My mother’s father, Leonard Harbison, was raised on a farm with a dozen siblings, was a farmer when he started to raise his own family, and eventually moved to Birmingham with my grandmother and their three children to take a factory job. Wherever they went, Leonard’s yard was the envy of the street. He would have plots in bloom and would occasionally dig out another plot to fill up as needed. Common houseplants would find their way to grow and flourish in the outdoor setting. A poinsettia, gifted for Christmas, would be put in the ground and live as a leafy green plant for years.

Occasionally, when I would examine Granddaddy’s garden, I would spot an interesting plant and ask what it was. Sometimes he would respond, “Oh, that’s a volunteer – it just showed up.” Ever since those days, “volunteer” has been my favorite gardening term.

I don’t get to use it much. My “gardening,” such as it is, is generally confined to small pockets – humble expanses of lawn, balconies, porches, patios, containers. There’s not much room for volunteers in such controlled environments. In these spare spaces, the occasional surprise is a cause for delight. A couple of years ago, the volunteers were a pair of birds that decided to nest in one of the containers. We made do, the birds made do, and finally the nest had served its purpose and the container went back to normal maintenance.

Mom’s house has a small sitting area at the front door – to call it a porch would be generous. Most of the attention goes to the flower bed around the crape myrtle but we usually spruce up the porch with a few containers at various levels. This spring, I did three containers featuring begonias with sweet potato vines and creeping jenny for added flow and interest. I’m “right pleased” with it, to use a term my grandfather might have used. It’s not ostentatious, but it adds a fresh pop. We’ll keep it watered and it should look pretty good through the summer.

Last week, I was bringing groceries in through the front door and was stopped by a volunteer in one of the pots. I put down the bags and saw that it was a caladium making its way through the begonia growth. I had been caught in my hastiness: When I was planting this year’s plants in the pot, I only replaced the top layer of soil. A caladium from last year was left behind and had burst forth. The large leaf’s green and scarlet color scheme was a bright addition to the planned foliage it invaded. I had to take a photo of the embellishment that made my original plan so much better and more eye-catching.

Since then, more caladium leaves have emerged and a routine planting has yielded daily surprises. It’s the little things that get us through the day. Let’s hear it for the volunteers.