Wildflower Writes

After a huge barbecue at my sister’s house, a large group of us went for a walk. We followed my brother-in-law’s lead on a winding trail across a field, through a wooded area down to the river, back through the woods and across another field, and onto the neighborhood street. The walk brought back childhood memories of being gone all day during the summer, exploring uncultivated areas, creating forts in the woods, and munching on wild mulberries. As a child, I didn’t plan my day. I got up in the morning, and rode my bike to a friend’s house or to the drug store or to a new place to explore. Whatever “good idea” popped up, I’d pursue, looking for something interesting and fun to do. As I got older, these strange new questions started to pop in my head: “Who am I? Where am I going? What am I doing?” I thought these were questions that I would figure out and have answered by the time I was an adult. I’m not sure how I got the idea that people choose a college major, get a job, an...

I don’t remember making a big deal out of Mother’s Day as I child. I think we all went out to eat after church. At least that would make sense to me since Mom always cooked, but I can’t imagine either of my parents waiting for an hour for a meal at a crowded restaurant. I’m sure there were a string of homemade cards with the accompanying homemade verse. There might have been breakfast in bed a time or two, although Mom always seemed to be up before us. I imagine there may have been some offerings of wadded violets or dandelions as well. In my husband’s family, all the ladies wear orchids to church on Mother’s Day. I felt a little silly the first time, sporting one as a very unmotherly college student, but I felt a little special, too. On Mother’s Day, my home church gives out carnations to all the women. I thought it was merely an inexpensive choice, but it turns out carnations are traditional representations of Mother’s Day. It was the favorite flower of Ann Marie Jarvis, whose passin...