Happy Big Birthday, Little Sis!

On a crisp fall morning when the leaves crunch like apples, I headed off to school. With the bounce of a nine year old, I traipsed to the bus stop with my brother. But today was different. Mom had said this was the day our baby brother or sister would arrive. When one is nine, the pregnancy seems to last forever and that is a really long time to wonder… Would it be a boy or a girl? What would he or she look like? I thought a sister would be wonderful because I would have someone to play with. I could dress her up and comb her hair. I could play dolls with her instead of the tractors I usually found myself playing with. With stars in my eyes and anticipation in my heart, the school bus screeched to a halt, interrupting my thoughts.

Lurching ahead the bus roared down the gravel road before halting at the next bus stop, my best friend was standing there patiently. I couldn’t even wait until she sat down without blurting out the news that my mom was going to have the baby today. Even she was a bit curious and joined my daydreaming until we reached the familiar brick school.

Once I hit the classroom, my teacher pulled me back to the books, as she wanted my work complete. I did manage to shyly tell her that I was hoping to receive a special message today. However, the day crawled by as I waited and waited for the message to be delivered. Lunch time came and went. Recess came and went…twice! The afternoon sun warmed the second story classroom to unbearable warmth, so it was easier to gaze out the window at the colors of fall and watch the scampering squirrels in the treetops.

Finally recess arrived again, and by this time, I had given up hope of a special message, so I headed out to the softball field and played hard…though I couldn’t resist sneaking a few hopeful thoughts about the new baby. The bell clanged too soon, and we lined up dutifully before heading inside. The only good thing about being an older kid at the country school was I was one of the last groups to go inside, which allowed me to savor a few more moments of fresh air and bask in the sunshine.

As we hit the door, though, we all scrambled up the two flights of stairs as fast as we could go… without breaking the rules…then I heard the Principal’s voice say my name. My heart stopped as his deep voice resonated, knowing that I had been pushing the rules a bit.

As I reluctantly turned around, he looked up at me and announced, “You have a new baby sister!” Then he grinned broadly.

I never thought I would be as happy as I was at that moment. I had evaded trouble, and the sister I had been dreaming about had arrived. I had won the lottery. Of course, if I thought the morning had crawled like a turtle, he came to a complete stop that afternoon. I can still see the big clock ticking slowly in the classroom. The big hand would prepare for the announcement of each minute with a quiver and then jump noisily ahead one space and vibrate slowly into place. 60 minutes…one minute at a time until dismissal.

I flew to the school bus. The big yellow bus parked under the big cottonwoods with matching leaves on a fall afternoon never looked so good. I waited patiently for my brother before sliding into the seat beside him to see if he had heard the delightful news. He was nonchalant about it, of course. Kelly really didn’t get too excited about such things, but he did flash me that charming grin that I have always loved about him, as it was his way of acknowledging my enthusiasm and letting me know he thought it was pretty cool too, as I headed back to my seat.

As I tumbled off the bus and headed to the house at a dead run, I was hoping that Dad would be home, and he was.

My memory skips to the hospital here. Dad walked my brother and me down the hall to look into the nursery window. He told us to be extra quiet because kids weren’t allowed, and generally dad was not one to break rules, but he was making an exception today. Especially since back in those days the hospital stay was longer. I remember gazing through the wire mesh glass, at a tightly wrapped bundle with a pink hat. She had the littlest nose and perfectly curved rose petal pink lips. Her tiny eyelids were shut. I was so enraptured with her that I didn’t notice the arrival of the nurse who wasn’t particularly pleased about our presence. Then I noticed Mom was standing there too in a hospital gown looking tired. I was so happy to see her. We only had a few moments under the nurse’s surveillance and our unauthorized visit was over, but we stopped at the door of Mom’s room as she returned to her bed. I was in awe at how white and boring the room was with a row of single beds. I had never really been to the hospital to visit anyone before, so this image is still welded into my mind.

Dad took us to eat pizza before heading back to the house. For the next few days, Dad was in charge until Mom returned home, bringing our new baby sister.

Then I remember the first time I held Kristi. She was heavier than she looked. Her little body was so warm it was easy to snuggle around her in the green rocking chair. And her toes were fascinating. Who knew toes could be so cute? Those little tiny baby toes would curl tightly if I tickled the bottom of her foot. I also learned quickly that she didn’t always lie there cutely, but she would cry and produce the messiest diapers in the world which had the potential to contaminate me, so I always wanted a blanket.

