My Floral History

Left my two grandmothers are pictured. Anna Pettit is on the far left, and Anna Nitzke is on the right. They are inspecting peonies, and rightfully could serve as master gardeners. Anna Pettit raised her flowers along the three sided fence in her back yard. Rose and pink peonies lined the south side, and daisies and delphiniums lined the back fence. In the middle of the yard was a oblong gold fish pond filled with bright orange fish. (My brothers and I really enjoyed feeding those fish, especially when they resided in grandmother's basement during the cold Iowa winters.)
My father's mother, Anna Nizke, was an important mentor in so many ways. She was an incredible baker and cook, a fisherman, quilter and needlework artist. Our souls clicked on so many levels. We fished together, she showed me how to can, and included me on her needlework days. Her life had a plan. Laundry Day was early Monday morning. Tuesday was gardening day, and Wednesday was baking day. All of this work was performed before this granddaughter got out of bed unless I made an effort to bike the four blocks to grandmothers on an early summer morning. Afternoons were for fishing, needlework, or calling on friends.
The following poem comes from Grandmother's gardening advice.

Deadheading

This morning as I
groom my flower patch,
I feel grandmother looking
over my shoulder. Anna,
my grandmother who died
in 1979 at the age of 98.
She counsels me often,
but this morning I remember
her lecture on deadheading
when I was about ten.
As we strolled through the peonies
and rose bushes in her backyard,
she surgically removed suckers,
and shaped the rose bushes
slicing above the buds on
five leaflet stems. “Your flowers
will be bigger and your bush
healthier,” she said.
Snipping dead yellow cone
flowers, she admonished, “If
you want blooms, you must
clean out the flowers that have
passed.” That lesson worked
on the poppies, delphiniums,
and the asters. but grandmother
remains my most gorgeous flower.