Years ago, I owned a small Ranch house in Roeland Park, Kansas. It was the first house I’d every purchased and, while tiny, it packed a punch for insane stories.
Next door, my 96-year-old neighbor Annebelle would swing on her front porch stoop. She’d wait for me to take Ogi on a walk or come bounding into the front yard with the lawn mower. Naturally, she’d summon me over and we’d spend an hour or so talking about the gossip on the street or her late husband and his time at the Kansas City Star.
She had lived in that house since 1948. When they’d bought it, it cost $7,000. She admitted there were years when they didn’t know if they’d be able to make the payments. But, now, that she owned it in full, she was amazed with what it was worth. She’d seen the street grow and change. She knew the history of all of the houses and when they were built. She even became great friends with the contractors that flipped mine before I bought it. They gave her a private tour and showed her all the updates. She approved.
Anne still lives in her home with her granddaughter. I’m friends with Cora on Facebook and am able to check in on her from time to time. While she has maintained all of her wits about her – I popped in a few years ago while in the area. Sure enough, she was on the porch. I’m not entirely sure she recognized my ‘hello!’ though.
In all our time there, Anne was such a joy to have as a neighbor. She always waved over the fence. She told me stories of my home and the owners before me. She talked with Ogi as he wandered the backyard through the day. And I’ll never forget the one time my house lost power after a brutal storm. She offered an extension cord from her own backdoor to help me run a few things here and there.
A joy, indeed.
One sunny afternoon, I finished mowing my deep shady backyard that had all but turned to dust in the shadows of the old trees. Anne’s yard was lush with peonies and hydrangeas. Her front yard azaleas were her favorite to show off, but I always thought the secret garden in her backyard was the real beauty. By comparison, my yard was empty – grass littered with crab grass and fading to dirt. Dusty, brown dirt.
She invited me over and told me to take a start off of her snowball bush.
“It’s one of my favorites and grows so big. My daughter was over earlier and took some starts from it. You should have some too.”
She walked me through the steps of cutting into the base and taking a bit of the root. I pulled a bit up to show her and she confirmed it should grow. Then, she watched as I took it back to my yard and planted it in a similar location along my back fence – giving it the proper sun and providing a blind to some of the chaos in our back neighbor’s yard.
My poor snowball never grew, though. While I never claimed to have a green thumb, I felt terrible that her gift didn’t grow into a spectacular show of white blooms. Ever since – I wondered about that snowball bush. I wondered if it was really even called a Snowball.
It is.
As Spring crept into the farm, we noticed a shrub along the propane tank growing larger and larger. Our rule of thumb has been to avoid pruning anything right away at the risk of trimming away beautiful buds that would prevent us from seeing blooms this seasons. Generally, we’re not super skilled horticulturists, so the blooms are really the only way we know what we’re working with.
A few weeks ago, the obscure shrub finally started blooming – and it’s a stunner. Full white globes of delicate flowers have exploded in the sun. Our 1000-gallon propane tank is completely hidden in its beauty.
Since we’re temporarily living in the basement, we see the Snowball bush from our windows every single day. Each peek at it reminds me of Anne and everything good about her – her neighborliness, her friendship, our conversations and front-porch time together. I hope she knows the impact she left on our lives with all of her kindness – and I hope our garden can spread more of that, too.