When I see white petunias, I always think of my Grandma Fulkerson.
Just outside her back door was a cistern with an old iron pump. Someone had poured a nice concrete pad around it which made it a great place to go & fill your bucket of water. Later, they were able to hook on to the city water line but still kept the old well in perfect working condition.
This area became the place my Grandma placed several pots of flowers. One pot was made of wonderful swirls of bright colors and Grandma always had this special pot filled with white petunias. I loved them! They were the old fashioned kind & flowed over the sides of the pot, hiding some it's colors. When it became too overgrown, Grandma would pinch it back, & then it would bunch out & become another riot of white blooms.
The summer I was seventeen my family moved away from our little Missouri town to a large city in Kansas. It was also a time when Grandma could no longer stay in her little home & had to move also. Her house was sold & her things were either sold or divided among her children. And as fortune would have it, Mom got the pot!
For many years, that piece of Ozark pottery sat on Mom's patio filled with petunias, impatiens, sometimes a "cigar" or "lipstick" plant, or whatever Mom thought would look attractive in the old pot. Later, when I moved away & would come back on summer visits, I would always look to see what Mom had in Grandma's pot.
I remember vacationing in the Bagnall Dam area of the Ozarks. There was a wonderful tourist trap filled with all kinds of Ozark Pottery and I'm sure this is where Grandma's pot came from. How I wish we had taken a picture of that famous spot years ago.
Now I have an Ozark piece of pottery of my own....thanks to eBay & my sister hearing Martha Stewart mentioning the pottery on one of her programs. I've tried putting white petunias in my pot but they never look as beautiful as I remember Grandma's being. This year I have a purple Wave Petunia & just noticed this weekend how pretty it is. I still think of Grandma, even when I see my own pot of petunias.
I'm not quite sure what happened to Grandma's flower pot. I'm hoping that Carol has it...but I'm thinking that somewhere down through the years it may have gotten broken. It doesn't really matter anymore as long as we still have the memories.