Snowball Bushes

When I was growing up, my grandmother had a beautiful bush beside her front porch that she called a snowball bush. Now, my grandmother had her own name for things. So, I was never really sure if that was the real name or if that was something she just called it.

The bush grew as big as the front door. Every year I would get so excited to see the big blooms. Then about 10 years ago, it died. My grandmother had Alzheimer's by this time. I never got to ask her if that was the real name of the bush.

Last summer, while strolling through the endless flowers at Lowes, I saw one labeled "Snowball". So, I HAD to have it. J planted it for me. It was a tiny thing and I watered it and cared for it.

Enter summer. My grandfather died, followed by my grandmother. When I finally caught my breath enough to look at my plants, the snowball bush had withered.

This spring, I was getting ready to pull up the dead bush.  I didn't have the heart to do it last year. As I reached down, I noticed tiny green bulbs were beginning to sprout from the ends of the "dead" branches.  I froze. It was a miracle! I could almost her my grandmother's voice. The bush was alive!

Yesterday, after many months of spending weekends cleaning their house, my family held an estate sell at my grandparents. As I walked around to the door, I saw something out of the corner of my eye that made my heart stop. My grandmother's snowball bush - for the first time in 10 years - was in full bloom.

Now, it didn't have all the glory that it had under her touch. It was a little wild-looking. It was not the perfectly trimmed round bush exploding with blooms. Instead, it was a straight shoot into the air - about my height - with about 10 big snowballs.

I can't remember the last time nature has shown me something so beautiful.