The marble counter was wiped clean, the dishes put away, and the sink and stove spotless. The scent of lilacs mingled with vanilla, melted butter, and sweet chocolate, filling the air.
In the center of the table was a beautiful white platter, displayed like white canvas on an easel.
Only this canvas was painted with juicy blueberries and velvet-red strawberries, meticulously placed like thick brushstrokes beside golden slices of freshly baked pound cake. Splashes of freshly cut spearmint from the garden completed the artistry.
Darlene smiled as her eyes gazed at the platter. "Wow. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," she whispered. "She was paying attention all those years, hanging out with Mom."
Darlene's thoughts drifted as she remembered the years she worked as an events designer—the many times she brought her five-year-old along to different venues for weddings, grand openings, and other celebrations. Little Brittany loved helping her Mom.
Darlene poured herself a cup of coffee, sat down at the table, leaned back in her chair, and looked out the window, past the hot tub. Her eyes stopped at the garden. She laughed, remembering how her Mother used to talk to all her plants, especially her orchids.
"Are you thirsty?"
It wasn't the memory that made her laugh. It was Darlene talking to her houseplants every Sunday as she watered them.
"Are you thirsty?"
—The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
It was inevitable. The baton had been passed.
Every morning after breakfast, Darlene stepped outside with her cup of coffee, "just to check the garden." An hour later, her coffee sat cold beside the tomato plant, her hands were caked with dirt, and she found herself looking up at the sky. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
Darlene didn't just inherit all her gardening habits from her Mother. Her Dad was also a great gardener, a real DIY craftsman, a recycler, carpenter—you name it—he did it!
Darlene embraced it all—from hoarding sticks, talking to her artichoke plant, or bending down in her Sunday dress to pull out a weed at the church garden picnic; her parents' insights, life experiences, and their nurturing love took root in Darlene.
One evening, Darlene looked in the mirror, and her fingers traced the lines on her face and the grey hairs framing them. As she studied her reflection, she realized more and more how she looked like her Mother.
She wasn't afraid.
She had come full circle.
The reflection looking back was beautiful, not because she was, or because it looked like her Mother. Just like the platter of fruits and cakes, talking to her plants, and saving sticks, it was just beautiful because—The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
It was her inheritance.
She was now carrying forward her parents' legacy.
And her daughter's platter of beautiful fruits and cakes…
The life story continues.🌺
—
Sometimes you hear people say, “Children copy their parents.” It’s just love❤️—becoming a tradition.🌺