I will never be able to grow dahlias like my mama did.
They were her favorite flower, and she watered, weeded, and wildly loved them everyday. Her efforts produced enormous blooms on stalks that reached almost to her shoulders, blooms that caused traffic passing her house to slow down and admire them. Every visitor to her house was given an tour of the flower beds to see the dahlias up close.
This year, it was late when I got the tubers in the ground, and the dahlia plants were still young when we had the ten days of hell on earth here. The leaves were scorched and near death when the temperature got back to normal. Several inches of rain resurrected them, and now I have a few blooms. They are beautiful, and I'm thankful for them.
They are not even close to my Mama's.