Autumn days are finally here . . on Bonnet Street. A fortnight ago, the brightest blue skies appeared. Mist and fog veil the dawn and there are branches of some trees donning scarlet and golden leaves. Now the air is tinged with the scent, known only in October. I love October! Besides being especially lovely, it is the prelude to the holidays and cozy nights . . .with slow cooked meals. This particular, October we are awaiting the arrival of Brant and Sydneys’ second son . . .and Ryans’ little brother. It is a holy time, to me.
As I get older, I consider many things sacred . Even planting twin cedars, gifted to me by my much loved Chris and Aino, was a time of reverence. To me, planting something, that sprung up in a woods, miles away, discovered and then gifted, is not short of wonderous. . . .
As I watch the yard becoming a garden, I am as grateful as can be. Already, my steps have created footpaths, for a lack of rain, deems it necessary to baptize my floral community, every other day. I treasure natural occurrences . . . such as footpaths. They tell your story, in a way.
I notice things as I go along toting a shovel or those buckets of water, That is how I realised that a scrubby bush, was actually a young crepe myrtle abiding by the fence. Just recently, I found something else to love.
The fence between my house and my next door neighbors’ home, is covered with honeysuckle, confederate jasmine and ivy. A slab of cement is along that path, at the end of the driveway-I suppose the remnants of a shed. I turned that area into a potting and painting station. My back was always to my neighbors’ home. I let the clambering vines clamber with great liberty, while my back was to them. When I am on a task, I am unaware of anything going on around me. I have proven this time and time again. Once my late husband walked in the kitchen. I was playing my violin, while a pot was smoldering on the stove, filling the air with smoke! So, it is no wonder, that I missed the tremendous oak growing in the middle of the neighbors yard. It all started because of a small, ivy covered tree stump and a lantern, that Mama had given me.
The lantern was intended to be used outside of my back door, but the electrician deemed it worthless. I thought . . .maybe not. One day it came to me, that it might work on the little stump of a tree that had died young, many years ago. It turned out, that the lantern was a good fit. I was pushing the ivy back, when I saw the tree. I was stunned at the beauty of it and remembered that Pop and Grandma had two of them, outside of their little farmhouse. I do not know how long I stood there . . .but when my trance was broken I made haste to relocate my work station. Now, I have a beautiful view of a patch of earth, with three old trees, for there were two more as well! I felt I had “struck gold”, though gold paled in comparison.
Do you remember my “Quiet garden” at the old farmhouse? Well, I have found a spot to make a “Quiet Walk” around the little rosewood cottage! Granted, it will be a short walk, so I will have a bench, to contemplate or to dream . . .or to pray or to rest upon.
A lot of things can come to pass, when you’re sitting under an old tree. Of course, right now, I can only afford to practice such leisure arts, for brief moments, for I am either painting or scrubbing or planting, and besides a job and housekeeping. I am enjoying the work and the results have been quite pleasing . . .but I have not seen the grandchildren much and miss them terribly. Hopefully, this weekend, that will change.
I declare that every morning there is more autumn colored leaves, than the day before! There are apricot leaves and plum leaves and lemon yellow ones, too, now. Just a day or so ago, I started writing this post!
Every morning, I wander around the yard, to start my day. It is a dark and quiet time. This morning, before going out . . .Brant called. He had another son! His name is Kenon Banks, (Kin-an) named after Sydneys’ dear grandfather. My heart was filled with gladness. Mother and son were fine. Brant and I were both crying with joy. A picture proved what Brant said . .” He is beautiful. “
Afterwards, as I strolled, I took great note of the sky so I could tell Banks, about the stars, he was born beneath. I noticed the air-cool and still, and the damp soil beneath me. When I came in, I lit a candle and said a prayer of thanksgiving. Now, in my spectrum of joyous events, nothing tops the birth of a grandchild. After all, there is another somebody to love deeply, to hope for and to be loved by. He will certainly bring gifts . . and I want to give him my own gifts.
I was blessed with two wonderful grandmothers and decades later-one fifty years!) their love and influence, hasn’t dimmed. Being a grandmother is truly, all it is cracked up to be.
Though nothing compares to the birth of a grandson . . .still I will mention that big progress has been made in my humble cottage. At long last, a cabinet now abides where the washer and dryer used to. It is a lovely piece and, made from old wood that was rescued from ” the four corners of the earth”. Tomorrow, the pantry door, which is a fancy old screen door, salvaged from the barn at Farm Life, will be hung. I am sure it will be the only screen door on the inside of a house in this small town, but being hopelessly sentimental . . . .I like it. When the “dust settles”-and I mean that literally-I will post pictures.