An Unexpected Guest

All sorts of things turn up in my back yard.

Usually it's stuff I don't want to see. Like weeds. Or maple trees. Or poison ivy.

But this year, into what Mr. Ginley refers to as "the f***ing rain forest" sprouted something highly unusual.

A Rose of Sharon bush.

Funny thing is, I haven't seen one in the neighborhood, so I'm not certain which wind carried its seeds to my yard. Also, it's growing in the middle of my holly bush, which I've subsequently pruned, to give Sharon room to grow.

Mr. was all for pulling it out. But I prevailed, and this week I was rewarded with the first lovely blooms. 

There's a reason for my soft heart toward this plant. My mother's petite back yard was home to a Rose of Sharon bush. My mom would yell at us for using it as third base. After a number of years, it gave up the ghost and had to be cut down. But in its prime, it was lovely, with dozens of blossoms (and a whole host of bees -- they loved it).

Thus, my reluctance to uproot Sharon in my own yard. It feels like my mom is reaching out to me. I know it sounds silly, and so unlike my snarky self. 

But I believe. 

I look out every morning and watch another flower emerge, and it gives me hope. Like Mom is out there somewhere, rooting for me to keep going, because I still have some blooming to do.

Thanks, Mom.