A Tribute to a True Original

The sunny spring day when we first met, this tiny lady with a heart of gold eagerly guided me with one hand, using the other to fling open her garden gate to reveal the botanical sanctuary hidden behind it.

Those same hands experienced a great deal in her lifetime. If you could read them, they’d tell you Mary welded ships during our country’s darker days; waved at passing cars despite her not knowing the drivers; nurtured many an orchid to utter blooming elegance.

My dearly departed neighbor, Mary Weinhandl, loved to divide cymbidium
orchids, which she grew abundantly in her Oakland garden and shared with
others. I'm still trying to get mine to bloom like hers did.

Mary’s garden overflowed with more plants than a nursery could handle—namely the cymbidium orchids she so adored and lovingly shared with fellow plant enthusiasts, like me. The orchids thrived under her care, as did many things: her wonderful children who'd visit her often; the persnickety cats she’d mockingly scold as if they were bratty kindergarteners; the Chinese flame tree planted by the city in front of her home, now gloriously and not a bit surprisingly more immense and abundant than any of the others on the block.

She'd seat me at her dining table and stuff me with cookies while she'd reflect on the war and reminisce about her childhood on a farm. At Christmas, she’d personally deliver a box of See’s candies, yet the precious, grandmotherly hug and smooch that followed was sweeter. I once stood in awe as she gave a shivering, shirtless stranger warm clothing and some money for food.

These are among my cherished memories of this remarkable lady. To have known her, I am truly grateful.