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How to Build Childhood Memories

I love this picture of my daughter from when she was a little girl, she’s absolutely devouring this lilac with her nose. I have no idea what her earliest garden memory is going to be when she’s grown, but almost hope it’s this one. When she and her brother were little, and my garden was still young, I’d let the kids pick out a packet of seeds. Fun for them and affordable for me.

Now that they’re older, those simple times have stayed with us. They still remember which ones they picked, and those flowers are among the favorite in our garden, anticipated every year, and we all enjoy trying new plants or ornaments in the garden.  I would love to hear what everyone’s earliest or favorite childhood garden memory is, or what you like to do to pass on your joy of gardening to others.

 

Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose – The Wonder Years

 

 

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5 comments to How to Build Childhood Memories

  • my earlies memory in the garden is running around the bean stalks in mexico. And some of my favorites are going to get new plants to the nursery and choosing among all the flowers. Oh, and eating strawberries on my grampa’s garden.

    • Lisa

      Melanie, thank you so much! And the funny thing, for all of the memories my kids now have, I’m not sure if I would have enjoyed gardening as much if I didn’t have them to introduce it to.

  • Caz

    Some years ago, I had planted a row of giant sunflowers against a wood fence. The stalks were growing, the large faces of the sunflowers had started to line up — and I was so proud and impressed with myself that I had grown this all from seed. Then, the next morning they were all gone. The heads were all cut off, some of them I found on the ground, smashed, mutilated. The damn squirrels had been eyeing the heads and the fence top gave them the perfect perch.

    When I told my mom what had happened, she thought it was so funny, and of course, I had this coming, as she reminded me of what I had done to her prized tulips the year I had turned four. They were so pretty, I plucked the petals off one by one until the tulips were all naked sticks. And I was so proud. When I told her about my sunflowers, I knew then that my mother has never ever completely forgiven me.

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