As we celebrate Father’s Day on the first Sunday in September in Australia, I think of my dear departed Dad. He has been gone for eleven years now, and I don’t think I will ever stop missing him. Obviously over the intervening years it has become easier to bear, as time is a great healer.
Now in my garden I look around at things that remind me of him, and I feel blessed. I treasure the daffodil bulbs he gave me, which these days you would probably call “heirloom” varieties.
Then there are the three plum trees. Originally only one was transplanted, but two more grew from that one; yay more plums!
And lastly, I love the purple rhododendron that we transplanted, usually flowering at the end of October.