One of my favorite authors when it comes to writing about gardening is the Armenian priest, Vigen Guroian.  In his book, “The Fragrance of God,” he writes,

“In early spring, our son, Rafi, and daughter, Victoria, visited to look at how things were coming along.  I pointed down below at the perennial bed just beginning to show green and sad to them, ‘That’s where I want you to bury me, like a big seed.’ ‘But Dad,’ my son pleaded, ‘it’s against the zoning laws.  They won’t let us do that.’  I said, ‘Anthony Quinn got permission to be buried in his garden in Rhode Island.  Anyhow, sneak me out at night. No one will know.’  My son persisted: ‘Dad they’ll want to know where you went.’ I answered, ‘Tell them he is in Paradise.’”

I’ve been out this morning trying to recrate a bit of paradise in our yard in Sunset Hills.  I planted some Cosmos around an old pine tree stump.  Also, three tomato plants, a Brandywine red, a cherry tomato, and a Better Boy.  I also put in three Elephant Ears and transplanted a perennial that must be related to a nettle, but flowers instead.  I have some Zinnias and Vincas to go in yet.  Then I’ll see where I’m at before I get more plants.  I go at it a little at a time lest Becky find me laying in the garden, throw some dirt over me, and tell people,” He is in Paradise.”