"Is that a rose?" I asked.

"Oh no, that's the treasure of my garden.  There are very few and they are the most beautiful of all the flowers in my garden," she told me.  "Here, smell," she said, holding the stem in her outstretched hand.

"What is it?" my voice coming out in almost a whisper as I breathed deeply, the flower still pressed to my nose.

"It's a peony, and they are very special.  This one is yours.  For a trade," she told me.  "I'll give you this peony for a bunch of the Lily of the Valley that are growing on the side of your house."

"Which ones are they?" I asked.

"They are small and white and look like bells.  Bring me a handful and you can have this one.  Be sure to ask your mom," she called after me as I ran across the yard to the house, already almost out of earshot.

*****
Thirty years later, in the garden I've inherited from Marty's Grandma Harriette, I'm blessed to have both treasures in one place.  The Lily of the Valley, the first of my flowers to make an appearance, bloomed for a short week. 


I cut bunches and placed them throughout the house filling the house with their fragrance.


Next came the peonies.  I watched them as the greens grew taller and filled out, small balls appearing at the tops of the long stems, seemingly hundreds on each grouping.  One morning I could see the start of the petals appear, and by afternoon they were open.


By the next morning, thirty were open, and with a thunderstorm on the horizon I cut them all, wanting to be sure that I wouldn't miss the season.