Slowly, the daydreams were replaced with the reality of a sister, and after a few years another sister arrived. Despite the noisy chaos they added to the household, I loved my sisters.

I loved to read to Kristi when she was small. I remember one of her favorite little golden books was about the cookie monster and the witch with the cookie tree. I personally didn’t like this book much and would try to negotiate another book to no avail. The book merely had too many words and captions, and she wouldn’t let me skip any of them.

Perhaps, I wouldn’t remember this so distinctly, but my youngest daughter recently brought me this tattered book a few nights ago before bedtime. Despite my original dislike of this book, I felt the warmth of the memory creep into my heart as I gazed at the cover. My daughter interrupted my journey down memory lane, as I heard her inquiring what was wrong. As I shook myself out of the reverie, I read the familiar old book lovingly. As I closed the cover and sent my daughter off to bed, I remembered my sister’s curly head bobbing down the hallway to bed. It is utterly unbelievable that I would be curled up with my four year old 30 years later.

Romping through the park, I was grateful I had a younger sister(s) because I could play with her without feeling too old—she let me a kid a bit longer…what a gift! Kelly and I would drag her around the house in a cozy box we had packed tightly with blankets, and she would squeal in delight until Mom thought we were getting too rough. She was fun to have help in the kitchen, too, even if it was a bit messy. She gave great hugs. I liked reading to her using silly voices. In the morning, we sometimes made orange juice together.

Sometimes, I wished I could talk to her and share secrets. Sometimes I wished she was old enough to play the same games. Sometimes I wished she wouldn’t get into my stuff.

Then I went off to college one autumn. And I remember the first birthday I missed. I sent a care package hoping Kristi would like it and remember me. I was watching the clock all day thinking about what she was doing at that time. As evening fell, I missed her birthday dinner, in lieu of cafeteria food. I missed the taste of Mom’s cake. The quiet family birthday gathering. Watching her open her presents. As a matter of fact this was her ninth birthday. Ironic. It was another beautiful autumn day, but this time I was too homesick to appreciate it.



I have missed many birthdays through the years, but I have enjoyed a few too, and I have never taken them for granted. Of course, the years brought me a sister to share secrets with, to laugh with, to cry with, and to share life with. She stood beside me as a bridesmaid at my wedding, she watched me graduate from college, she visited shortly after my firstborn arrived, she spent a couple summers with me, and she even scraped me off the concrete after my roller blade wreck

We may be grown, but we still love to hang out in the kitchen together. In Montana, she would perch on the stool across from me and together we would chat and chop. The laughter rang through my little Tuscan kitchen. Her nieces and nephew would occasionally crawl up on her lap for a hug and a few words. With the warmth of an aunt she would hold them close until they ran off to play again. Our kitchens are not as close anymore, but a couple weeks ago we were in the kitchen together…except it was her kitchen in her new house.

As the aroma of curry filled the air, the laughter rang through the house again. It was just as much fun as ever. My children smile at us now, and sometimes tease me, but I know they miss Aunt Kristi in the kitchen as much as I do. Shortly after we moved, Kade complained that Aunt Kristi and Uncle Kevin weren’t visitors on Friday night anymore. He missed the playing and laughter. The new kitchen was too quiet for him. I agreed.

Today, I will miss another birthday. I like to tease her that she is getting old like me now that she is turning 30. Of course, that makes me 39, so I only have ten months to enjoy my thirties with my sister. But honestly, it is like any other birthday to me…special because she is my sister.

Birthdays merely give us an excuse to eat and celebrate with family and friends. We pause to remember the years and smile…lovingly, of course. If I close my eyes, it was just yesterday I was peering through the glass at that little pink bundle that managed to outgrow me, but I wouldn’t trade the journey. I will always remember the day our journey started, vividly and fondly.

I have always loved autumn, but until yesterday, I had forgotten that September 22 also marks the first day of autumn. I am not sure why I failed to recall that detail, but I guess it doesn't matter. I love autumn, and I have a sneaking suspicion that this memory of the day my sister arrived fosters that love.

Happy Birthday, Kristi! We love you!

Speaking of fingerprints...

