My grandmother’s poppies have taken over the hillside bed in the back yard. After years of digging, moving and tending, they have gone beyond flourishing straight on to invasiveness. Originally dug up from “the farm” on the day of grandma’s funeral, the poppies didn’t quite seem to survive the trip from Wendelin, Illinois to their new Missouri home very well. Almost immediately, they withered and eventually turned brown. I was so disheartened. But the following spring, over half came back. Every year a few more joined the bunch, sometimes three feet away and needing moved back to the bed, but joined at any rate. Now they are a delicate thicket, green and furry and tissuey and bright. While I am slightly annoyed that the daisies and cone flowers will need to be replanted, they couldn’t have been crowded out by a nicer rival.
