Read by Michael Flamel

I have a T-shirt that reads, “This is the Dawning of the Age of Asparagus.” It always gets a few chuckles, but I wish I had one that said, “Dancing with Marigolds.” For me, marigolds are guardians of the garden, bright and unpretentious, protecting every patch of vegetables—even my beloved asparagus.

Growing asparagus has been a near-constant in my life, reaching back to childhood, when I’d cut fresh spears in my grandparents’ garden. Asparagus was my first garden job, and I even worked an asparagus field near where the Mall of America stands today.

Then came the Vietnam War, a quick marriage, and a call to serve. My young bride and I struggled on my return, mostly for practical reasons. I took comfort in the garden, growing food that kept us healthy and stretched our budget. But my wife despised gardening, seeing it as another drain on our finances. The only flowers I planted back then were marigolds, lining the garden’s edge like quiet soldiers, warding off pests. Sadly, they couldn’t save the marriage, and the year it ended, my asparagus patch withered. I took it as a sign—the end of one chapter and the hesitant beginning of another.

I didn’t know then that life’s colors would bloom again. A few months later, while recuperating from a health scare, a  friend named Elaine brought me a single rose. That simple act struck a chord. A rose! No one had ever brought me anything so beautiful just because… I’d never had much use for flowers—they were too “frivolous.” But Elaine, with her love of dance and her grounding in psychology, taught me something new. Perhaps my aversion to flowers stemmed from a long-forgotten childhood nightmare where flowers chased me, trying to tell me something I hadn’t understood.

Elaine and I eventually married, and I chose marigolds to be engraved on our wedding rings—a nod to my past and an embrace of new growth. She even helped me see marigolds in a new light: not just as pragmatic protectors but as cheerful companions in our garden. And over time, I found I didn’t just enjoy gardening with her; I was learning to dance, both in the garden and in life.

Together, we grew flowers and vegetables, taking delight in both beauty and practicality. Now, we garden side by side, sowing laughter and memories. I’ve come to see that flowers like marigolds and roses are more than decoration. They’re symbols of resilience, hope, and—yes—a bit of dancing. ❖

About the Author: Larry Johnson, an intrepid gardener and storyteller, draws inspiration from the beauty and resilience of life’s blooms. A Vietnam veteran and lifelong cultivator of all things green, Larry has found joy in the garden and the power of second chances. He shares his experiences with a touch of humor and wisdom, hoping to inspire others to find beauty in their own lives.