Quitman's first annual Art in the Park was a huge success, from all indications. I know Bob and I had a good time and sold more pottery than we dreamed. God really blessed us. With Bobby and Jessica's help, we had a nice set-up with a canopy, and Bob had his wheel set up. It was fun to watch folks watch him throw.....especially little kids.
The opening group was the Quitman High School show choir and chorus, and they did a great job. I got to hug several students I miss from last year.
We got to see some folks we hadn't seen in years, people who played important roles in our lives.
One example: Martha Hamrick, who was Emma's preschool teacher at the Quitman First Methodist pre-school. She has fond memories of Emma, and we talked a good while. Another example: Rose Longwitz, DeeDee's and Bobb's choral teacher at Quitman High School. And those are just two of the dozens of folks we got to reconnect with.
The weather was perfect......Mrs. Holloman, one of the main event coordinators, couldn't have possibly called up a more beautiful day. Earlier in the week, there were weather predictions of 50% chance of rain, but the only clouds in the sky were welcome ones that blocked the sun and brought occasional wisps of coolness.
The food vendors had delicious goodies......one church group from near Butler, Al, had delicious BBQ pork skins made fresh. The Kettle Corn man was there, and I finally tasted some of that sweet-salty popcorn. I saw several funnel cake vendors, but I found the will to resist! (Kinda wish I hadn't.)
I never got to walk around and see what the other vendors had for offer......that's my only regret. Next year I'll make it a point to get around and see other booths. We were pretty busy at ours, though, so I'm not complaining.
What a lovely way to introduce the community to the new Mary Carter Park in the center of the town. I hope the powers that be can find other events to host there, because it's really a pleasant venue.
Special kudos to the Mount Hebron Baptist Church worship drama group......they performed very well, and were an excellent way to bring the event to its close. Talented young people who love the Lord treated the crowd to several small skits and some lovely singing with worship dance and pantomime.
If you missed out on going, you missed out on lots of fun and smiling faces.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Friday, March 30, 2012
Red Clover Joy
On my way to work this morning, I saw the red clover peeping out all along the highway in patches here and there. It's a small thing, so trivial, but the first sighting of red clover makes my heart sing!
I remember clearly, the first spring after we had moved to Mississippi, the first time I saw red clover. I grew up with totally white clover, the kind little girls make "daisy chains" with. At school recess, we would gather in the yard and pick and string up piles of white clover. The scent of it; oh, such memories that brings back, of warm, humid days and green grass stains on skirts.
I did not know clover came in other colors! I recall asking my neighbor what all those red wild flowers were.....lush carpets of them all along the road, in the neutral ground between lanes and along the roadside. "Why, that's just clover," she said, laughing at my ignorance. I was bowled over.
Now, the red clover is a special signal to me of the passing of the year. Summer is just around the corner. There are patches of white flowers too, which I guess are like dandelions, though they don't quite resemble the ones I grew up with. And soon, the gentle hillsides along the road will be wearing patches of a lavendar, heather-like flower.
Red clover is here.....Mississippi spring is so wonderful, so magnificently colorful, a riot of nature's paintbrush, and the natives just think I'm a little crazy. They don't see it with the same eyes as I do.
Louisiana has its own natural beauty. The swamps near my home had cattails, lavender bulb plants whose name escapes me, yellow and white daisies and dandelions, Queen Anne's lace......but it seems to me I saw these most all the time. They didn't just suddenly appear, as if by magic, because the season had changed.
Maybe I notice such things more as an adult than I did as a child.
I just know the red clover made me happy this morning. Magic.....God's paintbrush all over the roadside, and people just don't notice it. What a shame.
I remember clearly, the first spring after we had moved to Mississippi, the first time I saw red clover. I grew up with totally white clover, the kind little girls make "daisy chains" with. At school recess, we would gather in the yard and pick and string up piles of white clover. The scent of it; oh, such memories that brings back, of warm, humid days and green grass stains on skirts.
I did not know clover came in other colors! I recall asking my neighbor what all those red wild flowers were.....lush carpets of them all along the road, in the neutral ground between lanes and along the roadside. "Why, that's just clover," she said, laughing at my ignorance. I was bowled over.
