In my modest, 3 bedroom childhood home,
stuffed with 2 parents and 5 children (8 year span)
where thrift was necessity,
gardening was not a priority

We thought everyone spent
family time digging nut grass
out of the lawn
(the bane of Dad’s existence)

But we did have
four prolific camellia bushes-
dark pink, light pink,
white and variegated

Original 1927 landscaping,
they hugged the house
and front steps,
revealing their bounty every Fall

Their blooms decorated
our tables,
the town’s annual Camellia Ball,
and our teachers’ desks

The biggest bush covered
a kitchen window providing 
a partial screen for  
two unexpectedlife events:

Peering through from the patio,
We watched our 5 year old brother,
chin split in our new (to us) station wagon,
get sewn up on the kitchen table
(rolled in a sheet, held down by Mom and Dad,
their doctor friend doing the sewing)

Three years later, as a nosy 16 year old,
listening at the kitchen window
in the dark, peering into the patio
I heard another doctor
(the father in lawof the kitchen table doctor)
tell Mom Dad’s brain tumor was fatal

And as our lives crumbled and
re-formed, the bushes bloomed on,
decorating our tables, teachers’ desks and the Camellia Ball,
but nut grass removal stopped.