Dear Ferret Folks-
 
Yesterday, Iris wrote movingly about the passing of her friend, Jewel.
Iris took Jewel and buried her in her Mom's garden, and planted beautiful
purple flowers all around her to remember her by.
 
This time of year I remember my friend 'Don't', cruelly slain by a dog
who in all fairness didn't know any better.  Don't, stasher of VISA
Platinum cards, dragger of potatoes, the only weasel to attend classes at
Eastern Conn.  State University on a post-graduate basis.  Don't was one
of the best friends I ever had.  And when she died, we dug a hole in our
garden, lined it with soft grass, and laid her to rest in it.  We planted
daffodills over her, and a beautiful species geranium.  Her resting place
is tucked away under an apple tree, itself about to bloom.
 
In Connecticut, where we lived at one time with Don't and her sister
'No', another apple tree is blooming this week, just a bit to the south
of ours.  and under that tree, in a hole also lined with soft grass, lies
No, resting.  Above her blooms a lush clump of fragrant pheasant-eyed
daffodills.
 
In my Mom's yard, a dwarf magnolia, a flower so old that bees don't even
have it in their vocabulary, is being pollinated by the ancient wind.
Creamy white petals fall on the final resting spots of rats, cats, and
hedgehogs, friends all.  Above their heads, handsfull of purple or yellow
crocus.
 
And in who knows how many little garden spots around the world, the spring
flowers are coming into bloom, and we gardners remember our quiet, soft
friends with the soulful eyes.  As the years pass we will, too, and nobody
will remember who planted this bush here, or that cluster of blossoms
there.  But the sun will warm those places, and sanctify them.  The bees,
dusted with vivid yellow pollen on their black velvet stripes, will visit
the blossoms, quickening them with new life, and life will go on.
 
And when it's my turn, this gardner doesn't want an expensive rock with
her name carved on it.  I want a clump of flowers that will speak to all
the gardening ladies down the years, and delight the bees.  I'll be with
my smallest friends again someday.
 
Alexandra in Massachusetts
Heading outside with her best trowel
[Posted in FML issue 3760]