Now, the red clover is a special signal to me of the passing of the year. Summer is just around the corner. There are patches of white flowers too, which I guess are like dandelions, though they don't quite resemble the ones I grew up with. And soon, the gentle hillsides along the road will be wearing patches of a lavendar, heather-like flower.
Red clover is here.....Mississippi spring is so wonderful, so magnificently colorful, a riot of nature's paintbrush, and the natives just think I'm a little crazy. They don't see it with the same eyes as I do.
Louisiana has its own natural beauty. The swamps near my home had cattails, lavender bulb plants whose name escapes me, yellow and white daisies and dandelions, Queen Anne's lace......but it seems to me I saw these most all the time. They didn't just suddenly appear, as if by magic, because the season had changed.
Maybe I notice such things more as an adult than I did as a child.
I just know the red clover made me happy this morning. Magic.....God's paintbrush all over the roadside, and people just don't notice it. What a shame.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
My First Book Drive
When I set out to have a used book drive/sale to benefit the Newspaper in Education program at The Meridian Star, I had no concept of the backbreaking labor it would be to carry and shift boxes of books, and then sort through them, one by one. Thank God for Terry in the mailroom, with his dollies, helping me to move carfuls of book boxes with nothing but a cheery word and smile during the process. And the ladies in the "front" part of the paper help to carry bags and boxes that get dropped off up front.
The drive is only nine days old, and I can't count the number of books folks have donated. I myself have a lot more to bring and add to the pile.
We have signed copies of books by local writers, including one of Homesick, a memoir by Sela Ward about growing up - and coming home - to Meridian. The members of The Mississippi Writers' Guild have been sending me signed copies of their works, and that is an exciting part of this whole process.
Some really antique books have shown up deep inside some of these boxes. I have an 1850 mathematics text from some university in either Kentucky or Tennessee, and there are others. I plan to do a bit of research before setting these vintage books out.
Many people, like me, come to a time in life when we feel ready to lighten the load of possessions we have carted around with us all our lives. A time to let loose and let others share in what we've treasured. The books that really touch my heart are those with inscriptions: to Mama on her birthday, to Sally for Christmas......those kinds of things. Eventually, all things must pass on. It is a reminder of the short, transient nature of our life upon this earth. We truly will take nothing with us but the bodies into which our souls were imbued.
I hope people come to our sale......not sure when exactly it will be yet. The prices will be good, and I'd love to see us raise hundreds of dollars for our NIE program. It all goes to get free newspapers into the hands of students. God bless this work.
The drive is only nine days old, and I can't count the number of books folks have donated. I myself have a lot more to bring and add to the pile.
We have signed copies of books by local writers, including one of Homesick, a memoir by Sela Ward about growing up - and coming home - to Meridian. The members of The Mississippi Writers' Guild have been sending me signed copies of their works, and that is an exciting part of this whole process.
Some really antique books have shown up deep inside some of these boxes. I have an 1850 mathematics text from some university in either Kentucky or Tennessee, and there are others. I plan to do a bit of research before setting these vintage books out.
Many people, like me, come to a time in life when we feel ready to lighten the load of possessions we have carted around with us all our lives. A time to let loose and let others share in what we've treasured. The books that really touch my heart are those with inscriptions: to Mama on her birthday, to Sally for Christmas......those kinds of things. Eventually, all things must pass on. It is a reminder of the short, transient nature of our life upon this earth. We truly will take nothing with us but the bodies into which our souls were imbued.
I hope people come to our sale......not sure when exactly it will be yet. The prices will be good, and I'd love to see us raise hundreds of dollars for our NIE program. It all goes to get free newspapers into the hands of students. God bless this work.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Wisteria and Our First Garden
Yesterday, I think, was my first good glimpse of a roadside full of wisteria. The vines were carpeting an embankment. I had caught a small glimpse or two of a stray purple cluster here and there a day or so before, but this was wisteria in its full glory.
