It’s another rainy day here in the country--placing all outdoor planting chores on hold. But it is a good day for tending to dreams and plans for Mothers Day. Instead of measuring the day by the sun and checking the clock, I’ll savor the possibilities of this given time with remembrance.
One Mother’s Day, long before we moved here, when our country life was still in the planning, we made a promise to plant two special trees for our mothers and name them Julia and Molly. Every year afterwards, we’ll plant flowers around the two for honor and remembrance. Plaques with their names will read, “In loving memory of Julia and Molly.” We can’t imagine our life without them or without trees.
The newly planted trees are still quite young but growing strong. Molly is a Red Maple and it is the tree my mother saw as she left the house each day. Julia is a Pink Dogwood that Don chose for its beautiful buds that will be opening soon. They still await their dressing of flowers below and a naming ceremony.
Franz Kafka said, “ Writing is the most personal form of prayer.” Today, a few days before Mothers Day, We remember our mothers as the rain waters our trees for us and we wait for the sun to do its magic.