How do you entertain a wiggly little girl visiting her great-grandparents’ museum-like home with lots of look-but-don’t-touch temptations? What do you do with her bursts of energy and giggles when the quiet game or books and crayons just don’t work anymore? How did people amuse children before television and computer games?
My great-grandfather’s solution was to take me by the hand and lead me outside where he had a bed of pansies in the center of his backyard. There he would kneel down, pick some of the delicate flowers he was so proud of, and tell me fanciful tales about the blossoms with petals like bright happy faces. In these magical fairy tales, the pansies became queens and princesses dressed in elegant gowns with a full court of ladies-in-waiting.
My favorite story was about a royal family. The king sat at the center of the pansy, according to my great-grandfather. His wife and four beautiful daughters were the five petals of the blossom. They always dressed in rich, elegant colors and liked to show them off to everyone. They loved the king so much they crowded close to his throne to be near him.
Occasionally they would leave the king to go on exciting adventures. As each one left, my grandfather would gently remove a petal and give it to me. I could touch the soft, velvety texture of each petal as he continued the story. After the queen and all the daughters had left, I could see the fat little king (actually the pistil and stamens of the flower) who had been hidden by the fancy skirts of his wife and daughters. What wonderful seeds my grandfather planted in my imagination with stories like this!
As I grew older, I realized how unusual it was for a stern, older man who seldom smiled and spoke even less to share folktales of the past with a chatty little girl. How paradoxical, but magical, that a man who lived the austere, work-filled life of an early Oklahoma pioneer would indulge in the extravagance of pansies and the whimsy of telling flower fairy tales to his great-granddaughter.
I later learned that many of his stories came from his German heritage and had probably been shared with him by his mother, grandmother, or maybe even his great-grandfather. His stories reach across the span of time, linking generations from the past to those of the present and future. Memories of those flower stories give me a glimpse of the sensitive side of this man I knew only through the eyes of a child.
Each time my great grandfather told me flower stories, he shared his personality, imagination, and memories. His folk and fairy tales taught me fun lessons about traditions of the past and instilled in me a life-long love of stories and gardening.
From that pansy bed long ago in my great-grandfather’s backyard to the pansies that now greet guests at my front door, the roots of my family tree run deep. The colorful faces of my pansies transcend time to connect the generations through my great-grandfather’s legacy of love and stories of the past.
In the Victorian language of flowers, pansy means “think of me.” And yes, I do think of my great-grandfather whenever I see a pansy, and I thank him.