The trees that line the country roads near my house will be festooned with wisteria garlands for a brief while. If you blink, you may very well miss the splendor of nature's wild purple tailoring.
I drove down Poplar Springs Drive in Meridian yesterday, and saw spring in its full Mississippi glory. Azaleas of every shade, white dogwoods, a few early roses peeking out between deep greenery, daffodils, the wisteria blossoms hanging everywhere......it was enough to make a body fall off the side of that winding street and wreck in a gulley!
One home had a delightful border of tiny flowers. I couldn't slow down enough to distinguish them, but it seemed like a mix of impatiens and marigolds and such. You know, all those bright little annual bedding plants that pop up everywhere all of a sudden.
The first home we lived in when we moved to Mississippi had well-developed garden beds and trees and shrubbery. We moved in August, and I don't remember much but the kudzu garden at the roadside edge of our hilltop property. But when spring came, oh my goodness. We had huge yellow roses growing up beside our chimney. We had plum trees.....can you imagine? And peach trees! Oh, the boxes of peaches we picked that first season. I went to the local farmer's coop and didn't know what I was doing, but I was so entranced by all the little bedding plants I bought a bunch and killed half of them before it was all through. We did end up with some respectable-looking flower beds, though, by lucky accident.
Our neighbors asked us if we were going to plant a garden. Well, why not, we thought. Put seeds in the ground and up will come vegetables. So we put in a big old garden, about the size of a small cottage! We knew nothing about it. We planted tomatoes, cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, yellow squash and zucchini, We planted every variety of pepper plant we could find, because I liked the colors.
We tried to weed, at first, but then it just got away from us. Ignorantly, we planted our squash eight inches apart. (I can hear the laughter, but we honestly didn't know squash was supposed to be planted on little hills about three feet apart.) Soon, our entire garden was like some gorgeous, wild jungle full of food!
We thrashed our way in every morning when the dew was on the plants, and brought in baskets of delicious vegetables. My neighbor asked, will you "put up" your tomatoes and peaches? Why not, I thought. So we made a trip to Kirkland's Hardware and bought a huge enamel canning pot, jars, and a Ball book about canning.
We tried some of the recipes and canned jars of some lovely stuff called India sauce. We used our own fresh onions, jalapenos, tomatoes, and made fresh salsa.....I've never tasted the like ever again. We canned tomatoes, peaches, banana peppers, tabasco peppers which looked like Christmas tree lights.
No one told me that peppers had to be handled with gloves, carefully. I just plopped piles of jalapenos in the sink and started to work. By nightfall, my hands were on living fire, and it was hard to breathe! We learned the hard way about canning peppers, I can tell you.
None of the gardens we tried the following years ever produced like that first one. We tried smaller gardens that we could do a better job of keeping weeded. We planted things like we were supposed to. But it was never the same.
When we moved into Quitman next to the Archusa Creek Park, we could not find a place on our property that would grow veggies. The only spot would have been the front yard, and I didn't think our neighbors would care very much for a front yard vegetable garden. I think the soil in our new place may have been too sandy. After some half-hearted attempts at container gardening on the deck, we just threw up our hands and gave up.
But in my mind's eye, I can see the dew glistening off that first jungle garden just as the sun was up. I can smell the fresh cucumbers and tomatoes, the damp earth, the sharp scent of the peppers. I feel the grit in my shoes. And I can taste that India sauce, those peach halves, that completely homemade salsa. What a treasure God gifted us with that first year.
The trees that line the country roads near my house will be festooned with wisteria garlands for a brief while. If you blink, you may very well miss the splendor of nature's wild purple tailoring.
I drove down Poplar Springs Drive in Meridian yesterday, and saw spring in its full Mississippi glory. Azaleas of every shade, white dogwoods, a few early roses peeking out between deep greenery, daffodils, the wisteria blossoms hanging everywhere......it was enough to make a body fall off the side of that winding street and wreck in a gulley!
One home had a delightful border of tiny flowers. I couldn't slow down enough to distinguish them, but it seemed like a mix of impatiens and marigolds and such. You know, all those bright little annual bedding plants that pop up everywhere all of a sudden.
