Another Good Memory: The Snowball Bush

When we first moved from the city to the country our yard boasted of a beautiful snowball bush. The plant specimen certainly one of my favorites. The bush boasted of white balls heralding the onset of spring.

One year, the plant once again burgeoned with white balls. But late in the afternoon, my gaze out the kitchen window left me breathless. Shock from the sight of destruction left me puzzled and confused. My heart certainly skipped a beat. The sight of the bush void of blooms. Surrounded with white petals at the base. A few blooms on the very apex of the plant remained intact.

I called my boys and asked them if they knew what happened to the no-longer picturesque bush. Shame clouded long faces and the explanation followed after a moment of silent introspection. “We hit them with tennis racquets.” Not the answer or resulting aftermath I wanted. My memory escapes me on the moments after the confession, but I’m sure they got the message in regard to my displeasure.

After years of growth the bush grew too large and my husband cut it down. The plan to replace it never materialized.

Now we laugh about the boys’ tennis practice. My oldest son recalls the “puff” sound made on impact as they hit the blooms and watched the petals fly. Probably a fun forbidden activity.

Now when I see a snowball bush my memory is filled with laughter and boyish antics on a spring day.

Maybe this year I’ll follow up with my plan to plant another snowball bush. The new threat? The weed eater operator. But that’s another story.

Another Irish Blessing

Wishing you a rainbow
For sunlight after showers
Miles and miles of Irish smiles
For golden happy hours
Shamrocks at your doorway
For luck and laughter too,
And a host of friends that never ends
Each day your whole life through.

The snowball bush

My new book, “Finding Delight in the Vineyard” helps you cling more closely to the Lover of your soul. John 15 is brought to life through the cultivation and care of the vineyard. Are you abiding in the True Vine?

Finding Delight in the Vineyard: Cling to the True Vine