Forgotten Bartlesville | Sweet tea and tale of 70 springs – Examiner Enterprise

The younger sister of a classmate of mine shares the most beautiful photos of her yard and gardens this year. Ive marveled at the pinks and purples and the other spring hues her camera captures and which she posts on social media. Jean Durand is indeed a gardener extraordinaire. I got to see her older sister, Jo, at a couple of our more recent class reunions and she looks as young as her younger sister. Maybe gardening and good genes run in the family.

I have other classmates with beautiful gardens and it seems everyone is eager to share the earths bounty as the vernal equinox rolls around whether its on social media or a bouquet of hand-picked daffodils delivered directly to your door. Whatever the case, this is a great time of the year to stroll through your neighborhood to view up close and personal the fruits of your neighbors handiwork or to take a leisurely Sunday afternoon tour via bicycle or car to enjoy whats growing at any of the city parks and gardens which are lovely this time of year.

My appreciation for gardening came from a lady who loved to sit right down on the ground as she planted whatever the new annual or perennial it was that had struck her fancy. Sometimes she would exit her kitchen door with a glass of sweet tea in one hand and a hand shovel in the other. It was a long time ago that I remember her carrying out this springtime ritual but its as clear to me as if it were yesterday. She always had room each spring for a few new annuals in addition to the things that were already coming up and her favorites were the old plants the four oclocks, pansies, foxgloves, sweet peas, and bachelors buttons. And she did very little to make them grow except to water them. I remember it all so well because I sat at her feet as she drank sweet tea and smiled on her handiwork. I remember it so well because she was my mama.

I must have been a fairly accepting little kid because I never questioned why anyone would name a plant after the time of day. Nor did I wonder or even ask if real foxes wore gloves. I took her word as all little ones do and I watched year after year as Mama made things grow. When I married and first planted flowers of my own I learned the hard way that it took a bit more knowledge about growing things than a garden spade and a glass of tea. I labored year after year before I finally realized that the missing ingredient in my gardening recipe was a little more love and a little less intent because all things grow with love.

The same is true for our actions and our words and it takes a long time to learn this life-gardening lesson as well. Ive lived 70 springs now and Im here to say that we never ever quit learning if our ears and our hearts are open to the good things around us. Tom T. Hall once sang a song about old dogs and children and watermelon wine and Ill never forget it. But, I think he left something out of that song title that might have made it mean even more to the rest of the people who also loved his old song flowers and anything else that grows. Theres nothing like the enjoyment that comes from the labors of your hands coupled with the good things from above like sunshine and rain and the warmth of Gods good earth.

Lots of people tend to buy flowers these days. You can go to just about any big box store and when you enter youll be hit in the face by bouquets of roses and carnations and each one of them as perfect as the day they were born. What I recall with so much child-like delight were the half-wilted flowers I picked from a neighbors yard on the way to school and presented to my teacher. It wasnt really stealing anything if you were doing something good with them. And I remember the apples and pears all of the neighborhood kids picked from trees that werent their own. They tasted, perhaps, better than anything our moms ever brought home from the corner store. And here I am in my 70th spring and not quite spry enough to steal from the neighbors fruit trees but I still find my heart welling up with joy at the mere mention of the season. Summer, winter and fall all have their good points but spring for me is just like Monday. Lots of folks are ill-content as Monday morning dawns but to me its always been a day of hope and starting over. A chance to do the week all over again and maybe this time to get it right. And so it is with spring.

Just as my classmates little sister is in awe of the flowers blooming in her own springtime garden, so am I all amazed as I sit each day in my sunroom chair and watch as ever so slowly each bud high in the ancient trees outside my windows opens up to let escape a glorious green leaf that will last all spring and summer and far into the fall. But its spring thats at the heart of it all and its spring that makes my old hometown so colorful. Slow down this season and look all around you and count the blessings of spring name them one by one. Count the many blessings of spring and see what God has done.

Carpe Diem!

Contact Rita Thurman Barnes at ritathurman barnes@swbell.net.

Visit link:
Forgotten Bartlesville | Sweet tea and tale of 70 springs - Examiner Enterprise