gardenias on my mind
Out here on 7H porch on an unimaginably idyllic Spring morning, with one of the pots of gardenia plants we bought for Linda, the one with single petals, up on the table right in my face so I don't have to lean down to bury my nose in it. In a Southerner's heart, gardenia fragrance is only equalled by the enormous Grandiflora blossoms, Southern Magnolia. White blooms turn yellow as they age but cling to the aroma until they fall off, or are lovingly touched, slightly turned, and drop into your hand. It's gone now, I think taken out by Hurricane Michael, but I remember a morning in 1938 standing at the front door of our house and watching as my father and an old black man named Dave lugged a three-trunk magnolia to the middle of our front yard and planted it there. I mowed around that tree all my growing up years and saw it spread far and wide to cover and shade the entire lower part of the front yard. Also, soon after we moved into the rectory at Trinity, Apalachicola, I h