Violets flickr photo by NomadWarMachine shared under a Creative Commons (BY-NC-SA) license
Violets always remind me of my mother in law Morag. They used to grow all over her garden in Bearsden and her gardener would weed them out. Morag used to save clumps of them from his grasp and give them to me to plant in our garden. I don’t know if the ones we have in our garden nowadays come from those plants or not, but whenever I see them I think of her. They grow in cracks and crevices – hard to notice, yet beautiful when I bend down to look close. I rarely weed them out because they are so pretty.
Violets flickr photo by NomadWarMachine shared under a Creative Commons (BY-NC-SA) license
As I sat down to write this post I started to think about other ways that Morag reminds me of a violet. The woman I have known for over 20 years is a very quiet person, quite unassuming – but firm in her opinions – tenacious. A shrinking violet? Maybe, but one should never underestimate the power of quiet faith.
Violets flickr photo by NomadWarMachine shared under a Creative Commons (BY-NC-SA) license
I love violets too. I can’t imagine weeding them out. I love them popping up anywhere and everywhere. My mom and aunt loved them too. And now I will also think of you and Morag when I see them, and of Scotland, where my grandfather came from.