The first home we lived in when we moved to Mississippi had well-developed garden beds and trees and shrubbery. We moved in August, and I don't remember much but the kudzu garden at the roadside edge of our hilltop property. But when spring came, oh my goodness. We had huge yellow roses growing up beside our chimney. We had plum trees.....can you imagine? And peach trees! Oh, the boxes of peaches we picked that first season. I went to the local farmer's coop and didn't know what I was doing, but I was so entranced by all the little bedding plants I bought a bunch and killed half of them before it was all through. We did end up with some respectable-looking flower beds, though, by lucky accident.
Our neighbors asked us if we were going to plant a garden. Well, why not, we thought. Put seeds in the ground and up will come vegetables. So we put in a big old garden, about the size of a small cottage! We knew nothing about it. We planted tomatoes, cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, yellow squash and zucchini, We planted every variety of pepper plant we could find, because I liked the colors.
We tried to weed, at first, but then it just got away from us. Ignorantly, we planted our squash eight inches apart. (I can hear the laughter, but we honestly didn't know squash was supposed to be planted on little hills about three feet apart.) Soon, our entire garden was like some gorgeous, wild jungle full of food!
We thrashed our way in every morning when the dew was on the plants, and brought in baskets of delicious vegetables. My neighbor asked, will you "put up" your tomatoes and peaches? Why not, I thought. So we made a trip to Kirkland's Hardware and bought a huge enamel canning pot, jars, and a Ball book about canning.
We tried some of the recipes and canned jars of some lovely stuff called India sauce. We used our own fresh onions, jalapenos, tomatoes, and made fresh salsa.....I've never tasted the like ever again. We canned tomatoes, peaches, banana peppers, tabasco peppers which looked like Christmas tree lights.
No one told me that peppers had to be handled with gloves, carefully. I just plopped piles of jalapenos in the sink and started to work. By nightfall, my hands were on living fire, and it was hard to breathe! We learned the hard way about canning peppers, I can tell you.
None of the gardens we tried the following years ever produced like that first one. We tried smaller gardens that we could do a better job of keeping weeded. We planted things like we were supposed to. But it was never the same.
When we moved into Quitman next to the Archusa Creek Park, we could not find a place on our property that would grow veggies. The only spot would have been the front yard, and I didn't think our neighbors would care very much for a front yard vegetable garden. I think the soil in our new place may have been too sandy. After some half-hearted attempts at container gardening on the deck, we just threw up our hands and gave up.
But in my mind's eye, I can see the dew glistening off that first jungle garden just as the sun was up. I can smell the fresh cucumbers and tomatoes, the damp earth, the sharp scent of the peppers. I feel the grit in my shoes. And I can taste that India sauce, those peach halves, that completely homemade salsa. What a treasure God gifted us with that first year.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Memories, Memories
I am busy sorting through hundreds of books that have been donated for our first NIE (Newspaper in Education) book sale in May. It's back-breaking work, more than I anticipated, but enjoyable for a bibliophile like me.
One particular group of books has affected me deeply. Someone, or maybe someones - I have no idea who dropped off most of the books - has donated dozens of books about war. WW I, WW II, VietNam, Hitler, the Holocaust, and war in general. I can picture an elderly man who has been collecting and reading all of these books, most of his life, fascinated by the subject of warfare. Perhaps he is a veteran. I can picture him staring at his bookshelves, thinking of all the time he's enjoyed reading these books - and then realizing it's time to pass them to someone else. A reader who will respect the subject. These books are a legacy.
My father was fascinated with WW II. He had every Time-Life collection on warfare you can imagine. For some reason I could never fathom, he did not believe in the Holocaust. Oh, he believed there were Jews killed, but nowhere near on the scale that we know. He thought the Holocaust was propaganda. I never understood how he could pour through those collections of historical fact, full of documentation and pictures and first-hand accounts, and yet think it was trumped-up pseudo-history.
