Tile Murals-old | Catherine Coulter Lloyd

Born in 1901, my great aunt’s philosophy boiled down to an old saying: If you want to be happy for a week, kill a hog and eat it. If you want to be happy for a year, get married. If you want to be happy for the rest of your life, plant a garden. She was always happy.

This Althea (or Rose of Sharron) is a spindly sentinel in my kitchen flower bed. I spy hummingbirds at its flowers through the shutters – or are they peeping at me?

The purple iris outside my picket fence were a housewarming gift from my sister. They oppose any unpleasant thoughts from entering the property.

After retiring, my father germinated a few Mahonia and Nandina seeds “for fun”. Curiosity, innovation, a six generation heritage of nurserymen, and several thousand seeds and cuttings later, he had a new business and a soul soothing commune with nature.

I had plans to repaint my picket fence. The Confederate Jasmine had quite another idea.

My Southern neighborhood is one of front porches. All visitors are welcome, even if they aren’t particularly wanted. This ivy paid a lengthy visit to my friend Tripp.

This lone maroon iris was in my garden’s welcoming committee, left behind by some former resident

Mother worked out her frustrations in the garden, while I tended my sandbox nearby.

Virginia Creeper is all over my neighborhood. I caught this one sneaking up the side of Hope’s house.

The seated planter and many tiles were created by me.