Grandma’s flowers

The story of a happy childhood

Here’s a challenge: if I would ask you to name a place that’s equivalent to the freedom to you, what would it be?

An ironic question in times when we have just entered the second year of pandemic, we are still in lockdown, and we can talk about anything but freedom, right?

However, pandemic or not, I have a place where I find a unique type of freedom — and it’s not far away, it’s not a fancy resort, nor it is an exotic vacation destination. It is a place where all my childhood memories live and whenever I cross this place’s threshold, a very specific feeling of peace makes its way into my heart: it’s my grandma’s home.

Here, the wind blows differently, the sun shines brighter, and the flowers smell stronger. It’s the place where the feelings find their authenticity again and where the imagination is allowed to bring back some lost magic — just like during childhood.

Childhood — such a magical word itself. When I see this yard and this garden, I feel so grateful for all the beautiful memories I’ve created and was allowed by my parents and grandparents to create when I was a child. Why allowed? Because it was okay for me to run freely here, without someone standing constantly behind my back to stop me because I might get hurt, or I might catch a cold or anything. I was free to play with the cats and animals that were living here at my grandma’s place, I was allowed to sing, to pretend that the garden is a supermarket, or to make a doll out of a zucchini — that was REALLY fun. I was responsible to pick up the eggs laid by my grandma’s chickens without my mom worrying that I’ll break them, and I was giving corn to the chickens, and when all of them were gathered in one place, I was singing to them pretending I have a concert. I was 80% of the day outside and during the 20% spent in the house, I was wishing that I would be out.

I’m so grateful that I have the memories of an amazing childhood, away from screens and too many and hard to solve homework, and that my parents were not too restrictive and overprotecting because that wouldn’t have allowed me to make all these precious memories. I was making huge castles of sand, I was playing around in the rain, and I was cooking all kinds of recipes made of flowers, vegetables, and soil. Who cared my clothes were getting dirty when I had the time of my life doing all these things?

The gates might be rusted from place to place now, but they are always open, the walls might need some serious care, but they are still fighting to stand tall, even if no one lives there anymore, and the bench on which my grandparents used to spend their evenings might be more and more degraded. However, all of the above are holding, just like a sacred chest, my childhood memories that are more alive than ever.

But the flowers, let’s go back to the flowers for a moment. Flowers are always bringing me back memories of my grandmothers. Both loved them so much and took such great care of their flowers. One of my grandmas was always bringing me bouquets of spring flowers right after the warm sunshine hit them and made them bloom. Flowers and coffees were her things and they will always remember me of her.

When it comes to the other grandma, the one who used to live here, she left this place more than 5 years ago, because of age and health issues. However, her spring flowers kept growing and blooming faithfully, year after year. Actually, it feels like every year they are more and more colorful, rich, and beautiful, as they are trying to impress or show how grateful they are for all the care she was giving to them during the time she was living at home. It is so impressive how in the garden of an abandoned house, the flowers are still blooming, no matter if someone sees and admires them or not. Even though my grandma is not able anymore to come and see them, we are bringing her every spring bouquets of flowers from her garden so she can enjoy their smell and beauty.

Some places deserve to hold on to, to see their deeper meaning and to cherish that. Because people might come and go, but some doors will always remain open, no matter how many years are passing their threshold, and no matter how many generations will enter, live, and go. And when it comes to the door of a grandma, always find time to open it and a smile to offer, because you will never know when will be the last gladiola flower you receive from her.