My friend V is an artist. We were going to paint yesterday but one thing led to another and we didn’t get to. I hope we can another time. When we explored the farm, V snapped several photos that I just love. This will bring back memories to many of you. When I was growing up in town, we had all the modern conveniences. But grandma’s house didn’t have indoor plumbing till I was six or seven. Up until then, this was the toilet. The bath was in a galvanized tub on the kitchen floor. Laundry was done in a gas-powered wringer washer on the back porch after many years of scrubbing on a washboard. The laundry hung on the line. I still remember how stiff and scratchy the towels were when they air dried but oh…the sheets were divine.
I got my first company on the farm yesterday! I’m telling you…I was SO excited. I even bought a new vinyl tablecloth at Dollar General for the occasion! I picked up a potted hyacinth at the grocery store, dressed my bed in floral pastels, and the house looked positively springy!
I love having company. It gives me a chance to cook. Open-faced cheeseburgers and locally made Mr. Bee potato chips for lunch and pork loin chops, brown and wild rice and fresh asparagus for supper. We roamed the farm and explored the old barn and found a few treasures. An old lantern, some spats and a hat that I think belonged to my great grandfather, and the rusty front of an old Model A Ford that I want to hang on the wall in the dining room. While we were driving out the dirt road at the back of the farm, V saw a flash of red and we couldn’t identify what it was, even with binoculars. She has no fear. I have an abundance of caution. Between us and this red thing was what I would consider snake territory but with great caution and beating on the ground, we carefully moved forward and got a good look at the plant. Now, to identify it. Anyone have a clue?
This is what an Easter Parade looks like out in the country. Normally, I would be in town at church on any given Sunday. But yesterday I just didn’t feel good…wicked headache. I have company coming today and had lots to do, so I stayed home. A friend brought me some ginger ale and medicine for my tummy and I just fiddled around the yard and the house all day. It felt good to just lay low. I even missed a concert last night that I had been looking forward to. But sometimes self care wins.
When I was a very young child, both of my grandmothers decided I was far too pale. There must be something wrong with me. So, they set to work with their home remedies to fix what ailed me.
My paternal grandmother decided I had worms. She went to the spice cabinet and pulled out the powdered sage, dumped a heaping tablespoon into a teacup and stirred in boiling water. No sugar. No honey. No cream. Just sage, sage, sage. Sage tea. It was “good fer what ails ye”. I have no words to describe how horrible it was. And, I had to sit there till I drank the whole thing. Which I did. It isn’t polite to discuss the gastric ramifications of said elixir in mixed company. Suffice it to say, the physical response was proof to my grandmother that she was correct and now I would be fine. I don’t know about worms, but I can assure you I hate sage dressing, sage sausage…anything that’s been sitting in the same cabinet as sage. Horrid stuff.
To quote Anne Lamott… “Age has given me what I’ve been looking for all my life - it gave me me.” In a few short weeks I’ll be 64. Sixty-four trips around the sun. Sixty-four birthday cakes. Sixty-four years of blood, sweat, and tears. Three weddings…four if you count the renewal of vows in the second marriage. It didn’t help…it still fell apart. Two beautiful children. Two grandchildren. Births. Deaths. New loves. New heartbreaks. More new loves. I don’t know…eight or ten “careers”? I’m a Gemini…sue me!
As is typical in the spring, yesterday was vastly different than the day before. Wednesday was a brilliant, sunny, warm spring day. After mowing the lawn, I sat in the sunshine on the porch and it got downright hot out there…80 degrees! Yesterday? Not so much. As the south braced for another day of severe weather, we received the aftereffects of the storm front as it came through. It was wet, grey and cold. The thermometer on the front porch hovered at 40° all afternoon and I was chilled through and through.
One of the most pleasant things about this farm is the multitude of birds singing all the time. From the earliest risers announcing the break of dawn to the owls hooting in the night, I have always been mesmerized by their chorus echoing up the holler and in the woods surrounding the house. I hung several feeders out front last fall and have enjoyed watching the various birds as they migrate up and down on their annual patterns. There were a few varieties that wintered over…the cardinal being my favorite. Black-capped chickadees and house wrens and goldfinches were frequent visitors with the occasional bird I have yet to identify.
I have friends who are really competent women. They’ve taken care of business all on their own for decades and seem to handle anything that gets thrown at them…with strength and grace. So why do I, as a widow of four years, stumble over something as inconsequential as buying a lawnmower? Holy cats! You’d think I was making a decision of epic proportions!
I went to Lowe’s…twice. I went to Home Depot and Walmart. I went to Rural King…twice. Finally I went back to Lowe’s and bought the first lawnmower. I mean, a lawnmower is a lawnmower, right? Wrong! Apparently, there’s a great deal of importance placed on things like self-propelled, front wheel drive vs. rear wheel, a larger rear wheel, Honda vs. Briggs & Stratton vs. OHV engines, mulch vs. side discharge vs. rear-bagger. There was a time in my life when I would have just bought the most expensive one with all the bells and whistles. Oh, who am I kidding? I would have just payed to have it done. But those aren’t my options now. Decision-making changes with circumstances. I chose the 21" Toro with the Honda engine. It was on sale.
When I was growing up, I found some photos in my grandma’s buffet. I didn’t understand what they were so I stuck them in my pocket and set off to find her. I needed an explanation. The pictures were of two water fountains with a sign over them. One said “White”. The other said “Colored”. I didn’t get it. There was no difference that I could see. When I found my grandma, I showed her the picture and asked her what was the difference between the two water fountains. Grandma took the picture and saw what it was. Her shoulders slumped and she looked at me with a sadness around her eyes. She sat down in the rocker and pulled me into her lap.
Grief isn’t pretty. It isn’t predictable. It doesn’t run on a timeline. You don’t get from point A to point B and you’re done. No. It’s messy and painful. It’s slippery and tenacious. It’s sometimes funny. It’s most of the time tragic. It’s often agonizing and seems to go on forever. Occasionally it’s tender and gives you great insights. But it will never have a Hollywood ending where you take a bow and it’s over. It’s never, ever over.
