A Tale of the Garden Stones

Once upon a time, there was a mother.  Who had four children.  Four wonderful children.  The oldest child no longer lived at home.  The mother missed her very much and realized in a panic that the other children would also leave home and she had not done everything she wanted to do with them.  There were still a few life skills she had not taught them.  Like how to balance their checkbooks, bait their own fish hooks, and make garden stones.

 So on Memorial Day afternoon, she set out to make some memories.  And some garden stones.  She made the first one.  See, she said, you can use shells, and rocks, and broken pottery.  And any design you want.

Oh, I see, said the second child.  She used all natural elements.  She made a little butterfly bath in the center.  She grew up, moved out of her mother's house and became a mother herself.  She eats organic food and spends her afternoons doing craft projects with her own wonderful children.

Oh, I see, said the third child.  She carefully chose and arranged all her elements to make a cohesively designed picture.  She grew up and moved out of her mother's house and became an engineer.  She spends her afternoons drawing designs for plantings along highways, and her evenings doing craft projects.

Oh, I see, said the fourth child.  He made a weird face and a heart.  (And carved his name into the stone just in case his mother got old and forgot which stone was his.)  He has yet to grow up or move out of his mother's house.  This afternoon he made a weird face when she suggested he move off the couch.  She still loves him with all her heart.




Who knew garden stones could be so prophetic?