November 14, 2016

I was delighted to learn that the basket I ordered for Jeannie’s Memorial service contained a yellow rose—and I think it was a significant thing.
I have told the stories of our little Gang of Four—Jeannie and Martha, and my sister AnnE and me.   We grew up playing in Grandma Hinkley’s yard.  Her house stood in the middle of a large acreage.  There was a barn, a windmill and a huge garden plot. Out front was a row of lilac bushes that formed little alcoves where we plotted our plays and games.  But right in the middle of the side yard there grew a big round bush –bigger around than our dining room table, and in the spring it burst into bloom.  It was covered in little yellow roses!  It was a breathtaking sight!  It stands in my memory even now!
I have painted many plates and cups with this little yellow rose, and always called it Grandma Hinkley’s Yellow Rose!
Jeannie and AnnElla and I spoke of it often when we reminisced together.
Oddly, the yellow rose bush stands as something of a monument in the minds and hearts of any of us who are of an age to recall those long gone days at Grandma Hinkley’s house in North Swansea. 
Not many of us left now to remember, and that is why I write of the yellow rose.

Betty’s journal   2016 


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