a tale of two gardens: old roots, new dreams

When I look at my little patch of green here in Suffolk, I’m instantly transported back to my grandmother’s backyard in upstate New York. Her hands, rough from years of tending, would gently guide mine as we planted tomatoes every spring. Now, I see my own grandchildren more interested in vertical planters and hydroponics than the soil under their nails. There’s a quiet battle in our family: I love the wild, tangled look of native plants, while my daughter insists on neat rows and imported blooms. She says the neighbors prefer tidy lawns, but I wonder—when did we start caring more about curb appeal than the songbirds and bees? Our Suffolk climate is unpredictable, much like the weather back home. Last winter’s frost killed my lavender, but the old-fashioned roses survived, stubborn as ever. I find comfort in these survivors, even as my neighbors replace theirs with plastic mulch and gravel for easy upkeep. Sometimes, I feel caught between generations and cultures. Should I stick to the traditions that connect me to my roots, or embrace the new techniques that promise higher yields and less work? And what about the community rules that say my wildflowers are weeds? Every time I walk through my garden, I remember the laughter of family, the lessons of patience, and the healing power of dirt under my fingernails. Maybe that’s worth more than a perfect lawn. #gardeningmemories #familytraditions #nativeplants #Gardening