I know very little, actually, about my father. I do know he spent close to two years in Germany in 1950-51......he was a soldier during the Korean War years, but spent all of his enlistment stationed in Germany. Perhaps he hear, saw, things that caused him to view the German side of the story in a different light. Or perhaps my father was, simply, a bigot when it came to the Jewish people. I'll never know.
As I go through these old books, I think of him sitting in his recliner, reading his war collections over and over, and I wonder what was going through his mind. I try to imagine the person - or persons - who donated these books, and wonder what caught their imagination(s) about warfare. I wish I knew who donated the books.
I myself am slowly clearing out my personal library. Every book I donate has some memory attached to it. I think of when and why it was purchased. I weigh each volume carefully, wondering if I am really ready to give it up. With each book I place in my shopping bag to bring to the Star, there is a small weight lifted off of my shoulders. We treasure books, and never want to part with them. But the day comes, for all book-lovers, when we know we must begin to let loose. I am thankful for all of those folks out there who shall remain mostly nameless, who, like me, are gleaning their shelves. Hopefully, many new readers will buy these treasures and enjoy them once again. Stories passed on, history passed on, ideas passed on to the next generation.
One particular group of books has affected me deeply. Someone, or maybe someones - I have no idea who dropped off most of the books - has donated dozens of books about war. WW I, WW II, VietNam, Hitler, the Holocaust, and war in general. I can picture an elderly man who has been collecting and reading all of these books, most of his life, fascinated by the subject of warfare. Perhaps he is a veteran. I can picture him staring at his bookshelves, thinking of all the time he's enjoyed reading these books - and then realizing it's time to pass them to someone else. A reader who will respect the subject. These books are a legacy.
My father was fascinated with WW II. He had every Time-Life collection on warfare you can imagine. For some reason I could never fathom, he did not believe in the Holocaust. Oh, he believed there were Jews killed, but nowhere near on the scale that we know. He thought the Holocaust was propaganda. I never understood how he could pour through those collections of historical fact, full of documentation and pictures and first-hand accounts, and yet think it was trumped-up pseudo-history.
I know very little, actually, about my father. I do know he spent close to two years in Germany in 1950-51......he was a soldier during the Korean War years, but spent all of his enlistment stationed in Germany. Perhaps he hear, saw, things that caused him to view the German side of the story in a different light. Or perhaps my father was, simply, a bigot when it came to the Jewish people. I'll never know.
As I go through these old books, I think of him sitting in his recliner, reading his war collections over and over, and I wonder what was going through his mind. I try to imagine the person - or persons - who donated these books, and wonder what caught their imagination(s) about warfare. I wish I knew who donated the books.
I myself am slowly clearing out my personal library. Every book I donate has some memory attached to it. I think of when and why it was purchased. I weigh each volume carefully, wondering if I am really ready to give it up. With each book I place in my shopping bag to bring to the Star, there is a small weight lifted off of my shoulders. We treasure books, and never want to part with them. But the day comes, for all book-lovers, when we know we must begin to let loose. I am thankful for all of those folks out there who shall remain mostly nameless, who, like me, are gleaning their shelves. Hopefully, many new readers will buy these treasures and enjoy them once again. Stories passed on, history passed on, ideas passed on to the next generation.
Monday, March 12, 2012
A Surfeit of Riches
I actually have so many new books that I feel numb......not sure which to read first! What a delightful conundrum. But it makes me think, too, about whether I need to stop buying books. When a person has enough unread new books to last for months, shouldn't she stop getting more, at least for a good while?
But......but.....Charlaine Harris's next Sookie book will be out soon. Louise Penny is working on the next Inspector Gamache novel. Cronin's next installment of his vampire series should be due out soon. And the list just goes on and on.....
So when is enough enough? I am fixing to donate boxes of books to my NIE book sale coming up soon. If I were to die tomorrow, to whom would these books mean anything? Ok, DeeDee. But even she has a storage limit. And even DeeDee can read just so many books in one lifetime.
