by Mark Brunson My stepmother is a painter. Mostly she paints plants, especially hydrangeas. When she and Dad married (he was 87), a large potted hydrangea occupied their bay window. It became one of Dad’s chores to carry this awkwardly sprawling houseplant outdoors in springtime and back outside each autumn. Dad passed away two winters ago. A neighbor helped carry the hydrangea out and back. That fall, for the first time, scales infested the hydrangea. I got a frantic call,

by Jessya Both of my grandmothers lived with me growing up. My parents were immigrants and soon after they established themselves they arranged to bring their parents over to the US. They immigrated from the Soviet Union, and for a period of time we had all four grandparents under our roof. Both of my grandmothers loved plants. They nurtured them. They'd teach me which leaves to pluck out of the fields outside my school to treat warts, and which berries to eat, and where the