Sunday afternoon found us at my Aunt’s house. A place of sanctuary and peace for me. Maybe partly because it’s a place to go that Mt. Washmore doesn’t threaten to take me down nor is the sink threatening to erupt from all the dirty dishes. But mostly I think it feels that way for me because it’s a place where things settle and grow–flowers, vegetables, fruit, animals, children, and souls. It’s a place to set a spell and just visit. And I love that they let me do that.
It was a beautiful day. The littles always head immediately to the swings. My Princess had already been told by my Cousin to ask his Mama, my Aunt, if she could pick the flowers. They have such beautiful daffodils around the trunks of many of the pecan trees out there. I was sure she wouldn’t want them picked, but when Princess asked, my Aunt told her to pick all she wanted.
Princess smiled the biggest smile and headed off to pick some flowers. She passed by every bunch of daffodils and headed straight for the purple “flowers” over near the garden. She skipped as she went, the bounce in her step showing her joy. She had no idea she was about to pick what many would call “weeds.”
My Aunt looked astonished and then we both began laughing. That’s how it goes, isn’t it? You put time and energy and effort into something and it’s the thing that you had very little or nothing to do with that knocks people’s socks off.
Been there. Some nights I sit and ponder and edit and worry and obsess and really pour sweat and tears into what I write, and it sits there commentless and nothing happens. And then I write something about an earthworm on the sidewalk outside or vent about things when I have a splitting headache and folks respond whole-heartedly. I’m not complaining, mind you, and neither did my Aunt. It’s just one of those things that makes you laugh about how the world works.
It’s been a while, maybe even two years ago, since my Pastorfriend shared this but it stays with me, especially this time of year. She shared a line from “The Color Purple” by Alice Walker.
I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it. People think pleasing God is all God cares about. But any fool living in the world can see it always trying to please us back. –Alice Walker, “The Color Purple”
I think she’s right. About it all. And ever since my friend shared this with us, I have made it my job to notice purple fields. Weeds or no, they are beautiful. When I see them, I call out, “Purple!” and inevitably one of us will say, “Good job, God!” I love the fields of purple. Beauty coming from an unexpected place. I embrace that and give thanks for it.
Just like today.
We stopped by my Aunt’s again this afternoon, and I hope it becomes a habit. (Hope they mean it when they say y’all come back now.) We were pulling carrots and talking about nothing and everything and swinging and picking more flowers. Princess thinks she might become a florist, and I think she has an eye for it. As my bag was nearing full, my Aunt asked if we’d like any onions.
That makes me tear up. And not because they’re, well, you know, onions.
I love onions.
I love their bottoms and their tops. I love the way they taste and everything about them. When I was in college two of my classmates were cooking in the dorm kitchen on second floor. It smelled heavenly. When I walked by and said so, one said, “Oh, it’s just onions so far, but we’re adding meat and making spaghetti.” The other said, “My Mama always said, if you need folks to think you’re cooking something delicious but you haven’t got it together yet, throw an onion in the skillet and you’ll buy yourself some time.” (Usually for me it’s time to figure out what exactly I’m going to fix for this crew, but yes, someone always says, “Supper smells good.” Thanky, thanky very much.)
When we pulled up the first one, Cooter came over and said, “Can I pull one too?” These were a little more stubborn than the carrots had been. My Aunt pointed out that maybe she should have brought the trowel to make it easier, which made so much more sense than what I first thought I heard her say–a towel. (Well, maybe it would have helped us grip a little better and not pull the greens off? I’m just sayin.) I helped him get one out of the ground, or maybe he helped me. Anyway, I stood up and offered it to him.
“Smell it,” I told him. “That’s what springtime in Georgia smells like.”
And it does.
The flowers are lovely and beautiful and their smell is pretty. But I’ll leave that nectar to the hummingbirds and bees and yellowjackets and Billy bees that will be buzzing around all too soon. As far back as I can remember, I have loved the smell of wild onions growing in a field behind Blackberry Flats. Or out at my Granny’s. Or when I’d catch a whiff of them, going down a highway, with them growing in the median or on the shoulder of the road.
It’s almost as a good as a tea olive–it’s a balm for the soul.
Today, a day that started off with rain and worries over numbers and things that set my head to spinning and my heart to craving simpler times, by afternoon was filled with the things of soul tanning. Sunshine, gorgeous cerulean sky straight from a Maxfield Parrish painting (oh y’all), green is starting to show more and more, folks helping other folks, laughter (thank you Lord), and the smell of fresh picked onions.
Oh me. What a day.
On the way home the purples were more vivid, and the sun was more golden, and it occurred to me that this time next week, we will have more sunlight to enjoy. Well, maybe not, but still…..as much as I love me a gray, rainy day, I do love me some beautiful barefeet weather. And not to have to rush to have time to get supper done and walk Miss Sophie because we have more time in the evening? Well, I say bring it.
Wishing you all a purple field and the heart and soul to appreciate it.
Love to all.