When the gardener slowly ambled near, we put on our best display and silently willed her to look our way.
“Begonias,” she muttered, “I haven’t had any in my garden for at least twenty-five years.”
“That’s why,” we gently pleaded, “you must take us home and become reacquainted with our beauty.”
The gardener felt drawn to our beautiful soft white blooms and our lovely burgundy-veined leaves. We truly are vastly different from those she remembered upon first planting begonias. As she dug through her memories, she had a clear vision of those long ago planted begonias. They often had reminded her of kindergarten-aged children silently lined up waiting their turn for the bathroom.
Always one to experiment with plants different from her usual favourites, the gardener chose us and happily planted us in a lovely deep purple-collaged flower pot. Knowing that we must wow her with our carefree existence and our innate loveliness, we are intent on putting on a beautiful show.
It isn’t exactly a chore since we drape nicely over her pot, opening initially as pale pink flowers and gradually transforming ourselves into multiple white blooms with a pale green-tinged centre.
We have vowed to keep flowering throughout the summer. Perhaps, if we are fortunate, we shall return indoors in autumn to keep the other tender plants company.
What we enjoy most about our gardener is how she weaves tales about her plants. It was a special evening, as she sat out on the porch, regaling us with stories of our origins. She told us that we were first discovered in 1650, by a South American explorer, Francisco Hernandez, and that we travelled over the high seas to Europe where we fast became favourites in scientific botanical gardens. Thankfully, we avoided any daring pirate ships.
According to one source, most tuberous begonias, of which we proudly claim membership, can be traced back to the four original species discovered by the intrepid English plant hunter, Richard Pearce. Thankfully, he came upon us in Peru and Bolivia in 1864.That perked us up – we’ve a long and illustrious pedigree. Perhaps that’s why the tango and Choro music the gardener plays on the mandolin resonates so well with us.
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Kate smudges in earth, paint and life 
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