When we — eventually — arrived at my grandparents’ block my siblings and I would scramble out before Ma started the endless search for parking. We traipsed along the harsh gray cement turning in by the familiar white metal fence then up the red-painted concrete steps. Summoned by our over-pressing of the bell Babi would shuffle eagerly from the depths of the house to welcome us in.

As we crossed the living room threshold we were greeted by a jungle. A multitude of pots and planters filled with clambering flora occupied the territory before the sunny front windows. No neatly manicured display this; the fronds and branches were messily upheld by supportive sticks creeping expansively unrestrictedly.

Ma herself found the local nurseries irresistible; she’d often triumphantly display a new cactus succulent or an orchid. Yet these finds were placed strategically about our house not chaotically clumped together as Babi opted to.

Unlike my older siblings I had grown up with farmland in the back and numerous maples in the front including my beloved “birthday tree.” In mid-October the lush sky-eclipsing greenery in front of my bedroom window miraculously morphed into a fiery vista reds and oranges and yellows. A gift I decided for me alone. A rolling park was but five houses away complete with winding picturesque pathways through a verdant forest. I took such vegetation for granted and it did not dawn upon me until well now that Babi’s conservatory was a pursued mission.

In the years following Zeidy’s passing Babi would visit our “country home” in the summers. When I plodded home from day camp I’d find her sitting in the dappled shade of twisting branches absorbed in a book. I dutifully pecked her on the cheek and she’d reluctantly wrench her attention from her reading. She’d blink dreamily then smile absentmindedly before lapsing back into her contented trance. We barricaded ourselves indoors air conditioner humming while she remained out there for hours frighteningly immobile compared to her usual restlessness and chattiness. What was it that called to her so that she braved the heat and humidity we found so unbearable? Her own daughter could not say.