Love grows on

Let me tell you the story of a strawberry plant.

This little transplant is the sole inhabitant of my west garden bed. It was introduced about two weeks ago, after a visit to Mike's Grandma Johnson. She is the most upbeat, adorable, sweet ninety-five year-old I know (don't mind that I don't know very many). Unfortunately she is sick from liver failure, but during our visit her concern was only for us. She knows how much Maddie loves to eat the strawberries in her back yard, so she insisted we bring some plants home with us.

This is Maddie a year ago, with strawberry juice dripping between her fingers in Grandma's back yard. Grandpa Andrews had a hard time keeping up with her demand for the juicy morsels.

{Grandma Johnson with her newest great-grand-daughter Ella}

It's amazing how love can live on through plants. Just as we will always think of Grandma Johnson when we eat strawberries, I will always think of my Grandma Jensen when I see the ivy on my parents house.

{My Grandma Jensen, holding me (blue) and my twin sister Dana}

When I was 12 years old, my mom helped me transplant some ivy slips from my Grandma to our house for a summer 4-H project. What began as tiny little plants now cover the entire east side of the house and try to sneak in through the roof and garage (in fact, my dad is getting tired of it invading and threatens to get rid of it!). It was my first official gardening experience, although my love for all things green began much earlier. My mom always named the wildflowers on hikes, picked bouquets of tulips and peonies from her beds in the spring, and grew gorgeous roses all summer long. Let's just say she planted a seed... and on it grows.