I still hold a place in my heart for that house, despite the toil, expense and even painful memories that it brings back. That house held so much joy… and so much grief as I recall sitting in numb silence at the kitchen counter after hanging up the phone, hearing of their passing, one by one, to that great garden in the sky. There was the joyous time with family, the bonding of friendships, the connection between neighbors, and way too many stories about being awoken by the flutter of bat wings in the middle of the night than I care to tell.Īnd then there are memories of those whose footsteps would never again be heard creaking atop the old maple wood floors, like that of my dad who spent countless hours helping paint the old cedar shake siding, my father-in-law defeating everyone at cribbage after a Thanksgiving meal, and my husband’s mom laughing at a family gathering. In that time, many hostas were acquired and many memories made, both joyful and incredibly painful. Needless, to say, it was fifteen years before we finally put it on the market. Like many young, eager couples, my husband and I had a dream of fixing it up in a couple years and selling it for a huge profit so we could purchase the home we really wanted. It lived up to the challenge with its warped floors, outdated kitchen and knob and tube wiring. Our first home was over 100 years old and was purchased as a fixer-upper. For years, I didn’t know what variety of hosta that first one was, but later learned it was called ‘Ventricosa,’ one of the few hostas that will come true from seed. I added ‘Drinking Gourd’ with its blue corrugated leaves, and the massive ‘Elegans,’ later acquiring the stunning variegated ‘Great Expectations’ and ‘Paul’s Glory.’ Hostas began to grow on me, both literally and figuratively, and before I knew it, I had more than 50 varieties. Back in the day, the only shade perennials available were hostas, so I started looking for those that offered more than the plain old green kind I had. As my interest in gardening grew, and the sunny spots surrounding my house were filled, I realized my only option was to venture into the shadows and plant shade-loving plants. With the old home came old trees that towered fifty feet or more into the sky and cast shadows over much of the rest of the property. To describe that hosta, I would say, “It’s green.” The big lanky leaves of that mystery hosta didn’t seem to compare with those delicate blooms. Nestled between a concrete walkway and the fieldstone foundation were tiger lilies, spiderwort, coneflowers, creeping phlox and a smattering of annual poppies that seemed to find their place in the cracks of our sidewalk. Our first home as a young couple didn’t have much in the way of gardens, but the previous owner did make some attempts in the small strip of soil that bordered the outside of our home.
“It’s just a bunch of leaves,” I thought. Back in the early days of my marriage I didn’t even know what a hosta was, and to be honest, they didn’t seem very impressive to me.