Whenever my mother-in-law would come to visit us, she would hug the people, go to the bathroom, get a glass of water (which would still be half full when she left), and then, “How about a garden walk?”

It was always in that order of priority. And always, without fail, at every visit, the plants would be greeted. She was a large reason that I got to know the land where we live, and how I became aware of the cycles of the plants. With very few words, she taught me what the plants liked or disliked, how to make them happier, which ones she favored, and how to move things around to make the best color palettes. 

When I teach I go back and forth between rapidly dispensing facts and taking pauses for people to demonstrate their knowledge and discuss what they learned. 

Martha’s teaching style seemed to center around listening. It’s much more intuitive, and she would sometimes demonstrate or direct, but she did not hover or overcorrect. I think because she knew plants are hard to kill, she’d let me learn things by just rolling with it. 

This morning there was a bite in the air, but I wanted to be outside, and I knew despite the fact that the landscape is still mostly brown and that barely-past-yellow shade of green, there would be some interesting things to see if I stopped to look, so I took a turn around the house. 

My first stop was the hellebore, dug from the front of Martha’s house last fall. I was nervous it would die because I planted it too late, but sure enough there it was this morning. It’s a shade lover with dark wine colored petals, and I’m looking forward to seeing it bloom. 

Next I checked out the snowdrop patch. These popped up about a week ago, but they are looking nice and tall today. I think I’m going to try splitting some next month and moving them to shady spots in the front yard. 

I’m very lucky that part of my backyard is woodland, with a babbling brook and everything, so I checked that out as well. The skunk cabbage is starting to push through the low lying muck. I love these because they look like alien space plants à la Little Shop of Horrors.

Finally, I checked on my forest daffodils. These are so far back in the yard, they just look like a little glimmer of yellow from the backdoor. I don’t know how they got there – maybe relocated by a squirrel? But they are the healthiest daffodils growing anywhere in my yard. This year they seem to have doubled, and I am looking forward to the blooms. 

I know that people say the spirit and living worlds are closest during the “witching hour” around midnight, but I think that’s actually just as true on a quiet morning. Morning makes me think of Martha and my dad most. Not that they were morning people. I think there’s just something about that moment when the world seems quiet, and nothing big and terrible has distracted me yet, that makes it possible to imagine their footsteps alongside mine, and know they are thinking of me, too.