They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Actually, some pictures may not be worth anything; but we keep attempting to capture something — something we can’t quite put into words. If I had a picture of my mother’s love, it would be a collage of wonderful deeds that I certainly cannot put into words. It would be a picture of my biggest inspiration in life. I’m sure you too, have someone in your life, whose picture would be awesome!

In June, 1977 Mama was canning green beans the day my son, her first grandchild, was born. I will keep growing green beans for as long as I am able.

On June 17, 2009, Mama left us (and I bet reluctantly) for whatever God had awaiting her. Among many beautiful plants, she left a lovely bed of dianthus, and her first grandchild saved a handful of those and gifted to me. They still multiply and grow beneath my roses, as you see in the photo on the right, and I will cherish them for as long as I am able.

In spite of being advised — with the best of intentions — to stop having a garden, it is in my blood (middle picture, don’t laugh; I’m not a professional, just an old girl who loves a hoe in her hand in the morning.) Even though the weather has been less than cooperative, along with the residual chemicals from last year’s field crop, I am again coaxing a few vegetables to come together to make a garden. I expect I will keep doing so for as long as I am able.

I love to walk through my garden (pitiful as it is these days) in the early mornings and late evenings. As I was chopping through it a couple evenings ago, I was surprised to find the baby green beans you see in the first photo. I immediately remembered the year Mama was already canning hers by June 20. We had had no rain that spring; so little in fact, that the crops, including ours, were burning up in parts of the county, so either they were living right, or they had been watering their garden to have such a bounty of beans. My first baby wasn’t due until July and we had sold our house trailer, bought a farm and house that was not ready for us to move into yet, and had camped at my parents’ house just two days before. My grandma, no longer able to care for herself, lived there with them, and my younger sister and brother were still at home. So her three bedroom, one bath house was already full, and here we were, two more — just becoming three — in her apron pockets. Daddy was trying his hand at farming once again which he hadn’t done in many years, and that comes with its own very full apron pocket. So, amid all this, on June 20, she drove me to dig potatoes where my husband and I had lived just days before. Next, she had to put all her cares and duties on the back burner with the beans, and drive me (in denial that I could be in labor) to the hospital. After her daughter and grandson were safely rescued by a surprise cesarean section, I imagine Mama found a quiet dark place in the wee hours of the night to have a good cry, and pray for strength. And help. And space.

One week later, on June 27, my husband brought his new family back to Mama’s house, where she had recovered nicely, with accommodations made for us to enjoy our new baby until our house was ready. She had a large meal on the table for my soon-to-be brother-in-law’s birthday, and to celebrate the arrival of her first grandchild. My wonderful aunt had taken Grandma home with her for a while, and little brother’s bed was nestled in a very large utility room. Mama was now making space, as well, for a family of five coming from West Virginia to visit with our new baby. Women of my mother’s generation were absolute champions of adjustment; champions of change and accommodation; champions of big hearts and love in action. I do not know how she did it. But every year when the first green beans begin to form, I remember. I remember Mama becoming Granny, our champion; and how all the moments of her 77 3/4 years came together to make one lovely collage of a life well lived, and more love than I am able to put into words.

“Strength and honor are her clothing; she shall rejoice in time to come. She opens her mouth with wisdom, and on her tongue is the law of kindness. She watches over the ways of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness. Her children rise up and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her.” (Proverbs 31: 25-28

May you be blessed with amazing ‘thousand-word pictures’ in your memories. Love, Trisha

Remembering my Mama, Sept. 16, 1931 – June 17, 2009