Flowers, Food and a Walk on the Hill



A little spring bouquet

I ran out into the garden early this morning to gather a few things for a little mixed bouquet to take to Mother's for the Easter lunch table. Just a mixed vase of this and that - roses, viburnum, snowball, nandina greenery, daffodil stems, lavender and dianthus. She was much happier with this homegrown bouquet than a store-bought Easter lily.

My sister and I brought the food, as my mother is 90 years old, and unable to move about the kitchen anymore. Sissy brought the ham and potato salad, both delicous! I made a green salad with basil vinaigrette dressing:

Romaine and arugula with red, yellow & orange bell pepper, cucumber, grape tomatoes, bacon bits, dried cranberries, grated Parmesan, green onions, croutons and Basil Vinaigrette Dressing.

And here are my Easter eggs decorated with capers and parsley and celery stuffed with creamed cheese. Sprinkled over all are fresh herbs including chive blossoms.



My Easter Eggs!

French bread smothered with a mixture of butter, cheeses, mayo, garlic salt and fresh herbs:

Heat the bread sealed in foil until heated through and the cheese melts, then remove the top foil and allow the bread to brown and become crispy.

After lunch, we took a walk to the hill some distance behind the house. This property was once owned by my parents, but has since been sold. Before that, it belonged to my  grandmother and grandfather. On this hill was a little house that was lived in my my mother's oldest sister when she married at a very young age -- somewhere around 1918-1920. Her first child was born, and died there. I don't know the full story, because it was years before my mother was born and those things weren't much talked about back then. The child was buried "at the edge of the garden, where there was a tree growing" is about all I know.

A man who bought that part of the farm before my parents bought it moved the little house near his own  house, where it served as his barn.

As a young child, we walked on that hill and my mother told us the story. My sister, her friend and I played many hours at a branch at the foot of the hill, building playhouses and living imaginary lives. As children we tried to imagine where the grave was, but too many years had passed and if a rock or appropriate stone ever marked the grave it was long gone. All that remained on the hill to suggest anyone ever lived or died there was a water well, but my father filled it in for fear that children or cows would fall into it.

Covering that hill are numerous daffodils, a single variety that is not familiar to me. Over the years, we have dug them and transplanted them into our own garden. In years past, that hill has been a glory to behold when the bulbs are in full flower. Today we were disappointed. The daffodils are lying flat on the ground, as if mashed by large equipment. That likely is not the case. We think it more likely that a herd of deer or cycote are camping out there. Cows are no longer on this pasture. Who knows! But it has ruined "our" flowers.

The picture below shows a little of the "smashed" flowers.


Flowers on the hill

Beautiful and fragrant, this single narcissus grows with abandon on the hill. They must have been planted almost 100 years ago and have spread rampantly.

So this was my Easter Sunday. How was yours?