Lavender and little girls

I love lavender.  It’s what grandma’s smelled like when I was a little girl.  I doubt that’s what I’ll be remembered for.

The laws consigning children to the back seat past the age of majority have some side benefits.  Listening to three little girls in the back seat can make my heart turn over for their joy and innocence.

Going to empty the dishwasher last night (pardon the sink that needs wiped out), I smiled. Perhaps they’ll remember grandma’s as the place they eat pineapple chunks (and watermelon) with pickle forks.  And eat their morning cereal with iced tea spoons.

I was given two lavenders to plant last fall—a kind thank you from a nice friend.  I haven’t had lavender growing for twenty five years.  Back then this little instruction pamphlet arrived in the mail as a sample of a book we could buy. 

That sheet certainly wound up in the right hands.  I didn’t buy the set, but I cut my lavender blooms and had a go at the lavender wands.  Sadly, mine were not the charming little bit of lavender pictured here.  My stems would not bend, but cracked in awkward places, and my cage was not charming.  Or pretty.  Oh, well.  I’m sure lavender comes with stem pliability by variety, and the proper one will just have to arrive in our garden.

When the current plants began blooming, I brought some in just for their fragrance.  Jan felt sorry for them in their nasty water on the mantel in a few days.  The blossoms were already dry, so she set them in a separate pot to finish drying. 

More stems that Laura brought in have been drying, too.  I’ll have the little girls keep bringing in the blossoms.  They can strip off the dried flowers and we’ll make little sachets for them to take home.  I was a failure at wands, but this grandma can sew little drawstring bags!

A parting shot—Jan’s hoya.  It adores the west window and goes into a sulk if moved anywhere else.  We don’t mind.  One less window to wash.