It was time to take care of some gardening chores. There are three flowerbeds that are bordered by rocks. Weeds were trying to take over and obscure the rocks. Most of these stones came from my mother's former garden. She traveled and collected many over the years. Some came from my grandparents' farm in Indiana. My grandfather would pick up stones from the fields and place them in a bed near the back entrance to the house. That property was sold long ago, and even the impressive farmhouse house was later destroyed by fire. Crazy as it may sound, those special rocks stir up memories of summer vacations, the creek, catching fireflies, playing "May I?" with cousins on the front lawn concrete steps leading to the roomy porch, and being young, happy, and carefree.