The Magic of Lemon Drop Pie

by Rachel Linden

I had a sudden flash of memory: my mother’s hand in her floral gardening glove plucking a tuberous begonia blossom and popping it in her mouth before offering me one. I was four or five years old. It tasted crunchy and sour, a little like a lemon Sour Patch Kid. I liked the flavor and sneaked a begonia flower every time I was in the garden for the rest of the summer. I smiled at the memory. I’d loved those times in the garden with my mom. They were my favorite few hours of the week. Monday, our day off, I would get my little hands dirty alongside my mom, listening to her share tidbits about soil acidity and what each type of flower needed to be happy. It felt like a miracle to grow something we could eat, especially something as lovely as a flower. It was pure magic. I still missed those hours all these years later. How I wished I could turn back the clock and sit in the dirt with my mom again.

when the fuk did mom have time to tend a garden??? that beotch did it all and you learned nothing Lolly