The mysteries began with a delivery for me from Jackson and Perkins by UPS shortly after noon on Wednesday. My husband brought in the box and waited with curiosity. “Mother’s Day,” I said. He raised his eyebrows. Typically, our children are pushing the deadline or a day late for holidays, not four days early.
Inside the package was a utilitarian pot inside a decorative one with moss covering the dirt and clumps of chartreuse poking out the top. Pulling out the paperwork, I found instructions for taking care of the plants identified as “Dutch bulbs” and a slip that said, “A Special Message for You: Happy Mother’s Day!” No signature.
The Mother’s Day greeting left me with three choices – AZ Son, TX Daughter, or MD Son. All three have been known to sometimes, but not always, send flowers for special occasions. Figuring it out, I seemed to recall that AZ son had an account with Jackson and Perkins and had used them before, but early is not a word I use often to describe him. In fact, until he married a wife, I could usually depend on a Mother’s Day card sometime before the first of June. The TX daughter was more likely to send flowers for an unusual occasion or in the form of a gift card to a garden center for plants to go in the yard for the gardening passion we share. The MD son more often sends cut flowers, but varies his choices enough that it could have been him.
In the second mystery, “Dutch bulbs” and “Mississippi trees” are equally definitive. We’ve been to Holland when it was in full bloom, and the bulbs could be tulips, daffodils, or any number of their relatives.
I quickly sent the family group an email that substitutes for the conversations around the dining table now that the kids have scattered across the US. I sought a solution to my two mysteries. They used the “reply all” to answer.
TX daughter responded, “Count me out. Maybe they’re Pennsylvania Dutch?”
MD son said, “They’re from us. We, uh, may have lost our receipt but, yep, they’re from us!”
AZ son retaliated, “No they’re not. And they will be daffodils eventually.”
By Thursday morning, the little clumps raised their heads and stretched upwards into stems. This morning they’ve grown taller and turned green with promise of the solution to what kind of daffodils will bloom.
As Mother’s Day approaches, I wish for each of my blog reading mothers, and those who have stood in place of mothers, a merry Mother’s Day and maybe even a bit of mystery to go with it.