My friend Sylvia and I go way back. Over 40 years ago, we both moved into the same small town two houses away from each other. Our friendship has lasted all these decades—through birthdays, graduations, weddings, grandchildren, retirement, broken bones, and replaced joints. Near our little houses was a small lake. We’ve circled that lake with strollers, bikes with baby seats, scooters, skates, bikes with training wheels, bikes with no training wheels, and finally just the two of us, walking together.
We always liked flowers in our yards and had our favorite bulbs and perennials that we traded. When we each moved into our new larger homes in newer neighborhoods, we moved our flower treasures with us.
I had some Shasta daisies that Sylvia liked. I shared, and through the years, my daisies gradually died out, almost unnoticed, while hers flourished. She told me to take some of hers. I picked seven tiny little plants and planted them in my flower garden. She liked Stokes asters, so I brought her some of mine.
Recently, I went by my friend’s house for our weekly bike ride and commented that her Stokes asters were growing nicely. She nodded proudly. I went on to tell her that my daisies were also happily growing. Her face fell.
“Oh no, what happened,” I asked?
“The yard guy,” she said. “Yesterday he weed-ate all of my daisies.” She was heartbroken.
“Don’t worry,” I assured her. “I’ll circle some back to you.”
By Rebecca Sellers of Madison, FL.