Pumpkins, Peonies and Prairie Smoke

Peter's Puzzle Heart
May 27, 1964 - March 10, 1996

Peter was knocking me on the head for days but I was slow to catch on. 


I should have felt his presence in a week filled with pumpkins, peonies and prairie smoke but somewhere between the yard and the computer, I was sidetracked by things that didn't matter as much as remembering the birthday of someone I love still. Peter wouldn't have forgotten. He sent cards for birthdays, anniversaries and mostly for no reason at all but to say hello and let us know how he was doing. I should have remembered Peter's 46th birthday on May 27, but it slipped my mind until today when Jeff mentioned seeing a red cardinal in the yard and thinking of his brother. 


Peter was a landscape designer by heart and trade, a self-taught architect of the earth who poured his emotions into his creations. I had several chances to remember Peter this week.


I should have remembered Peter when the first pumpkin seeds sprouted in pots of dirt out back or when a large and lovely bouquet of white, pink and crimson peonies filled the room with the sweet fragrance of springtime. I should have laughed out loud and thought about Peter when I looked up prairie smoke, the peculiar plant we saw at Lurie Garden that resembles a pink troll doll with a head of wild wispy hair. Ever a California boy, he would have laughed too and planted the native Illinois wildflower on his San Francisco rooftop.   

When a garden is more than a garden

It was a typical spring day that would have been perfect if only the sun shone a little warmer and the wind blew a little softer. Still it was too fine a day to stay indoors that day in May when the earth poured forth its native glory in modest mauves, royal purples and vivid fuchsias. Less showy than  summer gardens where yellows and reds shout out for attention, the first blooms of spring appear on the heels of winter and let out a collective sigh that signals the changing season. Be patient they seem to say, breathe deeply and savor the sweetness in the air, the dewy fresh mowed grass and newborn leaves that glisten brighter now. This snapshot could be anywhere - a country field, grandmother's yard, Monet's garden at Giverny. 


                                                                                                                               

Look closer. A hint of stainless steel ribbons (The Jay Pritzker Pavillion) and high rise structures suggest someplace different.

Still to this day, six years after its completion, I am awed by The Lurie Garden at Millennium Park in Chicago. The five-acre perennial paradise is an oasis in the city.

 A place to reflect, relax and recharge. 

A place to learn and love. 

A place to be.

Birthday Laugh

Happy Birthday to me!

A boy named Angel

This took me by surprise.

Angel retelling the story of Marco Flamingo Under the Sea to Marlene in the way only a 5-year-old can, his knowing finger pointing out familiar words, words that only moments ago I read to his small circle.

Marlene wandered over from another group, a silent, curious 3-year-old with soulful brown eyes and pigtails hoisted high on her head. With the flip of a page and the turn of a phrase, Angel transported his audience of one back under the sea where Marco swam with dolphins and slept on a whale's back. Looking like a miniature teacher in his button down shirt, Angel captured Marlene's attention - and mine.   

 

This sweet and simple act that resonated through the Head Start classroom as a sign that we made a difference - a small but mighty difference - the Operation Early Reading ladies from Assistance League of Chicagoland West.