May 10, 2009

 

Sunday Passage

 

Dear Family and Friends,

 

The sun dapples across my garden as the dew drops glisten like diamonds. I love my gardens when spring finally comes and color erodes across my small town.

 

Dusty purple lilacs

Redbud trees

Crabapple Trees

Daffodils

Tulips

 

As I sit working at my old dining room table this morning, my view is of my Bradford pear tree. The original tree split in half during a snowstorm one Thanksgiving. My house was full of family and the crack in the tree woke everyone but me. My children all whispered around the house not to tell me because I loved that tree so much. I often laugh about that thinking that they tried to keep it a secret yet it is the first thing I notice in the early morning. The tree has grown back from the roots and is strong and holds my bird feeders in the winter, pale white blossoms in=2 0the spring, shade in the summer, and rich mahogany leaves through autumn. I love the strength of the tree coming back stronger than before.

 

It is Mother’s Day today and I feel a strong sense of pride and history to be part of this day. As I sit and watch my garden swirl and dance against my picket fence, I can’t help but think of the chain of history that has brought me to this point. I am talking about the incredible feat of my ancestors, the ones that I have never known. What about the women whose names are lost to time who birthed a child… who birthed a child …who birthed a child.

 

I have birthed three sons who are spread across the country with young wives and sweet homes. Small children grace those households who will grow up and life continues.

 

I often think about the long ago women and wish we could sit for tea, look into our eyes and thank each other. Their lives were hard and short, but without them where would any of us be? We could share recipes and garden tips. I wonder if they would comment on their husbands as we do. I can only think that my eyes would go to their strong hands. Hands that would have never know rubber gloves for washing dishes or lavender lotion at the end of the day. What did they dream about each day as their tasks were mundane and laborious?

 

Sometimes I look at the depth of this conversation that I have within myself wondering if history is a blessing or a curse? How do I live my life to honor them? And where did our strengths and weaknesses come from? Who brought with them the red hair, blue eyes, gifts and talents and deficits as well?

 

Enough thinking on this morning. I will pour more coffee, watch the blue jays build their next in the old Crabapple tree and spend the day in the20garden. Later in the afternoon I will have a cookout with Aaron and Karen and the boys. Karen and I will share gifts and cook together. Aaron will help me hang purple twinkle lights on my garden trellises.

Matthew and Jonah will work in their small flower gardens here so they can begin learning about the magical wonders of the Earth.

 

Aaron will bring a bouquet of lilacs from the farm. The lilac trees appeared to have died off after the fire, but have come back strong. Like my pear tree. Like the women we know who continually give and share, fall down and rise again to bloom in the summer and when winter finally comes, her roots bring forth new growth that she will never see.

 

Happy Mother’s Day to my sweet mom in Texas, to my beautiful sisters, their daughters, my daughter in laws, and two little Portland girls (in August.) Happy Mother’s day to you Amy in two weeks, you will begin to question this cycle of life, and to all the other women in my life. You are all miracles.

 

Love to all,

 

Lou Ann