Showing expressions of love for ancestors come in a variety of ways. Whether you display pictures or heritage artifacts around your home, do genealogy, model pottery or clothing from memories of previous generations, put on plays, participate in reunions; all of these things honor your ancestors. This spring, as the May flowers began to bloom in their glory, my memory opened to a unique (at least to me) expression of honoring ancestors. As I reflected upon specific interactions with cousins during family gatherings, the idea of creating a heritage garden was rekindled.
Beulahland was the center of our Henderson Family Reunions for many years. My cousin Brent’s efforts of preparing his farm to welcome family members gathering for this special, annual event was easily seen. First, the very name of this farm, Beulahland, was in honor of Brent’s mother, who was my great aunt. Just from this simple act, Beulah is remembered by current and the upcoming generations. We all learned of her, and the rest of her dozen siblings, some of who were still living at that time.
Standing on the crest of a hill looking over the ponds, plants and landscaped vistas, gave me pause as I glimpsed the beauty and felt the spirit of this place. It spoke of Brent’s vision of honoring our ancestors and his ability to grow anything! Year after year, I witnessed the transformation of this patch of ground; growing from rock and soil into a beautiful farm. Expressing my appreciation and commenting on the new features, Brent began to explain how he took clippings from all sorts of plants from several heritage homelands. He then led me to a row of white buckets full of what seemed to be branches, and invited me to take a few home. Living several hours away with a car full of children and no clue how to keep the clippings alive, I declined.
Shortly thereafter, upon a visit to my cousin Beth, I noticed and commented on the beautiful, eloquent flower and plant bed adorning her yard. As Beth began explaining where she got the plants, I was amazed to discover she brought clippings from Roanoke, Virginia, our ancestor’s homeland.
I listened as Beth spoke, then said, “So, this is a heritage garden.” She seemed pleased with that thought. Beth had made the effort to bring clippings from several of our ancestor’s dwellings upon her many visits which was a 3 to 4 hour drive south of her home. She then planted them, cared for them, and created this beautiful work of art with living plants in honor of our ancestors. The inside and outside of Beth’s home spoke of love for her heritage.
My cousin June, another cousin who walked in the footsteps of our farming Ferguson-Henderson ancestors and who lives on a few acres of our ancestral homeland, always has had a thriving garden. Every summer I looked forward to feasting on her plump, red tomatoes, zucchini, squash, green beans, cucumbers, and so forth.
A few times I ventured down into June’s cellar. As I opened the creaking door, and crept down the steps, I was greeted by an amazing display of stacks and rows of colorful jars filled with jams, jellies, and a variety of fruits and vegetables. Every year, June sent me home with jars of her preserves; so when the autumn breeze of fall descended and the chill of winter frost came, I wrapped myself up in a blanket, opened a jar of sweet jam, and enjoyed the taste of summer once again.
What brought these memories to light was a recent post I viewed on Instagram from a lovely woman from my original home town. Alison’s post pictured a beautiful flower with a caption that read, “my great grandma’s christmas cactus is blooming again! she blooms closer to valentine’s day but I think that fits better anyways.”
One comment noted, “You’ve got such a green thumb . . . Just like Grandma . . .” Alison replied, “words I strive to live by.” What a wonderful expression of love!
Since I have a brown thumb and tend to over-water or under-water plants, it never would have occurred to me to bring clippings from my ancestral homeland without Brent’s invitation or my visit to Beth’s home. In fact, I still have no clue how to do such a thing. The only thing I have done remotely similar, is to drive to a local farm, pick their strawberries, and make jam. Yet, I appreciate my cousin’s efforts in literally keeping our ancestors’ plants alive and their beautiful expression of love in honoring the generations who have passed beyond this veil of life.
Susan D’AndreaJune 8, 2022
Mom’s irises: Purple irises were my mother’s favorite flower. After she and my father passed away, my sister Lynn dug up the iris bulbs and planted them in her garden. The next year when they bloomed, my sister took pictures and sent each of my parents’ six children an 8x10” print to frame and hang in our homes. It has been almost 20 years, and Mom’s irises are still blooming in Lynn’s garden. Each June she texts us a picture.