When I was young, my father taught me how to make hollyhock dolls. I was probably 8 years old. We went out to the garden and he explained how his grandmother always had hollyhocks in her garden. Red ones. She had moved to town from the farm when her husband died in 1947. My dad was born in 1936, so I figure he was about the same age as me when we first learned to make our little dolls...
On father's day, the hollyhocks spoke to me, urging me to come out and play. The clump that is blooming also has a bit of a story to tell. A few years ago my sister and I took our daughters to Paris for a week. (a wonderful adventure!). While we were waiting in line for the Catacombs, my daughter passed out. The staff was most helpful and thought we really should take her to the hospital. All ended well - combination of heat, not enough water, hunger. She learned a valuable lesson.
On our walk back to the Catacombs (hours later), we walked past a library with a small garden of hollyhocks that had bloomed and were still holding seed pods. One fell into my pocket. Need I say anything else?
My hollyhock doll was a fun memory chaser!