AND...for those of you that have been inside my parents house you also know, that as good as my father is at growing those flowers, my mom is just as good, if not better, at arranging them. We always said that if she ever found her self out of work she could make millions arranging flowers at the florist and wrapping Christmas presents at Macy's. If it was December, I'd be talking about different shades and pattern of ribbon, but today I choose the flowers.
So, on this Easter Sunday...away from my parents incredible talents, the beautiful garden that bursting in all of its spring time glory, and my home that is wafting fresh aromas of gardenias and lilies in every room- I propose a toast. To bring the cut flowers into our bedrooms, just as we bring our tomatoes into our salads. And savor ever sniff...