I have a dreadful confession to make. I am not really joking here.....I feel guilty about this. One of the biggest fears I have of death is that I will not be able to read all my new books I've been piling up. That is officially awful. I am supposed to believe that heaven's joy is so far beyond that of reading a good book that it's ridiculous to even talk about it in the same breath. In heaven, we will be so rapt in the ecstatic enjoyment of being in the presence of God that earthly things - like - books - will be as dust.
But here I am, trapped in the concupiscience of my flesh and blood, thinking of what book to read next.....and next.....and next.....
Lord, forgive my humanness.
But......but.....Charlaine Harris's next Sookie book will be out soon. Louise Penny is working on the next Inspector Gamache novel. Cronin's next installment of his vampire series should be due out soon. And the list just goes on and on.....
So when is enough enough? I am fixing to donate boxes of books to my NIE book sale coming up soon. If I were to die tomorrow, to whom would these books mean anything? Ok, DeeDee. But even she has a storage limit. And even DeeDee can read just so many books in one lifetime.
I have a dreadful confession to make. I am not really joking here.....I feel guilty about this. One of the biggest fears I have of death is that I will not be able to read all my new books I've been piling up. That is officially awful. I am supposed to believe that heaven's joy is so far beyond that of reading a good book that it's ridiculous to even talk about it in the same breath. In heaven, we will be so rapt in the ecstatic enjoyment of being in the presence of God that earthly things - like - books - will be as dust.
But here I am, trapped in the concupiscience of my flesh and blood, thinking of what book to read next.....and next.....and next.....
Lord, forgive my humanness.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
New Shoes and Azaleas
After my venture out to walk yesterday, I realized I must have new walking shoes. I guess I'll finally use that gift card Bobby gave me for Christmas; I've been saving it for something special.
On my way to church this morning, I noticed the dogwood tree by our house is suddenly in bloom, as are little dogwoods peeping out through the woods all over. That's how the wild white dogwoods do.....all of a sudden, the woods are alight, as if God turned on a switch. I love this time of year.
I noted one small azalea bloom on our bush near the garage yesterday. This morning, there are azalea bushes everywhere full of pinks and whites and all shades of purple and red.
One morning soon, I'll be on my way to work and the wild wisteria vines will be hanging full of their purple clusters. Wisteria takes over the trees like kudzu. The purple blooms don't last long, maybe a couple of weeks at most. But while they're out, the yards and fields around here will be full of color. Dogwoods, azaleas, and wisteria all in bloom at once. Bob says one day we will wreck because I am distracted by spring in bloom.
So, the new shoes.....I'll go for some matching color, a pink or purple. It may be a day or two. My shins may have to hurt for a bit longer till I make the pilgrimage to the JCP store. Meanwhile, I'll be watching the blooms grow and spread and love that I live in this place during spring.
On my way to church this morning, I noticed the dogwood tree by our house is suddenly in bloom, as are little dogwoods peeping out through the woods all over. That's how the wild white dogwoods do.....all of a sudden, the woods are alight, as if God turned on a switch. I love this time of year.
I noted one small azalea bloom on our bush near the garage yesterday. This morning, there are azalea bushes everywhere full of pinks and whites and all shades of purple and red.
One morning soon, I'll be on my way to work and the wild wisteria vines will be hanging full of their purple clusters. Wisteria takes over the trees like kudzu. The purple blooms don't last long, maybe a couple of weeks at most. But while they're out, the yards and fields around here will be full of color. Dogwoods, azaleas, and wisteria all in bloom at once. Bob says one day we will wreck because I am distracted by spring in bloom.
So, the new shoes.....I'll go for some matching color, a pink or purple. It may be a day or two. My shins may have to hurt for a bit longer till I make the pilgrimage to the JCP store. Meanwhile, I'll be watching the blooms grow and spread and love that I live in this place during spring.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Walking the Trail with Emma
I am reading a hauntingly, beautiful book called The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey. It's based on Russian folktales about a childless couple who build a little girl of snow who then comes to life. There are many versions of the story, none of which end happily. I am hoping against hope that Eowyn Ivey finds a way to bring hope at the end.
