Where did the summer go? It is gone; mornings are nippy (snow this morning!); my peach tree stands entirely naked of leaves…and I haven’t told my summer story yet. Actually, I haven’t done much storytelling at all here, for a long time. But I am back now, for good and keeps. With a story, involving two gardens, two goats, four dresses (including a wedding dress), and a wedding.
I will get right to it– Once again, summer was my salvation. I owe it an ode:
First, spring through early summer, my gardens beckoned, dragging me happily from my late winter funk into the sun. I was going to say, the dirt called to me, but no, the dirt and I are still a little bit at odds. It wasn’t the moody smelly soil, but my loyal plant refugees that called to me. Once again, most survived their dormancy, stoic and unfazed. A small acre of Sam Gamgees. While the dirt and I have misunderstandings, unrealistic expectations, and unmet needs, I have found many plants who graciously (and effectively) arbitrate. Help the dirt and I appreciate one another more. Therefore. Early in the summer, I installed swaths of darling diplomats in front, back, and side yards. I so love gardening.
Next, my sister’s daughter decided on a wedding date, and to have the party in her mother’s backyard. Leah, my sister, called in a cheerful panic, mostly worried about floral insurrections in her borders. With her tight budget, Leah’s landscaping strategy for the last three or four years has leaned heavily on seed tossing; she casts wildflower seeds wherever she wants color, or at least an alternative to weeds (Leah’s house, which she and her husband built just a few years ago in central Oregon, is set on ten acres of lava rock/juniper/sage brush/cheat grass, with a cow pasture for verdure). Other less ephemeral efforts, like shrub and tree plantings, had been largely consumed by local deer. I think Leah called in June. The wedding date was set for the tenth of August. A sense of…hmm. Older sister protectiveness? No… What do I call it? What was that feeling that welled up, born of a connection that feels to me as if it predates our births? Profound empathy (darn those deer, nibbling Leah’s shrubs when her daughter was about to take flight from her natal bower)?…well, basically, I really wanted to help. I was confident I could. I offered to help in every way I thought my help might be relevant. Leah gladly accepted; I was thrilled.
I drove my little bug with my sewing machine and a few irises and some of my kids to central Oregon. Leah and I got started, both on reorganizing her garden borders….
And on acquiring fabric for silky dresses (four of them: two bridesmaid dresses, one mother of the bride dress, and a wedding dress). Lots of silk! Be still my heart. The sheer significance of all those yards of silk made me sweat.
So did the acquisition of those yards of silk—which followed a very delicate, diplomatic dance with Chandler and Leah at the fabric store. Chandler, polite and wanting to please, had ideas that hadn’t quite coalesced. But definitely wanted autonomy. Leah, wanting only Chandler’s happiness, surprised herself with well ripened opinions about all things bridal (you can’t live through your wedding day and most of your sister’s wedding days and not have ripened opinions). Suffice it to say… While my sister and her daughter have an exceptional, loving, mature relationship, I have learned to consider mother/daughter wedding planning to be duress of the highest order (my daughter Maurya, after watching Leah and Chandler politely navigate a difference of opinion before the bridal shower, texted me: “Mom, I would rather poke my own eyes out than plan a wedding!”).
I returned home about a week later with yards and yards of silk and the hope of embroidered chiffon (cherry blossom, yet to be ordered). Neither my gardens nor Leah’s plants were completely tucked in, a family reunion was on the docket, guests would be arriving for summer fun at my house the week after, and…then, suddenly, I decided I wanted goats. Crazy, but I had to have them.
