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Grandmother's Green Thumb by C. A. Verstraete
The portrait hanging on the wall by the staircase used to be a mystery.
The woman in the photo, my namesake, Grandmother Esmeralda, looked old and cranky in her jet-black gown, the frothy lace trim covering her neck and arms.
What made the vintage photo so unique was that instead of being seated in a fancy chair or posed next to a parlor table, Grandmother stood with a large spindly plant in her hands.
Until recently, I'd spent many an hour trying to identify that plant. I had even shown it to a horticulturist friend who grew more excited with every phone call.
"Esme', I've been through all my books," he told me. "I even contacted a professor of botany who said he's never seen anything like it. You should've seen his eyes light up when I showed him the photo."
My friend could hunt in all the dusty old albums he wanted. No one knew that I'd found the real thing.
I stared at the small cutting from that very plant––yes, the same one my grandmother had grown more than a hundred years ago. When I'd found the dried-up twig in an old box of grandmother's belongings, I couldn't imagine why she'd saved such garbage. Then I accidentally spilled some water on it. The next day, I was shocked to find that it had sprouted leaves.
My stern old grandmother was a genius of sorts. She was president of her garden club and much admired for her green thumb. Unwilling to defy the strict societal rules for women of her time, she quenched her thirst for knowledge by growing plants. Mums, roses, lilies…she grew them all. But they were just the start.
I learned this after taking her portrait down for dusting one day. I noticed a tear in the back lining and discovered a hidden stash of newspaper clippings and pages filled with Gram's tight, precise writing.
Grandmother called the cutting, Spurges-Droseria-Sansevieria or Mother in Law's Spurge. She considered this plant her greatest success. She described the plant as a riot of color when in full bloom: long jewel-green leaves tinged with white stripes, dotted with glistening red leaf hairs.
Gram's papers helped me realize my own hidden horticultural talents. At first, the potted plant was spindly, but alive. Once I'd learned what it needed to thrive, I knew it would flourish.
The greenhouse now has a steady source of fertilizer for the row of little Spurges blooming in full, glistening color, their leaf tips bright red. Most interesting was how the cactus-like leaves puffed up once the plants received enough nutrients.
Among the newspapers, I'd found a photo of Gram's greenhouse with nearly a hundred plants surrounding eight planting beds. Gram's downfall was that she'd expanded much too fast. I planned to keep my operation much smaller.
I suspected that no one would miss the homeless man buried under the greenhouse floor.
THE END C. A. Verstraete © 2007 |
