Some blocks have a “Crazy Cat Lady.”
I am afraid that I may have become our block’s “Crazy Hosta Lady.”
I have every kind of hosta you can imagine. Blue, elephant ear, lime green, green tipped, green striped, white flowering, and purple flowering. I could be considered a hosta hoarder, really.
Many of my hostas have sentimental value. (Stop being Judgy McJudgerson, ok? Hostas ARE special!)
I have my “Fosler Hostas” that came from my all time favorite neighbor, Mrs. Fosler, who was selfish enough to move to assisted living to be closer to her family!
Then, you have the “Kasten Hostas” from our shared backyard neighbors.
I have the “Robbie Hostas” that I won in a foot race down my street with neighbor/fellow hosta lover, Robbie.
My all time favorites are the “Daddy Hostas” that I transplanted with my dad, landscaping guru. I will always have fond memories of yard work with my pops – him grumbling not unlike the dad in A Christmas Story.
“*&^$#! Everybody thinks they’re a &^%$##!-ing landscape expert these days…@$@%!”
“Why can’t she just leave this **&^&%-ing yard alone*&%$ until my %$#@-ing visits??”
“Stop right there! You are killing the &^%$-ing hostas!”
I remember thinking my dad was a whackadoodle when I would see him outside early in the morning, walking around the yard, coffee mug in hand, muttering and checking up on his plants. Now, I do the same thing. As my granny would say, “The chickens have come home to roost.”