In New York City, unless you have a fabulous terrace to loll about on, the gardens are areas that everyone shares.  In Tribeca we have this sweet little garden that is part of our local park.  In late winter, you can sign up to have a plot in it and grow your own vegetables, flowers, or whatever you feel.  It’s fun to see this patchwork quilt of our neighbors’ gardening devotion.

A few weeks back, in late June, we visited the garden with my family who was in town for Mira’s birthday.  We blew bubbles, which kept Mira entertained for a good long while, but for Gigi it was the dirt and the plants that really called to her.  She sat on a bit of cement with small rocks and smidges of earth that held her attention for much longer than any toys would have.  She was even talking to these little things, babbling on about some important things to them.

That day, we had dressed her in this little smocked top (a riff on Heather Ross’s smocked sundress) and bubble bloomers (my own pattern) that I made for my niece three years ago and that my niece loaned to us for Genevieve to wear.  Running around with her hands happily in the dirt and her little fingers caressing the flowers, she looked to me like some sort of flower fairy, there to spread magic to whatever she touched.

(This is my Corner View, part of a collective weekly blog caravan.  Be sure and check out other takes on Flora, starting with Francesca’s.)