Blame my addiction to all things growing on my parents. My Mom's green thumb prevailed indoors, where houseplants thrived in planters my Dad built. Now ninety, Mom still tends to her indoor garden, as babies propagate in windowsill vases. Dad's territory, the great outdoors, was always abloom with gorgeous varieties of shrubbery, ranging from the tropical (in NY!) to the proven. Several years ago, we stopped at the Old Homestead in Massapequa and were given the tour of our lakeside yard. I had not been there in decades, prior to this visit. I was astounded to see my Dad's original plantings, growing side-by-side with all the offspring he had started. It was quite an emotional experience, needless to say. I treasure my own yard residents that were given life by my Dad, many moons ago. When I share them, it is always with the reminder to keep his loving memory alive and well. Yes,
"... the wise man he knows what it's really about..."
So, now, it's time to decide what to do with the last of the flowering plants from this past summer... those still residing on my portico. They are hardy, that's for sure. We've had freezing temps on more than one occasion. I've already transplanted many happy campers, bringing them indoors to winter over. Still, the geranium and miniature mandevilla plants haunt me; I don't think I can let them freeze. Okay, move over, Joe... time to make room...
