My
mind can't seem to knit threads of thought together to form a tight
essay of one subject for anything. I have started more than once to
try and pull my scattered mind back into a sensible straight line. I
am done fighting it. So for now I will try and pin down as many
jittery thoughts as I can, my form of doodling with words. I hope you
don't mind. I've done a few chores, supper is in the oven and we have
a few minutes to chat.
Yesterday
was date day at our house; it usually falls on Wednesday. We spent
most of the date outside, except for a quick visit to the library
where I was lassoed by a book titled, The Dirty Life by
Kristin Kimball. It is a true story about a New York City girl
becoming a farmer, marrying one, both. I don't know which came first,
but she writes “As much as you transform the land by farming,
farming transforms you. It seeps into your skin along with the dirt
that abides permanently in the creases of your thickened hands, the
beds of your nails.” I was captured!
As
a country girl I have a longing for space, a garden, a few goats and
chickens; a story like this grabs my attention and holds it. I am not
planning on taking up farming but I love the idea of it. I grew up
next door to my grandparents; they were farmers. I believe I lived in
the best world ever; I had such wonderful farm experiences without
all the chores. Though grandpa needed our help every now and then to
round up a cow or sheep that had strayed, for my brother and me it
didn't feel like work; it was great fun. In early spring we would get
a call one morning before school announcing the baby lambs had
arrived. We raced out of the house, down the road and to the barn for
our first glimpse of the newborns before the school bus came.
So
what do I do with this country girl pent up inside of me? I take her
outside. After our date and taking a peek at my library book I went
out to give our new plants a sprinkle of water from my bright, blue
watering can. Earlier in the week we planted the most delicate ice
plant on the little hill against the gray stucco wall in our back
yard. I was drawn to the cheery, violet colored, daisy-like bloom and
can not wait to see the hill covered with them.
The
sparrows have been carrying on all afternoon and the wind brushes
against the wind chimes and the lovely woodwind sound soothes me. My
husband transplanted a small volunteer orange tree into a pot. The
pink jasmine I've wanted for so long is blooming profusely. All this
inspired me to open the vegetable drawer and use up a few items,
before they perish, to make quiche. Sparrows chirped profusely, wind
chime sounds, chopping vegetables, the sun beginning its descent and
I feel wrapped up in a secure, warm space. I have often wondered how
I might bring into my current life bits and pieces of things I miss
from other lifetimes. It seems I do so without giving it any thought;
it comes naturally to me.
Like
the daffodil buds tucked into a cobalt blue vase on the counter top.
I have been looking for daffodils for a few weeks. Finally, I found
some at the grocery store today. I chose the ones with the tightest
buds and hoped like everything they would bloom. Daffodils always
remind me of my grandma. Grandma worked a full time job and came home
everyday to make homemade meals, tend a garden in summer, made quilts
or afghans for newborns and brides and the list goes on. No matter
what she always had her flowers. Flower beds dotted their property
and daffodils, narcissus and hyacinths burst forth every spring to
tempt a granddaughter into coveting her own bouquets.
In
amongst the week's angst and cheerful, cozy moments my great niece
was born. It just so happens I have plane tickets to Texas for next
week and I will get to meet her. Babies, flowers, farming and quiche;
sweet blessings tucked in the middle of a world gone mad revives a
calm inside of me reminding me of the hope of Spring, of resurrection
and of eternal life.