Grandmother sent her sons into a world beyond her walls. She told them to go to lands far away and tell her what they saw. The sons knew the mother loved plant, flower and fruit. She never told them in as many words, but the sons knew.
When she was young, she would walk on meandering lanes collecting seeds, saplings, bulbs or stems. Wherever her fingers touched, a tree would spring from the soil and soar into the skies. It would unfurl green fronds and deck itself with coconuts. She would touch the smooth trunk and send men up to harvest the fruit. The tree was only eager to give, year after year, for it was a tree born of love.
The sons saw and the sons knew.
One went to an island and got her beautiful tropical plants. They grew verdant and tall and sprouted forth flowers in shameless colours – rich pink, red or a fiery orange. It was carnival in her garden.
The other got her fruit trees. Sapodilla, custard apple, lemon, guava and mango trees sprawled in her garden. She will pluck indiscriminately when her grandchildren come one day.
She herself planted chillies and okra and eggplant and spinach. Her kitchen was always full, always rich.
Grandmother is a concerned gardener. She will water, she will feed and she will nurture. And her sons will remember.
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