Mama's Birthday--Ch. 2

I tiptoe to my room and set my alarm clock before shoving it under my pillow. Tomorrow is mama’s birthday and I want to surprise her. James is going to help me. I shiver as I remember James’ arm brushing mine as we talked quietly on the street tonight. We drifted back in the shadows as the activity increased on the streets. He was subdued tonight talking about his mom and old memories. I asked him if he was scared and he nodded. He doesn’t know what to do. He wants to make it better. He is concerned about disappointing his mother. He hasn’t been doing so well in school since he started hanging out with his girlfriend, and now he is worried that he might not be able to go to college since his grades aren’t very good anymore. He worries about his little sister and brother and knows that their dad won’t be much help. He knows he really needs to go to school to help raise them. I told him I was scared to go to school too, but then unexpectedly, I blurted out that I really want to be a doctor someday.

It was the first time I had shared this secret with anyone. I love science and thought maybe I could work in the lab at first, but now I had shared with him that I really wanted more. James was real sweet. He didn’t laugh, but looked at me with his soft brown eyes and told me he knew that I could do it because I was smart…and compassionate.

He reminded me that when we were kids I was always doctoring his wounds, “Do you remember that bike wreck when I was eight?” he asked.

“Boy! How could I forget? I was so worried you weren’t going to get up again!”

“Really? You were worried? You were so calm that I didn’t even think I was hurt too bad until everything started burning. That was some serious road rash! But, I looked pretty good by the time mama saw me.”

We smiled together at the memory. He had casually put his arm around me and squeezed my shoulder. I knew he felt the way I did tonight, unsure but looking for hope. As we looked across the street at the kids getting high, we were both quiet. Wanting more...but so hard to find the courage. James broke the silence by saying that his girlfriend was running with Joe down the street, or should he say ex? She split when he heard about his mother. It was hard on him to watch her go.

“My mama has cared for me for 17 years, and I want to be here with her now. I owe her that.” Pausing, his voice grew strong again as he continued, “Our junior year is almost over. Can you believe we are almost seniors? Do you remember the first day of kindergarten? I was so scared!”

I could hear the emotion in his voice, and I knew he was scared again in a different way. He made it through kindergarten, and he knew he would make it through again even though it wouldn’t be as easy as just coloring in the lines.

I told James that it was mama’s birthday tomorrow and I wanted to surprise her with fresh flowers in the morning. She loves flowers, but no one ever brings her any. I thought if I headed to the park early I could find the flower cart and pick the prettiest ones. James smiled at me again and suggested he could sneak out with me. I told him that was fine. I had been saving for a while.

I told him that when I was a little girl I sometimes didn’t realize how strong my mama was except when I was misbehaving. I wish I could do something real special for her tomorrow, but she insists that I just need to do my school work and not worry about a job until this summer. As James listened quietly, I knew he understood what I was trying to say.

My thoughts drifted again, as I remember being a young girl and being embarrassed by my mother’s worn clothes for the first time when a classmate pointed it out to me. I feel so guilty now for not wanting my mom to come to school anymore. I can still see the hurt in her eyes when she agreed to let me walk alone. She knew why. All these years later, and it still makes my heart ache. I see now how hard she has worked to raise me.

It was fun to be together tonight like old times. Mama smiled. I love her smile. She always looks deep into my eyes and makes me feel like I am so special when I talk to her. I know when she disapproves, but she seldomly says anything.

Grandma has been so cranky lately. I know she hurts mama’s feelings. Sometimes mama gets impatient and snaps back, but mostly she just cleans the apartment and lets me talk to grandma. She is always nice to me. I think grandma is lonely. I wonder sometimes what grandpa was like. Mama doesn’t talk about him much, and when she does I can see the pain in her eyes. Sometimes, I study the picture of him on the end table. I can see my mama’s eyes. When I was a little girl I would make up stories about him in my head. He died when Mama was young. I think it was just before she was going to leave for college, but then she didn’t know if her mama could manage on her own without work, so she went to work and hasn’t stopped. My dad left when I was just little. He came last night, but I just don’t have much to say to him anymore. He stops by once in a while, and mama is always cordial, but cool. I know he doesn’t help her, but visits in his flashy clothes and big talk before he leaves again. I am not sure where he goes. I know grandpa took care of his little girl…

When I saw the falling star tonight, I wished a special wish for mama on her birthday. I hope she loves her flowers. I saw a pretty gold chain in the window the other day that said “Mama.” She would have loved it against her creamy chocolate neck. She really is a pretty lady. I told grandma about it but she just snorted at the impracticality of it. Practical is for ordinary days. Tomorrow is mama’s birthday, and it should be impractical. I checked my alarm again as I felt my eyes grow heavy and burrowed into my pillow, smiling at my scheme.

