Sweet Memories

(I had to use an abbreviated version of the Salix discolor, because blog did not like the common name). 

When the p.willows bloom in the Spring I think of my mother. I’m very fond of them, and I know it’s because she had many good memories associated with them from her childhood. After reading about her family's summer home on Diamond Lake last week, I imagine that there must have been a bush growing on the property somewhere. I can just see my grandmother, Clara Konvalinka, taking 18-month-old “Baby June” by the hand and walking slowly down the hill toward the low lying part of the lawn where five huge weeping willows hung out over the lapping waves. There in the moist soil, a tall silvery p.willow was sure to blossom around the first day of spring, give or take a week depending on the weather. When I close my eyes, I see her reach up and snip off a single branch of catkins to rub against June’s cheeks. Surely that is when the first memory was made. 
      There’s so much my mother didn’t tell us about her past or maybe I was too distracted as a child to hear. I feel as though she kept all of her childhood experiences stored – like hidden treasure – in her heart. We lived only blocks from Diamond Lake, and yet I didn’t realize just how special her childhood was there. Maybe those days became sweeter the older she grew. I know how she felt, because some of the things that meant so much to her – life’s simple pleasures like p.willows, are becoming more precious to me the older I grow as well.
     My mother gave me an appreciation for the changing seasons–including rituals of discovery that we enjoyed together. In the springtime there was always a quest to find a spot where the p.willows were abundant and free for the taking. When we first came to live on this farm seven years ago, it was the middle of summer–very hot as I recall. Anna was three-months-old and I didn’t get to explore the property as much as I would have liked. As I was driving down the road the following spring, I saw a sign at a nursery that read, p.willows for sale $3.00 a bunch.” I bought some for myself and some for our landlady Mrs. Kraft. “Oh, are those from down at the end of the drive?” she asked. I was so surprised. I didn’t know any grew on the property. From that point on we made it a habit to take advantage of p.willows, “growing abundantly” and “free for the taking,” and every year...the memory becomes sweeter.

12:06 PM - Apr. 28, 2006 - post comment

Sweet Memories

How I wish that I would have had the time and ambition, back when I was a young mother with my two sweet children.........Ryan now 26 and Sarah 25 to journal. Though I store those memories in my mind and heart, I never put them on paper. It is my hope that the Lord will take me down memory lane, from those days gone by and restore to my thinking, the many wonderful memories my children and I made when they were little and growing up. I am fond of those memories that my sister shares of her own wonderful experiences with her family. It makes me feel a part of her life just being able to peak into those precious times..............living so far away has it's down falls. So I encourage everyone of you women out there that read these blogs, to begin your own memory journals of your lives with your children and husband. They are but all to precious to forget, and the generations to come will have a real treat in store for them, when they are able to see the way life was.....................in the good 'ol days!

June.......Jill's sister - 5:01 AM - Apr. 29, 2006

~ You always inspire me, Jill!

What a beautiful story! I wish I had listened to my mother's stories, as well. All the more reason for us to record our own - and those that we can retrieve from the past - while we have time! Love ~ Patricia

PatriciaWHunter - 12:00 PM - Apr. 29, 2006

Untitled Comment

Hi Jill,

I liked your ***** willow, and at first glance thought you made it using your thumb print. I'm sorry, yet this is my primitive idea of art. Hmmm, might be worth trying, so I think we just may. Disclaimer though--we are self professed artists in the style of Jackson Pollock. Our works are usually found on the floor or wall after mealtime. Your blog is so pretty and peaceful....nice to visit.

Lilacs - 8:44 PM - May. 3, 2006

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