Frances Norris

On Sunday morning when I woke up I was determined to get some yard work done. The fact that it was a great day outside only urged me on further. However, by the time I got home from church, and the grocery store, I felt my energy lagging. I realized I had a cold coming on. I took a little rest, and decided to power thru it. I had plenty to do. My order came in from Michigan Bulb, and being into the second week of March, it was getting past the magic moment to prune hydrangea.

But I got that done.

I had also received a Virginia Redbud seedling from the home and garden show the week-end before, and it was still sitting in it's plastic bag. I wanted to get that in some dirt before the roots dried up.

Not ready to put it in the ground yet, because I am not sure where I want it located. So I put it in this pot, next to the giant Redbud I already have on my property. I figured Sprout could soak up the wise and knowledgeable tree vibes of the Elder, while I contemplate it's true home.

These trees are so awesome. We did not have them on the West Coast (thus the name "Virginia Redbud"---duh) They have beautiful dark pink blooms in the spring, then they leaf out in a broad canopy for the summer. They put on a colorful autumn show as well. I am always sad when mine starts dropping it's leaves. I have had some home owners green with envy talk about my tree, saying they can't get one to grow in their yards. I think, like dogwoods, they like a certain amount of protection. I can't take credit. The tree was here when I got here!

This is not my redbud, but it is how they look in bloom. Also known as Eastern Redbud.

Also had some dwarf gardenia that had to be put in a bigger containers. I had 2 "blueberry parfait" hydrangea that came in from MB that looked like little sticks, so I put them in some bigger containers, as well as the new butterfly bush I got from the same place. Last of all, I planted my window box in my side yard, which I had not done since I let my impatiens die there last summer during the drought.

I see that I need to give my window boxes a swipe of white paint too.

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Frances Norris was my neighbor, and she passed away last Friday. She was 85 years old, and her children and grandchildren were with her in her house when she went. Frances and her husband Roy used to own the property which is now "Camp Osceola", and they built my little house in 1960 and had it as a rental for many years. Later, they sold it to an older couple, who later sold it in ill health to a series of owners that used it strictly as a rental property, which is how I got into it. Then one day the landlord called me up and asked me if I wanted to buy it, and I said yes, although I had no idea how I was going to make that happen. I was freshly divorced, I had huge debts, not a big salary, and no savings. But...it happened. Later Frances told me she was so happy I bought it. She was never overly nosy, but she'd watch out for the neighborhood. She called one night to tell me that the sheriff had been in my yard that day to shoot a raccoon that was sashaying himself all over my property and driving my dog crazy. In Georgia, a wise-acre raccoon at noon is a dead raccoon. If they are out in the day like that, it's likely they are rabid. I called the lab where the raccoon went to the next day to find out, and the tests came back negative for rabies, but of course, the raccoon was still dead.

Roy Norris passed on about 8 years ago. He was quite a man. He served in WWII, raised his family, was the Mayer of our little hamlet when I moved here, and used to run his riding mower around the perimeter of my property when he cut the grass, which I always appreciated.

When I moved into the house, the yard was truly a mess, from years of rental neglect. I have spent years digging out trash shrubs, stumps and trees. I'm still working on it. Frances was always complementary of these efforts. I would make sure I kept the side yard in good shape. She could look down here and see the little house that she and Roy built was still hanging in there. The window box flowers were the only ones she could really see from her yard. She had gotten in these last few years where she did not garden much anymore. On Sunday, drought or not, I planted them again for her. Good-bye Ms. Frances. I will miss you.