Bessie was the previous owner of our homestead. Now 94 and living in an assisted living center in town, she and her husband spent many happy years here raising their family. I have never met Bessie in the flesh, but I feel I've come to know her from the gifts she left behind in the form of the trees, bulbs, and flowers of every description and variety that populate the property. Every weekend we make a new discovery or two.
Lilacs, on the bush and in a porcelain enamel pitcher on my kitchen table. Their heady perfume filled the house.
Pear tree in bloom. There are several, as well as apples, cherries, and plums, all bursting forth with blossoms.
Onions coming up in field beside the house. They came up on their own, most likely from seed from a mature plant. Who knows how long they had been waiting for an errant bit of moisture?
This caught my attention when I was clearing trash out of the garden. It's a very old grape vine. The dead and brittle vines I cleared out of the fence above it spread all along the fence, so it was a prolific plant at one time. In the year the homestead had been vacant it had received no water, yet managed to hang on through the blazingly hot summer. A well-established root system and decent winter snowfall were its salvation. We planted four concord vines just last week. I wonder what type of fruit this old-timer will yield?
Bessie would know. I wish I could ask her.
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