Posted in 2017

Hibiscus Nectar

My earliest gardening memory involves harvesting rather than planting. “Harvesting” — now there’s a euphemism. Mother probably thought of it as vandalism, an activity worthy of making a kid cut their own switch if not outright damnation to eternal hell. We lived in central Florida, a small town called Brandon. I liked to sneak out of my bedroom window during those ridiculous nap-times imposed on growing children by 1950’s era parents and slip around to the side of the house to purloin Mother’s hibiscus flowers. I would sit cross-legged, happily sucking nectar from the backs of those gorgeous, velvet-petaled flowers. I maintain to this day that lots of strong black coffee and hibiscus nectar make up for whatever lack of sleep is incurred while adventuring.


Living with my man and my dog in a Longleaf pine forest on Florida's Gulf coast. Cast iron head. Sweet potato pie heart.

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