Mindy Friddle

“I drew my bath and scattered dried rose petals in the water. I stepped into the tub, pinned up my hair, dipped into the bowl of mayonnaise that had been mixed with fennel and rosemary and soaked secretly in the refrigerator for two days.”
― Mindy Friddle, The Garden Angel

“She watched the early-morning sun filter out from the trees still glistening from frost, and imagined the way here perennial beds would be thick and wild with beauty in just a few months. And her zinnias and sunflowers and trumpet vine would cover the fence and keep Patsy out.
The messy look. That is just how Patsy described it last summer. After Elizabeth dug up the boxwoods and hollies with their geometric precision, their obedient square ugliness, she planted daisies, black-eyed Susans, coneflowers, and phlox. She planted zinnias and cosmos that she had grown from seed. The border had exploded in color and texture. The plants had flowered wild and strong and generous. Every morning, Elizabeth had fingered the velvety petals.”
― Mindy Friddle, The Garden Angel