.
...it all started with Dafs. As mentioned my favorite yellow- and for some reason this year, I have been remiss in gathering them. My grandmother had borders thick- and never- did she pick.
Dafs in tulipiere
Maybe just an occasional bloom or two would go in her heavy brass vase made in India. She never visited India~ Nor could I imagine her there- though she did follow my grandfather to a little town- gathering wayside flowers as she traveled- not taboo in the 20's.
Naomi, a triple exposure with the fading figure of my grandfather in the background
I have always enjoyed masses of daffodils in the house- however after writing about my preference to gather- it seemed that this year- I wanted to drink them in as Naomi did-where they grow. Flower petals, stem and bulb all feeding til they fade. Naomi gathered family; this was her preference.
but With the Dafs fading, I decided to gather. Admiring the nuanced colors, many specimens and generally gushing over them in a simple white tulipiere.
I plant a few new Daffodils every year- I have accumulated: simple Dafs that naturalize, Tazetta, Jonquil, Daffodil White Lion, Delmashaugh, Narcissus Thalia, Calgary, Snow, Safina, Lemon Drop (Double Dafs)- to name a few.... the hunting part.
...& then, along came the eggs. Eighteen to be exact. A dozen and a half beautiful eggs in extraordinary wash of colors.
eighteen eggs
I was bowled over. My gentlemen farmer friends (really a she and a he)- gathered these and dropped them off at the house right before Easter. What luck to have perfectly dyed eggs- compliments of nature and of friends. Had I tried to get these shades- I would have failed, Miserably.
Fairly new friends, these "farmers", We met while gathering in our small- shall we say- Southern Gothic town to campaign for Barack Obama. A small group gathered new voters throughout the summer- anxious to see how far this little place had come. I thought to myself-If everyone across the country in places like this are gathering too ( A Miracle in of itself) Change Will Come.
Southern Gothic uptown
Change did come. New Friendships came.
...and then the eggs.
...that started me thinking about another collection of Eggs I had gathered; the last of a vast collection of prints from the NATURAL HISTORY of the NESTS and EGGS of BRITISH BIRDS by the Rev. F. O. MORRIS. Purchased in a baker's dozen, the overwhelmingly nuanced collection were the eggs no one else wanted.
What fascinates is the ever so slight difference in each of the prints.
the British Eggs of Reverend F.O. Morris
...landing me right in the chicken coops and hen houses of my great grandmother- Avie Eustean Fleig, known to all as MaMa.
MaMa was ancient when I was born, so it seemed to me and when she died at the age of 89- I was 19. MaMa was not so ancient, but the world had changed and she was still"of her day," not to mention the fact that M. sewed for four daughters, designed an occasional wedding dress for a county bride, gardened-vegetables and flowers, tended chickens, chopped wood, wielded a mean shovel to put down a snake and cooked on a wood stove most of her life (another topic to be sure). She sat in the kitchen in a rocker near the radio-Supervising. I guess it was her throne of sorts and well deserved.
Gathering~
the MaMa I always knew
I remember MaMa-
a two story log house- with a newel post that as a child- I could not get my arms around, yet every time I went out to MaMa's I would try it out. Eventually I was able to ring around and wondered what the fuss was all about.
...but about the Eggs. Always in abundance at MaMa's, along with huge cardboard boxes of little peeps in the kitchen around the same time each year.
Peeps to Coops, to Chicken Yard, to Eggs. MaMa sold eggs to a local grocer and to "private clients." MaMa gathered it all- family too. Pictures lined the polished log walls in her sitting room and bedroom- dozens and dozens, daughters traveling, moving far, but staying near-through still images and stories MaMa told... as we gathered round her chair.
We all gather, and if blessed- the simple things and the irreplaceable people come our way.
.
in 1952 Dame Edith Sitwell in her "unpopular electric eel in a pool of catfish" way that only she could do- gathered old English receipts that used wild flowers.
and from Cooper again
from Mrs Mary Eales-confectioner to Queen Anne
