The light is changing in my part of the world. The days are getting longer, warmer and I am opening gently, like the first blossoming flowers in spring. I’ve watched the changing seasons for many years now, the lines on my face etched like a wrinkled road map, showing all the places I’ve traveled, but it never gets old. There is something magical about the in between times.
And as I dream and plan about my garden, and dream and plan about my life, I remember another time, when the smell of lavender evoked memories long buried. Memories now lifted, like the new earth in my compost bins and ready to be laid creating a rich and fertile life.
Summer mornings are my favourite time to be out in the garden, as the air is fresh and moist, after waking from slumbering under a blanket of cool darkness all night long. My flowers are heavenly scented, with a sweet romantic perfume, their heads a profusion of vibrant colours and drops of glistening dew lay peacefully on their verdant leaves. As they see me, with watering can in hand, they joyfully nod in anticipation of receiving their first drink of the day. I brush against my blooming English lavender and the calming, woodsy scent fills the air, taking me back in time.
It was the summer after my dad died and I was 6 years old. I went to visit my Grandma Clark, for a few days. Grandma was my Dad’s mom. I felt very special, since I had never been alone with her before, as my 3 older sisters and hordes of cousins were always at her house when we visited.
Grandma came out from the porch when our car pulled up, her arms out stretched towards me, long before finally sweeping me into a warm embrace, smelling of clean linen and fresh lavender. After mom bid us goodbye, thanking grandma, making me feel even more special, since I was the object of all that gratitude, Grandma smiled at me, her blue eyes twinkling and asked, “Do you want to help pick some raspberries for our dessert tonight?.”
I nodded shyly, forgetting the correct response but I knew “you bet, ‘cause I love dessert,” wasn’t right. Grandmother had been a school teacher and I had heard mom say, she liked to hear the Queen’s English, whatever that was. Mom had reminded me before dropping me off, to remember my P’s and Q’s, so I felt stilted, the words, like fluff in my mouth, and my brain all fuzzy, searching for the most polite response.
Grandma and I walked quietly side by side, her carrying a small bucket and me trying hard to resist the urge to skip. My sister J, a real ballet dancer, had recently taught me this joy filled way of moving but I suppressed it and we continued to plod along.
I stopped dead still, forgetting all about dessert, engulfed by a floral potpourri aroma, lifting me into an euphoric state. Grandma’s perennial garden was a profusion of jewel toned colours and rich textures. The array of blooms was overwhelming, but the smell was transcendent, taking me delightfully back to another place and time, long forgotten.
“Debbie, would you like to meet a faerie?,” my grandma asked as she knelt next to the edge of the garden. Wide eyed, I dropped down to the ground and watched as she gently picked a happy looking, purple flower with a bright yellow center. “This is a pansy and is the home of garden faeries,” she said, as she slowly picked off the petals and put them into my hand. When the last petal had been lifted, she held the stem towards me and said, “Faerie, I’d like to introduce you to Debbie.” Mesmerized, I marveled over the tiniest little girl, wearing a crimson red bonnet and a soft yellow flowing dress. Tentatively I said, “Hello?”
Grandma, the faerie and I sat peacefully for a long time, rocked gently by the hum of the earth. Beneath the sweet scent of flowers, we were enveloped by wisps of freshly mowed grass and pungent, decomposing matter, giving birth to new dirt. Butterflies lightly danced on the stage of rose petals and birds swoops to join the performance, gleefully chirping their songs, while the insects clicked and buzzed to the beat. The whole world was filled with the rhythm of life. A magic I had forgotten.
“Mom, can we pick some raspberries?” I turn from my reverie, to see my three youngest children, still dressed in their summer cotton jammies, holding bowls expectantly, looking like bright eyed faeries, and said, “ Sure I’ll race you to the patch.”
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That is a glimpse into my time capsule, which I recently unearthed of my grandmother, teaching me to love the world again after the death of my Dad. Reminding me that magic is everywhere and often unseen by those who don’t take the time to look.
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| My Grandfather Robert and Grandmother, Florence Clark in their garden |
The next time you are in the garden, gently pick the petals off a pansy, and if you are attune to magic, you too will meet a garden faerie.
And no memory is complete without the sense of taste to accompany it. Raspberries also remind me of my Grandma Clark, and so I thought I would share my recipe for Raspberry Yogurt Pie. I found this recipe YEARS ago from the La Leche League’s, “Whole Foods for the Whole Family,” cookbook when I was involved with our local LLL chapter. I hope you like it and add it to your repertoire of desserts.
Raspberry Yogurt Pie
Ingredients
1 cup cream cheese, softened
1 cup yogurt
1/4 cup dry milk powder
1/2 cup honey
1 recipe of graham cracker crust…recipe below
Directions
Blend cream cheese and yogurt in a bowl. Add dry milk powder and honey; mix well. Spoon into pie shell. freeze until firm. Let stand at room temperature for 30 minutes before servicing. May top with 1 cup of raspberries. This is a very quick and easy dessert.
Yields: 8 servings
Note: Any berries can be substituted…or mix them up using a strawberry yogurt and top with blueberries.
Graham Cracker Crust
Ingredients
2/3 cups graham cracker crumbs
1/4 cups wheat germ
1/4 dry milk powder
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/3 cup of melted butter
1 tbsp of molasses
Directions
Combine the first 4 ingredients in a bowl; mix well. Stir in melted butter. Add molasses, mix well. Press firmly over the bottom and sides of a greased 9 inch pie plate. Bake at 300 degrees F for 10 minutes. cool before filling. May substitute honey for molasses. Yields 8 servings
Take a piece out into your garden and in joy!
Until we meet again, may you be well, happy and peaceful.
Blessings from Hope
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