chthonic
Mom and her sister grew up on a small dirt farm outside Spokane, her sister
the oldest and by rights the matriarch.
Mom married a Irish city boy sailor, sister married a Norwegian farmer.
Mom knew where roses would thrive and how to make irises dazzle. She made
an avacado tree sprout against its better judgement.
Sister understood the economics of wheat, canning and how to kill a
rattlesnake in the cellar.
I spent summers traveling between the vast golden rattlesnake hiss of the
Grand Coulee and the pungent whiff of a rose on a hot summer day in the
city, the sweet pickles in their crocks in the kitchen.
Sister died, Mom took the reigns. Which garden to weed?
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