When I was a little girl I loved to visit my grandmother in the hills of Pennsylvania. My grandmother, Elizabeth Ellen (for whom I'm named after) was a remarkable woman for her small stature. She weighed 88 lbs when she got married. (I have her wedding dress!). Her little white house (with a white picket fence) was amazingly organized and she had a focus for each day of the week--you know--Monday for wash etc. I would go down into the small walk-out basement and look at the huge tree trunk beems, all her homemade canned goods, fresh fruit, old fashioned washing machine, and snoop around like any kid would do. The corner that held the huge coal furnace was the only place from which I stayed away. The smells are still very clear in my mind. Every morning her breakfast was like a formal meal. The table was set perfectly with a tablecloth and cloth napkins. I thought it was the biggest deal when my grandfather taught me to eat ketchup on my hash browns. I could go on and on.
My grandmother's back yard was a sloping hill that ended up down at my uncle's house. You could go through the evergreens or you could go on the stone laid path that meandered down between their huge garden. (I can still see my grandfather out there hoeing.) On this path, every spring I would love to look at my grandmother's flowers. The bleeding hearts were just beautiful. Oh how I wanted to pick them, but that was off limits. So, I've been meaning to get this beautiful plant for myself and well now, "Look!". I've got some, so I had to go lay down on the grass this morning before taking off for work and take a picture before they---can't say it--expire. It's so befitting to have them flourish this spring (for the first time) with the passing of my mother last October. Aren't they beautiful?