My child has never known his grandmom. But somehow he found her spring flower | Maria Panaritis
The mission at Lancaster County’s legendary Shady Maple shopping bazaar, as far as my husband and I had imagined, was pretty cut-and-dry: Find a bunch of vegetable and herb plants. Buy them. Take them home. Plant them. The last thing on my mind was a long-dead woman named Panagiota.
But something about our tagalongs didn’t seem right. Our sons were atypically distracted as I stockpiled Hungarian wax peppers, grape tomatoes, jalapenos and basil plants into a shopping cart. The 5-year-old and his 4-year-old sidekick were obsessed with picking out flowers. And the littlest one, in particular, seemed as though an invisible pied piper had taken control of his mind.
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