I almost didn’t hear my alarm. I rolled over before I realized what was happening. I quickly shut it off and listened for mama’s breathing before moving again. She was still sleeping, so I stealthily pulled on the clothes I had laid out last night and tiptoed out wishing I could brush my teeth, but I couldn’t risk waking mama. James was already on the street waiting for me. We didn’t say anything as we walked away from the apartment. The morning was warm and the night shower was glistening on the grass.

After a couple blocks James broke the silence, “Do you think we should take the short cut or do you want to walk along the park’s edge?”

I hesitated.

He commented that usually my mama slept late on Saturdays, so we had plenty of time if I wanted. I smiled and he took my hand. We walked in silence again, as we watched the birds swooping and chirping their morning greetings. When a cardinal flew so close we both ducked, we broke out laughing. The streets were quiet, so our laughter carried. It felt good to laugh with a friend.

As we approached the cart, I was pleased to see there were lots of flowers. As I walked around looking for the perfect bouquet, the man commented that his flowers were fresh this morning. I couldn’t decide in my first circle, so I started around again. Sensing the importance of my journey, the flower man started talking quietly to James, as I absorbed myself in my decision. Finally I found a brightly colored bouquet. I caught James’ eye and pointed. He nodded approval and pointed it out to the man. He gently removed the flowers and took my money before handing them to me with instructions on how to keep them fresh. I nodded in understanding, as James joined me for the journey home.

We walked back down memory lane, as we remembered how we loved picking dandelions for our moms. We would hold them behind our back before presenting them, but they always knew that we were playing in the dandelions, as we had the tell-tale signs of yellow around our faces. Dandelions can grow anywhere even in the cracks of the sidewalk. The splash of yellow is enchanting to a child.

As we neared home, we silenced our voices, so they didn’t carry to the open windows above. As he opened the door, James plucked a dandelion and wiped it under my chin before dashing mischievously to the safety of his apartment door. I quietly eased the apartment door open. I could hear that mama was not sleeping soundly anymore, so I knew she had heard me. I reached for the special vase above the refrigerator, adding water before arranging the flowers. They smelled so pretty! I carried the bouquet across the room to the table and set them down admiring my work. I saw mama was headed to the shower and heard the door click. I sat down to write her a quick card. When she emerged and saw the flowers her eyes twinkled and then glistened with tears as I hugged her and told her happy birthday before shyly sharing my card. I felt like a little girl again.

Mama asked me to go to breakfast with her at the diner down the street. I agreed. As we headed out the door and down the street, I realized I don’t walk with mama very often anymore. Usually, I sleep late on Saturdays, and she comes alone. As we walked into the familiar room, I smiled as the odor of bacon and eggs filled the air. We sat at a table for two this morning instead of at the counter. The cook smiled and waved, acknowledging she would bring our favorite this morning.

As mama talked I noticed a man near the window studying me with old gentle eyes. I nodded and he looked away. Mama didn’t seem to notice him. Soft lines filled his face and short gray hair framed his face. The sun shone in on him putting him in a glow of light. He ate quietly gazing out the window. Our breakfast arrived and I ate hungrily, but when I looked up I noticed he was gone. I briefly wondered where he had gone before my thoughts were interrupted with the chorus of voices singing happy birthday. Our neighborhood family had not forgotten, as they each shared a special greeting for my mama.

Smiling graciously, she thanked them as we walked towards the door. As we stepped out into the street, I paused and noticed the man again in the shadows of the alley across the street wearing a handsome old hat. He smiled. Mama followed my gaze quizzically. He waved. I lifted my hand and he disappeared.

Diner--Ch. 1

The mid-morning sun beat down into the little window of the breakfast diner. It was decorated simply in cheery yellow and red. The red stools lined the counter like polka dots. A few patrons were enjoying their breakfast and the morning paper, as I sat down in the ray of sunlight at the window.

I gazed out and studied the variety of stores across the street. The store owners were pulling the iron security bars away from their store fronts as they prepared for the day. I could hear the bantering of the patrons and cook at the counter. The cook was listening quietly as she flipped the eggs with ease. It was evident from the fluidity of her movement she had a few years experience.

