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Thinking of Dorothy   

 

 

My mother passed away seven years ago this past January. She spent most of her life preparing for an event like the COVID-19 crises. She stubbornly insisted on living alone on her farm long after she had ceased to raise cattle or plant a garden. She remained there until the last five months of her life. She did not want us to think she was a hoarder, but she also believed a time would come when supplies would be scarce and everyone would need to return to the farm. After all, she had lived through the Great Depression and the rationing of World War II. She wasted nothing, and saved everything. When her storage space in the house grew too small, she bought an outdoor storage building. She died at age ninety two, leaving six outdoor storage buildings, all full. The closet connected to her bathroom had several months supply of toilet paper, soap, shampoo, paper towels, etc. There were multiple jars of dried beans in her kitchen pantry. She was prepared for COVID-19, and we all found it amusing. I think she got the last laugh.


At ninety two, her only gardening was in her flower beds. She loved them dearly and spent huge amounts of time tending them with loving care. She was never one to love housework, but raising flowers was her specialty. She had such a wide variety of iris bulbs that she could supply flowers for any wedding, regardless of the color scheme. I picked my first fresh flowers today and thought of Dorothy, They were purple iris, not nearly as beautiful as the ones my mother raised, or as beautiful as Dorothy.

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