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A Garden of Hope

carriesuepepper • May 27, 2010

The hummingbird garden – I remember when Kevin announced it one day.  I am going to plant a HUMMINGBIRD GARDEN !  He was so excited about it.  It came out of the blue; it came out of a surge of hope because we’d started our new business and he was hopeful about things changing, money was coming in, we were going to have more freedom to do the things we wanted – like planting hummingbird gardens !  He moved back the fence and chipped back the flagstones, making a nice little narrow planting area where there was none before – something from nothing, did research on the Internet about the kind of plants hummingbirds preferred, which would do best in the sun exposure there, or lack of it.  I remember the whole process and how I just saw him so excited about it, reading his hummingbird book and looking at different plants.  I’d never seen him so excited over something that he just dreamed up – something creative and new and something that he could spend time on and not have to go off to work for someone else.  My heart was full of joy thinking how our lives were going to change, had already started to change, due to the new hope that had come to us.  Hope that had been waning since the economy had shifted and we’d both been affected.  This was all his. 

I sat here this morning after a night of rain, looking out into our yard, not really focusing on anything, just staring into the half-light of morning – and I saw it!  Right there in my line of vision – a hummingbird !  First he went to the orange-red flowers, one by one, and then to the yellow – the flowers Kevin had so carefully researched and purchased, planted and tended.  I heard him in my heart saying, why don’t they come to my hummingbird garden? And I would console him and tell him that they are here in our yard, you can hear them in the mornings almost every day – up in the redwoods.  But today, there he was, savoring the big wet red and yellow flowers, one by one, as they hung there like miniature Chinese lanterns, ornamental beacons for him to see, and I was the one who got to see it.  I know that small dreams come true and they can turn into the biggest of dreams.  With faith and love, tending and belief.  I am proud of my gardener and of what he saw . . . and what he created.  A special place for the tiny creatures where once there was none.

The post A Garden of Hope first appeared on Carrie Pepper.

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Out on my morning walk, street signs acted as memory joggers. Perhaps they were nudges so that I could remember, and be grateful for, these two women who were there for me as a kid. BRADFORD was the first sign. Grammy Bradford. I never called her anything else and I have no idea what her first name was, but I do remember she was there to tend to me when I was little while my mother went off to work at her government job "in procurement," which she hated. I know nothing, really, of what she did there, but I do remember the room. It seemed there were hundreds of desks in this huge room, no partitions. Dark grey desks and heavy black telephones. I visited her there a few times and she'd give me tablets and pens to keep me busy. I was ALWAYS thrilled to have a tablet and a pen! What she did there is a mystery to me, but when she and my father would argue, which was often, she'd always say, "I want my own money," and so off she went to work every morning at the Defense General Supply Center. He told her she didn't need to work, that he could support her, but, again, she wanted her own money. Back to Mrs. Bradford, Grammy. She was a bit on the heavy side (which I thought made for the best, most cuddly hugs) with long grey hair that she wore up with tons of bobby pins. She always wore a floral bib apron with large pockets and she'd fill them with pears when we'd go to that special corner of our back yard. Oh the smell! Those yellow pears and the carpet of yellow leaves. Memories of Grammy Bradford brought back memories of Thelma Massenburg. She looked exactly like Aunt Jemima (OH FOR HEAVEN'S SAKES, we can't say Aunt Jemima anymore!) Recently a friend told me he'd made pancakes and I asked what kind of syrup he used. When he said, "Pearl Milling," I thought it sounded kinda cool, but when I looked it up I found out it was the new name for Aunt Jemima syrup. SERIOUSLY? Anyway, she was wonderful. She cleaned our house, scrubbed the floors and walls and worked harder than anyone I'd ever seen. I loved her. She always wore a bandana tied around her head. She lived in a tiny reddish tar papered house with ten children. Who knows where they all slept! She was diabetic and I was a little stinker and liked to tease her with Hershey Bars. I'd wave one in front of her nose and she'd smile and say," "You bad, chile." The last time I saw her she was in the hospital and her eyes were very, very yellow. Liver disease. The scarf that was always wrapped around her head was gone and I am sure that I could hear her say, "You bad, chile," although she probably didn't. Thank you my sweet Thelma. My Aunt Jemima.
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