The door opened again. With hair perfectly coiffed in tight bright red curls around her face and sleek in the back disguising her naturally black hair, a woman entered the restaurant with energy. Her energy denoted youth, but as I listened to her voice I heard age from living. She briefly excused herself after ordering, as a deep cough overtook her body. She stepped outside as the cough wracked her entire body. With composure she re-entered apologetically and resumed chatting at the counter with the patrons.

As breakfast dishes slid back and forth, so did the people--leaving their greetings for the day behind. Eventually, the red-haired woman rose to leave but stood in quiet conversation with the cook. “…I just think about them…” I heard as I watched tears slide down her silky chocolate cheek. After a pause, she exited the restaurant proclaiming that tomorrow was her birthday. I watched as her glistening tear stain faded away in the morning sun as she sashayed quickly down the street.


***************************************


I noticed the man watching me from the window. His quiet demeanor calmed me despite his steady gaze.

Did he sense that last night the ex reappeared forcing me to confront my inner strength. I despise it when he arrives demanding to see “my” daughter. Recoiling from the excessive aftershave, I smile and call Sasha from her room, but I watch her face as she sees her dad and puts on her artificial smile that he doesn’t even seem to notice. Guilt wracks my heart. My dad was part of my life every day. He came home late after working in the hot steel mills, but he always shared a few words with me and I knew I was important. I desperately wish dad was still here for Sasha.

The bank comes into view and I pull myself back to focus on work today. I have a meeting this afternoon, but this morning I will work at the front teller window. A pleasant smile and kind words will keep the morning running smoothly I tell myself. I run my hand over my dress to smooth the wrinkles, but my heart aches at the threadbare spots. I probably need to shop for a new dress, but Sasha needs extra money for her field trip…and honestly I haven’t seen anything at Goodwill in months. Money, like life, is always short, but I try so hard not to think about it all the time.

“Good morning, Miss Rachel, you look very pretty this morning.” Cliff is a regular on this Friday, as it his payday. He worked hard his whole life just to collect his social security check that barely covers his rent. I smile, as I watch his quiet, proud movements that protect the pains of years of hard labor. His warm welcome fills my heart. He notices my new hairdo and is telling me in his way.

“Thanks Cliff, how are you this fine morning?” I ask knowing that he will find something authentically happy to comment on. He never focuses on the negative.

“This morning I saw the first cardinal outside my window,” he grins.
He loves birds and anxiously awaits the arrival of spring. His little apartment is down the street from mine, but I imagine he just puts his chair near the window and looks out across the trees as he watches the birds flit from one tree to another.

“Thanks, Miss Rachel.”

I know he means it. As I count his money back to him in the bills he prefers—though he didn’t even ask. I realize that my job isn’t really about money, it is about the heart of my customers. That is why I enjoy my job. It is a good job though, as there isn’t much in the neighborhood for professional employment opportunities. Plus mama is close even though she is a handful. Sasha can handle her, though. It is like they have a special language I can’t hear.

Slowly, the customers approach my window, and I count money…5, 10, 20, 40… Until I feel that pesky cough creeping into my chest. I quietly excuse myself for a quick break.

As I hold the cough until I reach the restroom, my chest hurts. Then as it explodes my lungs feel like fire. Slowly it subsides and I wipe the perspiration from my forehead with a cool towel. As I step out, my manager greets me. Embarrassed, I smile and return his greeting as I move forward, but he stops me and asks if I am feeling well. I stammer that the cough just keeps holding on, but I assure him I am fine. He expresses concern, but I can’t read the emotion behind his eyes. He dismisses me to return back to work, as the lines are growing longer again.

Perhaps it would be a good idea to visit the doctor, but it is so expensive. Like everything, it will run its course. I am a strong woman.

“Good morning,” I say, as I greet the next customer.

The morning is blur of activity. I count my till carefully before finalizing my paperwork. It balances perfectly. I smile, proud of my work. Generally, my count is accurate and the boss always notices. I head off to our meeting wondering what is so important this afternoon. The memo didn’t specify the purpose. We are all curious though no one has said anything. I can feel the energy of uncertainty in the room. When the manager arrives and casually greets us, we shift uneasily in our seats. Then he announces that new counterfeit money is circulating, and an unspoken sigh emerges simultaneously as we relax in our chairs. It is serious business, but at least everyone will go back to work this afternoon. We listen intrigued at the last devices. Our bank hasn’t been hit yet, but we will need to be vigilant. We examine the money and look for the key signs. Tricky.

