In the small village where I grew up, there was "the old gardener".
He was actually the young gardener, because his father still gardened at age 98.
They had an ancient greenhouse with a collection of cactae and flowers.
One was the " Queen of the night"
It finally bloomed, and the whole village showed up to see it.
I was maybe 6 years old and still remember my parents waking me up in the middle of the night and getting me dressed.
Then we walked up to the green house and joined the line of villagers waiting to see the wonder.
That night has left a never forgotten imprint on me.
The beauty and smell of that flower and the folks waiting in line to see it, everybody speaking in hushed tones, like in a church.
Thanks a lot for posting those pictures, they really got my memory working.
He was actually the young gardener, because his father still gardened at age 98.
They had an ancient greenhouse with a collection of cactae and flowers.
One was the " Queen of the night"
It finally bloomed, and the whole village showed up to see it.
I was maybe 6 years old and still remember my parents waking me up in the middle of the night and getting me dressed.
Then we walked up to the green house and joined the line of villagers waiting to see the wonder.
That night has left a never forgotten imprint on me.
The beauty and smell of that flower and the folks waiting in line to see it, everybody speaking in hushed tones, like in a church.
Thanks a lot for posting those pictures, they really got my memory working.