Mothers Day Musings, Part Deux
















        The photo, above, is of my mother's little potting shed. Originally built to be a milk house back in the 1940's, Mom converted it into a spot to store all her pots, soil, implements, etc. which she used to install small flower gardens around the house and driveway. Every Mother's Day, from 1977 when my parents moved to the farm full-time, until her last year in 2001, I would drive down to the farm and present her with a car load of flowering (or soon-to-flower) plants. We would happily spend the weekend digging and planting together. There never was much of a plan, or any particular design in mind. Unlike her mother, Mom was not interested edible plants beyond a couple of tomato plants. She just enjoyed being able to look outside the windows to see the pretty colors and to smell the many fragrances on our evening walks around the farm. Mom was also an environmentalist to the core, even though she never would have considered herself to be making a political statement. In her seventies, she once planted herself steadfast in front of a bulldozer in an attempt to keep it from up-rooting a centuries-old tree and tearing down an old covered bridge. My father, quite well-known in the community, was appalled when a photo of this act appeared in the local paper. I enjoyed the whole affair, especially when my mother was quoted as saying "I'm an old woman and if I don't start protecting other old things, then what will become of us all?" But I digress. Back to the potting shed. Today I still use the old shed to store my "zone 1" tools, potting items, and as a contemplative spot in the shade. The maple tree pictured above is no longer standing and, in it's place is a large circular medicinal herb garden.


         In July, I will have been living on this farm for nine years. Following the deaths of my parents, I was approached by an attorney offering me quite a large sum of money for the farm. Even though exhausted from living out-of-state and caring for both parents as an only child for the last three years, I immediately recoiled from his offer. God doesn't make any more land, I recalled my Munya saying in the past. At that moment, I made the decision to  resign an enjoyable career and move to the farm. And, whenever life's loads seem difficult to bear, I find myself returning to that bench outside my mother's potting shed, remembering the love and the wisdom she shared with me, as we side-by-side, planted those little flowers.