So far, a homesteading couple who've lost a child before heading out West have built a snow-girl. Suddenly, the snowgirl is melted and they spy a little girl wearing the articles of clothing they had put on the snowgirl running around the woods near their home, with a red fox always in the distance. I don't want to say any more, because I want to encourage the reading of the book and don't want to give any spoilers. I am half-way through, and I tell you, this book will affect you in imaginable ways.
This afternoon, while reading, I began to reflect on Emma, and I began asking myself, what were Emma's dreams for her life? What did Emma envision for herself five, ten, and more years into the future? And I becam very melancholy.
I interrupted Bob loading his kiln and said, "Let's go walking." And we went to the lovely blue-paved walking trail near the reservoir in back of a local school. I thought to myself, "If I don't start walking, I'll die."
To my delight, my Canadian geese were in full flotilla, gliding near the bank where I was walking. My children have always laughed at how much I look forward to my little ducks and geese which migrate to Archusa Reservoir every year. Their appearance - and disappearance - mark the seasons of my life.
I thought of how badly I wished Emma were walking with me, and I thought of the woman in the book who had just made a beautiful embroidered coat for the snow-girl she knew would return. But Emma will not be returning, no matter what season of the year it is.
Emma's dreams are lost with her. Oh, I know what her immediate dream was......to be the perfect wife and housekeeper for Randall, at least the very best she could be. But in her deepest imaginings, what was her life's ambition? That elusive dream she seemed to be chasing in all the wrong places, at least until she met Randall?
The llittle snow-girl in Eowyn Ivey's book is a quiet, fey creature who presents the couple with hares in her blood-stained hands, hares she has brought as a gift. What gifts were you trying to bring us in your world-stained hands, my Emma-girl? WHat would I say to to you if you suddenly appeared furtively dashing in and out and between the trees in our backyard?
I have to walk. I have to do something, or I know I will die before I should. I can feel it......my breathlessness, my heartrate sometimes racing, my tired body groaning just to climb a couple of flights of stairs. Emma, I'll be thinking of you when I walk, when I watch my dear flock of geese finally go back North for the summer.
So far, a homesteading couple who've lost a child before heading out West have built a snow-girl. Suddenly, the snowgirl is melted and they spy a little girl wearing the articles of clothing they had put on the snowgirl running around the woods near their home, with a red fox always in the distance. I don't want to say any more, because I want to encourage the reading of the book and don't want to give any spoilers. I am half-way through, and I tell you, this book will affect you in imaginable ways.
This afternoon, while reading, I began to reflect on Emma, and I began asking myself, what were Emma's dreams for her life? What did Emma envision for herself five, ten, and more years into the future? And I becam very melancholy.
I interrupted Bob loading his kiln and said, "Let's go walking." And we went to the lovely blue-paved walking trail near the reservoir in back of a local school. I thought to myself, "If I don't start walking, I'll die."
To my delight, my Canadian geese were in full flotilla, gliding near the bank where I was walking. My children have always laughed at how much I look forward to my little ducks and geese which migrate to Archusa Reservoir every year. Their appearance - and disappearance - mark the seasons of my life.
I thought of how badly I wished Emma were walking with me, and I thought of the woman in the book who had just made a beautiful embroidered coat for the snow-girl she knew would return. But Emma will not be returning, no matter what season of the year it is.
Emma's dreams are lost with her. Oh, I know what her immediate dream was......to be the perfect wife and housekeeper for Randall, at least the very best she could be. But in her deepest imaginings, what was her life's ambition? That elusive dream she seemed to be chasing in all the wrong places, at least until she met Randall?
The llittle snow-girl in Eowyn Ivey's book is a quiet, fey creature who presents the couple with hares in her blood-stained hands, hares she has brought as a gift. What gifts were you trying to bring us in your world-stained hands, my Emma-girl? WHat would I say to to you if you suddenly appeared furtively dashing in and out and between the trees in our backyard?
I have to walk. I have to do something, or I know I will die before I should. I can feel it......my breathlessness, my heartrate sometimes racing, my tired body groaning just to climb a couple of flights of stairs. Emma, I'll be thinking of you when I walk, when I watch my dear flock of geese finally go back North for the summer.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)