Aurelio,
It had been maybe fifteen years since my last flower. Two doors over, my lifelong neighbor planted warm flowers near her koi pond. It was Summer, and she wanted someone to share it with. She never had kids of her own. When I came, she spoiled me. Jelly beans in glass bowls, unlimited television, an endearing brand of Eastern European cheek-pinching. I joined her in the garden and collected dirt on the seat of my pants. At that time, I didn’t understand why she made such a big deal of it. What’s it to a pleasant Polish woman whether someone spends a lazy afternoon in her garden? Now I know. I learned. Gardening in the Summer is something intimate, and it deserves to be shared.
On this second to last week before Clemson lets out for the Summer, a Teaching Fellow invited me to the Botanical Gardens. She is Vassilia, one of about three people I’m close with since I’ve gone to college. We had to get volunteer hours, so we went together with the idea of handing out pamphlets or guidi…
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