After our training is complete, there is only 15 minutes left on the clock. Our boss smiles and tells us to go home and enjoy the weekend.

As I step out into the sunshine, I absorb the warmth as my eyes adjust to the brightness. Suddenly, I realize that I am two blocks from home and I can’t recall my walk or thoughts. Strange. As I step inside, I feel the heat in our little apartment and the faint residual of aftershave. I turn the fan on and go to the refrigerator to surprise Sasha with an after school treat.

I love our after school chats as she animatedly shares the day’s events with me. Her eyes sparkle when she talks about biology class. She loves science. They grow dimmer when she struggles through English. Twinkling again, she updates me on her friends. I hear the door open, and suddenly those eyes peek around the refrigerator, and I see the surprise when I grin at her. She gives me a rare hug and demands to know how I beat her home. Then she launches into the day’s events and I watch her beautiful eyes. Eventually she turns more serious, and she asks if I knew about the Johnsons’ downstairs. I meet her eyes silently. Her voice cracks as she tells me that Mrs. Johnson’s cancer is back. She is worried about the kids. She grew up with James, and he was real quiet at the bus stop this morning, but he told her his mom was sick again before the other kids arrived. I felt the tears well up in eyes again. She asks if we can share our dinner with them. She will deliver it.

I smile with pride at her suggestion and together we work to stretch dinner. As I add the finishing touches, I hear Sasha bounding down the stairs before she returns with James laughing. They are joking about something from childhood. It is so good to hear their laughter. James asks me to join them downstairs. I start to decline when he pleads that his mama needs company now.

As I walk through the door, I see that the kids’ spirits have raised all spirits, as Rose looks really good with a smile, though I can see she is weak. Together we sit and enjoy our dinner. Rose asks if we would stay and play cards. We haven’t played cards in years. Through the years, the kids grew busy with their school activities and our conversations slowly transitioned to passing in the hallway. The kids are good at cards now. They plot and scheme to beat us. We have to sharpen our skill for the second round, but I can see the admiration in their eyes as Rose lays her cards down, as the creases around her eyes betray the pleasure in herself. Then she winks at me. I hear my laughter as the kids gaze in wonder at the winning hand.

As it grows late, we adjourn. The “big” kids beg to go outside for a bit before going to bed. We relent cautiously.

Smiling I climb the stairs and remember being a kid once too. The wonder of independence is like the fireworks on the Fourth of July…though after a few years it loses its sparkle. Slowly, I open the door and walk across the room to the only window and gaze out at the clear night. I can see the kids below under the street lamp. I move away from the window as Sasha looks up.

As I slowly dress for bed, I pause to think about time. I can hardly believe I am almost another year older. 39 has arrived so quickly. So many hellos and goodbyes rest in my heart.

“Dad,” I hear myself say, “please help me understand why.” In the silence I hear my father’s answer in his gentle eyes, “I do not know why, but live with hope.”

Later, I hear the door, as Sasha quietly enters. Slowly I relax and drift off to sleep.

Prairie Visions II

Plump chokecherries heavily laden on green bushes always evoke images of chokecherry picking with my grandfather. One of my earliest memories of embarking on a chokecherry adventure includes a long car ride. I remember watching the miles of endless prairie glide by my window with nary a town a sight, unaware I was traversing the desolate territory of my ancestors. This was the country where my great-grandmother claimed her homestead next to my great-grandfather who established his in 1909. Romance on the prairie…did the waving grass sweep my grandmother off her feet? I wish I knew this story, though it may be far more practical than in my imagination, as two people persevered through the harsh Dakota winters.

“Two Top,” my grandfather proclaimed. Enthusiastically, he pointed out two knolls that interrupted the prairie. These quirky formations in the middle of the vast prairie captured my imagination for the rest of the day, as I entertained images of brave men and women who explored the caves and nooks and crannies of the unique hills in the face of wild critters with burning yellow eyes.

