As I sit in the garden, I am held by the sweet songs of birds, the feathery breath of the wind on my face, and the glorious vision of flowers dancing at the height of their glory. I can't help but drop to my knees in gratitude for the generous spirit of our creative God...
...and for the generous spirits of all those whose plants grace my garden, and stories grace my life. You see, for me a garden isn't just an assemblage of plants. It is the collective story of the people who have shared plants and snippets of their lives with me, and I with them. This garden is a visible symbol of relationships, and the beauty that comes from them.
There are the irises, whose grapey aroma brings back
memories of cutting them fresh from my grandma's garden early on Memorial Day to decorate family graves. Our lilies of the valley came from the north side of her house, and her peonies grace the west side of The Roost.
The stargazer lily came from a friend who has spent crystal evenings gazing at (and singing to!) the stars above the prairie labyrinth.
Our ostrich ferns are lush and abundant this year. They came from Gordon's grandmother's home, along with dire warnings about their spreading habit. Thank goodness for this trait! After thirty years here, Grandma Huldah's ferns are as sturdy and strong as our memory of her. Recently, some of these ferns went to California to stand tall and strong in the ocean-misted garden of her granddaughter.
We've planted dahlias that traveled with our son from Alaska, and he has Grandma Huldah's ferns, Grandma Clara's irises and lilies of the valley, and a smattering of daisies from our ponds.
Some of the lilacs and bluebells came from the farmstead which was home to my mother's family for over a hundred years. When the buildings were razed last year, we brought these plants to our garden to continue their story in this fertile place.
Our daisies add to the beauty of a neighbor's garden, and her 
prolific turtleheads are a symbol of our ever growing friendship in my garden. Their joyful blooms remind me of Dianne's smile as we share wine on her porch and stories at her table.
We have maple seedlings and rhubarb from my father's family home in Spirit Lake. These seedlings, like me, come from an old line of deeply rooted life from this soil. The rhubarb came with the story of my great aunt Gunild - who grew and gave away the best rhubarb, but never ate it herself!
And the trees....the forty burr oak trees planted on the eve of our oldest son's birth, the ash tree planted the morning of our wedding, the red oaks in honor of our fathers, the quaking aspen for our nephew, Matt. The windbreak, planted when our boys were small, gifts Gordon and I daily with shade, shelter from the wind, and memories of three little guys and their antics on this farm.
Our gardens will be freely open Sunday, June 28th from 1:00-3:30 p.m. Come and wander the gardens and enjoy their beauty, then sit a spell and add your stories to the precious collection of life which is Soul of the Prairie! For more information, check out our website, www.souloftheprairie.com.
--mary