I Heard Autumn Call My Name

I heard Autumn call my name.  She walked down the hill with measured stride, her robe of scarlet and gold brocade flowing around her, morning mist like smoke trailing behind, her feet in sparkling slippers of sapphire and deep,deep green.  She came along with the western wind blowing her hair around her in a billowing cloud.

She called my name.  And I could hear the echoes of bluebird and robin in her voice, as they made their plans for winter rendezvous.  Crickets cadence changing with the cooler air added their tune to the song.  She called my name and I saw her standing there.

Autumn called my name and beckoned me with slender hands.  She showed me how she touched the apple and grape with cooling air and caused them to blush in vibrant hue.  Her artist's brush touched tree and bush and leaves became orange and red and glowing yellow.

She called my name and bid me follow her from west to east and back again.  Laughing in the breeze, she spoke of vagabond journey's end from sea to sea, azure sky reflected in still pond and river, blazing trees mirrored in lake and stream.  "Come and see my handiwork," she teased.  "Come and smell the fragrant lift of smoke from fires and smoldering chimneys.  No other season bears this mark of mine.  Come, come and follow me.  Shake off your indolence and sleep and see the miracle of turning earth and sky and sea."

Autumn called my name and I replied, "No,no.  I have enough here on my hilltop home to see.  I do not need to follow you down into the valley and to other places and times to see what you have done.  No indeed, I ask you Autumn, stay here with me and gaze upon your handiwork that reveals itself to me in precious days that fly too swiftly by."

Stay, Autumn, stay a little longer.  Let me linger here and fill my soul with all you have to give.

Happy birthday

On September 19th, 1910 Florence Alberta Stimpert came into this world.  Timing was perfect for her birth.  Halley's Comet was soaring through the sky.  And if ever a life was lived at comet speed, it was hers.

She was the third child of my grandfather's third marriage.  His previous wives had died and left him with seven children to raise.  He married my grandmother who quickly took over the family and then added two more sons, followed by my mom.  

She was a very special person.  Of course, I have a slight bias since I am her daughter.  But now on the occasion of her 105th birthday I am thinking of all the things she experienced in her life.

When she was born, women did not have the right to vote.  When she was born, the world was teetering on the edge of the war to end all wars.  She lost a brother to the flu of 1918.  She lost another brother after the Allied Invasion of France in 1944.  She was a young woman during the Great Depression.  And all of her life she fought for what she felt was best for her family.

She never backed down.  When she decided she wanted to teach physical education in the early '30s, she was met with all sorts of resistance.  But she found a way.  Her first job was in what was to become my hometown.  I'm sure several people wondered just what this young woman was doing teaching their daughters to run and jump and play games that were denied them before.

When we were young she went back to work.  Not many wives and mothers did this.  But she knew that she and my dad could never afford to send us to college if she didn't work.  Again, she swam against the current of popular opinion.  She opened a toy and children's clothing store and made it a successful business.  And then she went back to teaching.

Tragedy struck when she was widowed at age 47.  But she forged ahead.  Always, always in her mind was the fact that she needed to give her children the best start that she could provide them.

And most of her dreams came true.  

Shortly after her 95th birthday my niece brought her daughter to visit us from New Jersey.  Holding her first great-grandchild I could almost see the wheels turning in my mother's brain.  This little one is very special.  She will make her mark on the world.  

Always looking forward.  Never letting the past drag her down.  That was my mom.

And the older I get, the more I realize the legacy she left for me.

Happy birthday Mom.  I love you.  And I always will.

Working on a dream

Dreams start as small things.  Think I'd like to take a short trip.  Maybe I'll try to make my garden bigger.  Perhaps I'll write my grandkids a story.  And then they blossom and bloom.

Andy and I have always wanted to live out in the country.  That was our incentive when we moved to Missouri in the early 70's.  Peace and quiet.  A place where we could live and let live.  That was our only goal.

Life intervenes.  And so over five years ago, our dream came knocking again.  Where did we want to build a new house?  Or maybe just sell our 'too big for us' place and find a smaller one?  We looked and looked.  We were disappointed when prime opportunities were snatched out of our hands when someone else made a higher offer.  What could we afford?  What kind of house did we want?

Dreams do come true.  Just out of the blue, when we had almost given up hope, here it was. We grabbed it and started to plan.  We spent many hours working on the new property, up there on the hill overlooking a peaceful valley and neighbors to the north whose houselights twinkled at us in the night.

Finally, with a house plan drawn up and lots of energy we tackled the task of building our first new home.  What a wonderful dream.  Hard at times, but do-able.  Of course, we had help with the things we couldn't do with pick and shovel and hammer and nails.  Our brother-in-law came over and lent us a hand when we needed encouragement.  Hot summers, glorious falls, brutal winters when things came to a standstill and all we could do was put on our boots and slog around trying to imagine what it would be like to live out here.  And then the soft springtime would arrive and all the hard work  was justified with vistas of red bud and dogwood, soft green leaves budding out, birds returning to nest in our oak trees.

It was just two short years ago this weekend that we made the final move from town.  We packed our suitcase, shut and locked the door, and drove out of Gainesville in the gathering dark.  Here we were, climbing this so familiar hill in the dusk and starlight.  Pausing at the door of our new home, ready for this new adventure.  Entering our dream.  

Welcome.  Welcome home.