This little rhodedendron (spelling) came from The Pillars, the childhood home of my grandfather. My mother threw herself under a moving bulldozer to save it.
I planted it in two different spits at the old farm, but it barely stayed alive and it never bloomed.
It seems to have found its home here at the new farm. We see new growth and, for the first time in 7 years, a blossom.
My Aunt Lynn said, "plants choose their homes." Does this little rhodey know that this farm is a "sister farm" to The Pillars, having shared work crews over the years?
It's blooms are a visible symbol of how we are all healthy and happy here.
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