Angie's Iris

Long ago, my second hospice patient, and beloved friend was moving.  Leaving her garden behind was breaking her heart, and she begged me to take, at least, her Iris.  At the time, I had no place for them, and wasn't anxious to do so.  She begged, bullied, and wept.  I took them, and found a place.  In retaliation for my reluctance, they put forth great blades of green and refused to bloom.  For ten years, they stubbornly refused.  Two years ago on a river bank renovation, Elmer's great caterpillar flattened and scraped away much of that garden.  I thought it was a dead loss, and wept myself.  In repentance, Elmer delivered an end-loader of composted cow manure.  I used it to reconstruct the garden.  Was amazed by fall to discover that some of the day lilies, and most of Angie's iris had survived.  Last year, again, the great green blades.

So imagine my surprise when I glanced over last night and found them *in bud*!  And this morning, the first in bloom!  Memories of one tough little lady, and an iris that shares that central core: surviving, and blooming when least expected.  Angie lived for three years as a hospice patient.  By every medical indication, she shouldn't even have made it as far as hospice.  Never underestimate the will of living things to survive and even thrive.