Flowers for Remembering
Published in Laurels Fall 2013: 43. Print.
Flowers for Remembering
Flowers are often used as a way of remembering. Red poppies on Remembrance Day to remind us of fallen soldiers. White lilies at Easter. Mother’s Day carnations. We use flowers at weddings, and bring them as offering to graves.
When we traveled to Greece, I was surprised to see how many familiar plants there were. I suppose I am use to travelling to places, both in the US and overseas, that evoke the unfamiliar in regards to the local flora and fauna, a welcome and subtle signifier that I am not in Houston any more.
This was Greece! It was suppose to be exotic, unexplored, unfamiliar, not giving me feelings of déjà vu every time I spotted an electric-magenta bougainvillea or creamy oleander or lavender lantana. At least, this is how I felt, and it made me acknowledge an unconscious assumption I had carried with me.
After the first day or so, I moved beyond the slight disappointment of still feeling Houston-ish, and opened myself up to the memories the familiar flowers brought me.
Snapdragons always make me think of my great-grandmother. She had a half-acre plot that she divided in two: one part vegetable, the other solely for the beauty of flowers. I spent countless childhood hours helping her tend the plants, and playing. She would tell me fairy tales about the snap dragons. Seeing the sunny flowers around Athens made it seem as she were with me.
Queen’s Anne Lace reminds me of the field of it near my childhood home. I would lose myself in the stalks. I remember it being taller than me, and it would pattern the sky above me with its delicate white flowers. Little green spiders would hop about as I disturbed their hunt. I was reminded of this memory when I saw the familiar blossoms bobbing in the breeze at a rug school in Turkey.
The prickly pear cacti covering the hills of Hydra reminded me of Arizona and the delicious prickly pear margaritas my aunt and I enjoyed one afternoon there. It seemed to me the perfect drink to serve on the island to hot and thirsty tourists. Perhaps I should move to Hydra and open a bar.
Memories stored, travelling with me, unpacked at the sight of a familiar flower. Now that I have returned home, the sight of lantanas in my backyard remind me of the hotel Iria Mare in Argolis and the enchanting full moon that night. Bougainvillea conjures up images of Crete and Mykonos and how it canopied the doorways. Bright orange nasturtium will not only echo California in my memory but now the climb to the bell tower in Poros.
Flowers for remembering. Layers of memory, old and now new, imprinted indelibly with Greece.
