Travel down those gravel roads in the country, take in all the beauty and nature all 'round...notice every once in a while, you'll see a clump of lone iris, like sails of a schooner far out to sea. These are markers of a past long gone, where once stood a farm house new and bold...but now nothing but gray whispers of life, if anything at all.
Iris were easy for farm wives to cultivate, easily passed to one another by other wives, the colors and varieties brought bits of color and life to the chores of a woman's world.
The 'X' and I took many a back road day trip and harvested bits of tubers here and there, always leaving some behind as markers to future trav'lers, that happiness once abounded here.
All of these samples were wild harvested from old abandoned homesteads along country roads in Iowa. When I moved out, I brought all of my treasures with me, while leaving tubers behind to remind, that once a woman lived here and the iris brightened her life.
Borrowed memories...will these be left when I'm gone and the Pink Chateau is raised...bright gems of messages from a farm woman left behind for you and you'll remember me as the old woman with the jewels.