Eleanor Gagnon

Intro Eleanor—Ellie, as Margaret had always called her—stood on the back porch, staring at the overgrown flower beds. Weeds tangled between forgotten roses, and the lilac bush near the fence drooped slightly, as if mourning the absence of the hands that once tended it. She could almost see her grand-aunt Margaret there, in her wide-brimmed sun hat and linen gloves, kneeling in the dirt with quiet patience. A memory surfaced—one of those slow, golden afternoons of early spring. Ellie, no older than ten, had been kneeling beside Margaret, her small hands pressing a tiny seed into the soil. “How long will it take to grow?” she had asked, scrunching her nose. Margaret had chuckled, gently patting the earth over the seed. “Oh, my Ellie, you must learn to wait. Flowers don’t bloom just because we want them to. They need time, care, and the right season.” Ellie had pouted. “But I don’t like waiting.” “Most people don’t,” Margaret said, wiping her hands on her apron. “But patience is part of the beauty. You can’t rush a rose into blooming, just like you can’t rush yourself into becoming who you’re meant to be.” Ellie had frowned at the dirt, as if willing it to reveal some hidden secret. “So what do I do while I wait?” Margaret had smiled, pressing a gentle hand to Ellie’s shoulder. “You keep tending to it. Water it, make sure it gets sunlight, pull the weeds around it. Even if you don’t see the change right away, something is always happening beneath the surface.” Ellie hadn’t fully understood then, but standing here now, she did. The years had been like a garden—some seasons had been abundant, others harsh and barren. Margaret had taught her not just how to grow flowers, but how to grow herself. Taking a deep breath, Ellie knelt by the lilac bush and ran her fingers over its leaves. “Don’t worry,” she murmured. “I’ll take care of you now.”