, , , , , ,

Welcome to A Writer’s Garden where writers who are gardeners or just love gardens will be sharing their garden and flower stories, as well as a bit about their writing.

Today’s writer/gardener guest is Carole Brown talking about why she loves gardens. Welcome, Carole


wild violets

Strolling down the graveled and sometimes oily, township road, I head to our neighbor’s home where an elderly lady lived who spoiled us and allowed us to be a little bit untamed while there. The walk to her house was as much a part of the evening as being there.

My eyes feasted on the festive colors of the scene around me, and my writer’s mind, even at that youthful age, stretched and recoiled much like a rubber band, exploring the beauty of the world around me.

Queen Anne’s lace

Stately white Queen Anne’s lace and wild, orange-coated, freckle-faced Tiger lilies grew side by side, best of friends. In the spring, miniature purple violets grew in profusion along beside the colonies of daffodils, their heads nodding like pools of golden butter.

Further back from the road lay a jungle of myriad plants and trees. Sassafras, with its two and three-fingered leaves and aromatic bark, the legendary Dogwoods, especially graceful in early spring when they wore their handsome crowns, were favorites. The walnut trees and nuts in the fall were captivating, staining my hands a deep, unwashable brown.

Among all these, closer to the ground, grew the Black-eyed Susans, looking like senoritas in yellow shawls, demure Buttercups, the milk maidens of the field, and the favorite Daisy, lending its petals for my childish chants of “he loves, he loves me not” and giving me hours of delight in weavings chains and rings. Overall sprang the heady smelling tangles of honeysuckle.

As I lay in in the grass staring at the bunnies who played close by or listened to the frogs croaking in a nearby pond, and watched the stars in the heavens wink at me good-night, no wonder my imagination grew and expanded as I imagined tiny fairies and Tom Thumbs peeking at me from beneath dandelion plants. With a beautiful, exotic world such as I grew up in, how could I not allow the talent God had placed inside me develop into a writing career where I could use my imagination to my heart’s content?


My love of Flowers: This i:s a beautiful, profound memory for me. I can still see that little gray shabby house with its steep banks and flowers galore around it. It’s a memory that has grown inside me, creating a love of flowers—all flowers, for my own gardens. Is there a flower I don’t love? I think not.



Besides being a member and active participant of many writing groups, Carole Brown enjoys mentoring beginning writers. An author of ten books, she loves to weave suspense and tough topics into her books, along with a touch of romance and whimsy, and is always on the lookout for outstanding titles and catchy ideas. She and her husband reside in SE Ohio but have ministered and counseled nationally and internationally. Together, they enjoy their grandsons, traveling, gardening, good food, the simple life, and did she mention their grandsons?

Connect with Carole on her Personal blog: FB Fan Page:  Amazon Author Page:



By Carole Brown

Mr. Michael, Destiny Rose McCulloch, and Hunter have a mysterious history. Why were three fathers, all business partners, murdered under suspicious circumstances while on their quest to find gold?

  • Hunter, who is Mr. Michael’s ranch manager, is determined to find the answers and protect the precocious young lady who he suspects holds a key answer to his questions.
  • Michael wants only to be left alone to attend to his property, but what can he do when Destiny refuses to leave and captures the heart of everyone of his employees?
  • Destiny almost forgets her quest when she falls in love with Mr. Michael’s ranch and all the people there. And then Michael is much too alluring to ignore. The preacher man back east where she took her schooling tried to claim her heart, but the longer she stays the less she can remember him. She only came west to find a little boy she knew years ago. A little boy all grown up by now…unless, of course, he’s dead.

Inspirational, clean, historical, romantic suspense