After my friend Peggy Bass went home to be with the Lord, I vowed to never look at common violets the same way. While I had spent time and energy trying to rid my yard of what she called Bird’s Nest Violets, Peggy spent equal the time enjoying each and every single one. “I just love my Bird Nest Violets,” she would say with a decisively honest Southern drawl.

The other day was warm and just right for doing Spring yard work. I pulled the lawn mower out of the tool shed and headed up the walkway to the front yard. But before I started it, I stopped long enough to survey the work before me. The faces of hundreds of Bird’s Nest Violets looked up at me, and suddenly, I knew there would be no yard work done. I rolled the mower back inside the shed and closed the door. Then I went back inside the house and grabbed the camera. “For Peggy,” I thought, “because I just love my Bird’s Nest Violets.”

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