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Now There's Something You Don't See Every Day

5/26/2015

One night last week I was driving to my daughter Ann's house with my husband, Allan, to deliver the dining room table he made for her (that’s another story). Ann lives in Lancaster County, about an hour drive from our house. I always enjoy driving there. The countryside is landscaped with rolling hills and freshly plowed fields. The farms and barns sometimes look like paintings, they are so perfectly quaint and manicured. Although the smells can be pungent and sometimes a little unpleasant, you can be certain the soil contains some good fertilizer. It is not uncommon to see crisp white sheets or a handmade quilt drying on a clothesline, blowing gently in the breeze. Because Lancaster County is home to many Amish families, it is also not unusual to pass horse-drawn buggies clip-clopping down the road, or see children on scooters or bikes wave hello as you go by. For this reason, I like to get off the main road as soon as possible and travel through the back country roads. It’s like traveling back in time.

On this particular night, because of the time of day, Allan felt we would be better off to travel the main road. Little did we know that because of construction, part of the road was closed and it narrowed down to one lane in spots. At one point we ended up sitting without moving an inch for a good five minutes. We were stopped in front of a gas station and Allan looked over and commented, “Now there’s something you don’t see every day!” I glanced in that direction in time to see a buggy pulled up to a gas pump! I looked closer and noticed an Amish farmer filling a gas tank while his wife kept the horses still. While the Amish generally do not use electricity, we decided that they may be using gas powered engines for some of the farm machinery. Still, seeing a buggy alongside a gas pump was something that at first glance just didn’t make sense, and was definitely something you don’t see every day. I definitely had to do some “close reading” to figure that one out.

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A New Tradition for Mother's Day

5/12/2015

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I once came across this quote about gardening from Michael Garofalo:

Gardeners must dance with feedback, play with results, turn as they learn. Learning to think as a gardener is inseparable from the acts of gardening. Learning how to garden is learning how to slow down.

I remember thinking at the time how much gardening is like writing – writers have to dance with feedback and play with results, too. And, thinking like a writer requires actual work as a writer. Over the weekend I helped my daughter, Ann, plant a garden in a space she cleared in her front yard. As I reflected on what we accomplished, I realized that our process resembled a writer’s process in many ways.

First, we gathered the tools we would need – gloves, spade, shovel, wheelbarrow, mulch. Then, with paper and pencil in hand, we sketched and talked about color and space, listing the plants and flowers we thought might work best. Having a plan helped as we shopped, but we weren’t afraid to revise the plan as new possibilities arose.

When we returned from making all our purchases we were ready to draft, or plant in this case. We got to work making small revisions as needed with the mulching, digging, planting, and watering. So there we were, going through the whole process – the editing would come in the continuous care of weeding and feeding.

As with writing, the best part came in the sharing. We were so proud that we couldn’t wait to share our little garden with the world, and we didn’t have to wait long. As people walked by in Ann’s small neighborhood, they stopped to admire or offer a comment of praise and encouragement. We decided right then that creating gardens should be a new Mother’s Day tradition for us.

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An Important Reminder at the Brandywine River Museum

5/5/2015

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On Sunday I was at the Brandywine River Museum in Chadds Ford, PA to view a collection of art by Horace Pippin. As I stood in front of one of the remarkable works thinking about Pippin’s exquisite and thoughtful use of color, I felt a small hand reach for mine. I hadn’t noticed the little girl standing quietly beside me, so we were both surprised. She immediately realized her mistake and scurried off to find her real mother, but not before her gentle touch transported me back through the years to a time when I was about her age.

It was the mid 1950’s and I was attending a parade with my family in uptown Harrisburg. The crowds were several rows deep, but somehow my father and I inched our way up to the front. I remember balloons, music, and panic as I reached for my father’s hand and realized that the man standing next to me was a stranger. I moved away from the crowd, crying and calling for my mother and father. A kind family sitting on their porch came to my rescue, and within a minute or two my parents were rushing toward me and enveloping me in their embrace.

That little hand in mine, the memory flashing before me in seconds, the warm feeling of family love remaining. So in addition to seeing a fabulous collection of art on a sunny Sunday afternoon, I was reminded that memories of family love are always there when you need them.

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Now There's Something You Don't See Every Day

A New Tradition for Mother's Day

An Important Reminder at the Brandywine River Museum

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