Farther down the road, we reached our destination for the day, the Slim Buttes. After we bailed out of the car, Grandpa had us lined up and outfitted for picking from bug spray to a bucket. He donned his familiar grimy, tattered straw hat that protected him from the sun and led the way. The details of who was in attendance that day are foggy. Often cars of extended family would join us, but this day I only remember finding a place next to my brother to begin my diligent picking. Of course, we had to taste the berries whose tartness immediately puckered our mouths as we tried to disguise our distaste. The choke is aptly named, I think. I am sure that this brought a grin to my grandmother who was quietly picking close by. Once our curiosity was satiated, we focused on our picking. Grandpa didn’t want any bad berries in our buckets, as he was worried they would spoil the rest. This made for tedious work. Plus those little berries take forever to accumulate in the bottom of a bucket. The lack of progress directly affected our motivation. We would take turns dumping our berries together to make it look better. Then we would glance sidewise at Grandpa, and he would have an impressive amount in his bucket. Motivated to compete, we would seek out a bush with more berries hoping that we could catch up. Of course, Grandpa would just stay put and diligently pick. Eventually we would realize that we just needed patience to fill our buckets, but eventually we would lose interest, and as we would squirm in self-defeat, Grandma would notice and dismiss us to play for a while. Grandpa would always admonish her for letting us go because he remembered diligently picking the prized berries as a child, and he was sure we could do it too.

With vision, I watch my great-grandmother navigating the terrain in her long skirts and with her three children in an attempt to gather the berry harvest to enjoy throughout the winter on the plains. As the winds howled and snow swirled in unpredictable patterns creating dangerous conditions, she would bring her children close to the fire and enjoy the fruits of the summer. In the meantime, she would work in the cool of the morning to keep her berries fresh and utilize the shade of the day to shield the crop from the ruthless sun. Two Top landmarked her location and comforted her. The kids would banter with each other and occasionally take a break before convincing their mother to spread out the blanket for an early lunch from the familiar tin pail.

With exaggerated reluctance, she would gratefully ease herself onto the soft prairie grass and watch the kids run in the breeze, her body weary, but a smile would cross her face as she watched her children romp and play, and her hand would rest on her swollen, restless abdomen. Her thoughts would drift like the clouds back to her childhood. The laughter would ring through the air like it was yesterday, and her steady gaze into the distance would take her back through the years to her family so far away. The ache in heart would be interrupted abruptly, as her oldest daughter squealed in delight at the flushing grouse.

As the berries simmered on the stove, the tartness would fill the air and bring a smile to my grandfather’s wrinkled face. Even his eyes smiled. In his heart, a fond memory would grow warm at the picture of his mother stirring berries over the hot fire. The woman who taught him to gather the berries, but who was gone before his firstborn, my father, arrived.

The tart jellies and syrups grew to be my favorite at breakfast, as I did. I think the memories of working together with my grandfather made it sweeter as I poured the thick syrup onto my mother’s buttermilk pancakes. Fresh homemade bread topped with chokecherry jelly would melt in my mouth, and I know the same sweetness in my memories.

Perhaps the importance of the ritual for my grandfather was based on his relationship with his mother, whose lessons from the prairie were unassumingly passed forth. Together we weave the generations with memories…unaware, but coursing intuitively through our blood.

Prairie Visions I

Gazing out across the prairie, the undulating grass waves farewell to the day as the pink sun splashes out against the dark blue clouds that have gathered, teasing of rain. The buzzing grasshoppers and chirping crickets fill the air as the rustling grass softens the sounds of evening. In the distance an old white homestead stands against the years of weather…deserted. Immediately, the house comes to life in a fresh whitewash with a majestic woman of the prairie collecting the day’s laundry, pausing to enjoy a glimpse of the sunset, signifying the end of another hard day. A small frog startles me as he jumps into the road ditch water.

As my imagination pauses, I find my thoughts drifting to a woman I never met except in a grainy black and white photograph. I cannot recall the details of her face, just her willowy figure silhouetted against the prairie and small homestead shack. Despite the foggy details, I can create her image in my mind. Her spirit was spunky. She left her family home in Wisconsin shortly after the turn of the century as a young woman filled with determination. As she headed West across the prairie, I like to think she gazed out of the train window and watched the changing landscape knowing she was changing the landscape of her future from the wooded hills of Wisconsin to the rolling prairies of the Western Dakota country. Her heart had to be racing as she stepped out onto the platform of the desolate train station before finding a place to rest for the night. Early the next morning she arose to enjoy the sunrise of hope before claiming her homestead.

My heart swells with pride here, as I picture a spunky young lady setting claim to property before women were even allowed to vote. A woman who had courage to independently establish her dreams. I can feel her blood pumping through my veins as I admire her spirit. I can feel her tenacity. I can feel her dreams.