A Memory of Mama

Originally written in April, 2010

She Just Puts Her Thumb in the Dirt

I was just thinking about my mom this morning.  I was thinking about her because I am in this new craze of having brie cheese on flat whole-grain crackers with a slice of tomato for lunch these days.  And I was thinking how cool it would be if I had a garden, like the ones I grew up hating to weed when I was a child - but a garden that boasted fresh green beans, radishes, tomatoes, cucumbers, watermelons, butter beans, green peppers, hot peppers, squash, and all kinds of fresh things.  A garden, sigh – I’ve had a few over the years but I’m just not good at it like Mama.

Mama . . . that woman just sticks her thumb in the dirt and out comes beautiful and edible things.  Doesn’t matter if it’s a camellia, a rose, forsythias, azaleas, pear tree, peach tree, blueberry bushes . . . or string beans.  In fact, I think she just looks out of her window and imagines a garden of vegetables or a yard full of blooms and wow, they appear.  Or she wiggles her nose in Samantha fashion or blinks her eyes in Jeannie fashion and poof, a watermelon rolls to her back door.  And not just any old watermelon . . . but red juicy, perfectly ripe one.

I mean dead of winter and she’s got fresh tomatoes.  I mean brown grass, but she’s got green. How does she do it?  I don’t know, but I sure love driving to Mama and Daddy’s farm any time of the year and seeing the work of her hands and the literal fruit of her labors. I love hearing her tell the stories of Granddaddy McKay planting the blueberry bushes and my little boy daddy helping his daddy plant the pear tree.

I loved following her around in the yard when I was a child while she planted and nurtured whatever she put in the dirt.  I remember when she planted the pine trees behind our house, they were just little saplings then and I asked, “How long before they are big like the ones in the woods?”  She looked at me, “Oh you’ll be all grown up by then.”  I thought I'd never be all grown up.

I love seeing the light in her eyes when she talks about the camellias and her little garden next to the barn.  I even like seeing her coffee can compost bucket in the kitchen – and all her little seedlings on the windowsill.  I especially like her cheerful, happy heart.  She’s always been that way - ready with a quick smile and a huge hug and . . . fresh stewed tomatoes.

Yes, I was thinking about Mama this morning.  I was thinking how cool it would be if I had a garden . . . but I have something even better.  I have a mom who not only grew a garden, but she grew a feisty little girl into a grown woman who fears the Lord.  My mom was faithful to put her thumb in the dirt of my life and . . . she never gave up.