Fragrance of a Fair Hope

The box fell with a thud as I opened my door. Who sent this? No tags. No UPS label. Taped together well. So heavy, I wondered if it was filled with rocks. I could barely lift it. Better to just go get a knife and open it outside. Stabbing into the slot under the tape, the flaps were freed, and a surprise fragrance wafted up to my nose. It was something like the smell of spring flowers in Fairhope, Alabama.

I had never been to a town where the first blossoms of spring overwhelmed the usual mix of street fumes. I was exhibiting at a crafts fair, my first time in Alabama, a place back in the 1970's which was the home of violent race prejudice. As a white northerner, this was what I was told. TV showed us pictures of terrible things much more than kind and generous actions. Misconceptions about the south were as heavy and tightly packed as whatever was in this box.

But, when I opened the flaps, I found the box empty. How could it be empty and heavy at the same time? I put my hand in. Maybe the contents were invisible, and I would feel them. After all, something did smell. But no. I felt just space. Nothing hiding anywhere.

As my mind searched through its files of past experiences in order to make sense of this one, I recalled more details of that spring blossom crafts fair in Fairhope. There, I had observed children of all shades of color - brown, black, white - holding hands as their school teachers led them through the gathering of artists. That weekend, we stayed in a home of a local couple who lived right on the gulf. I told them how much I liked their town, the people I met and the fragrant blossoming spring. They smiled and said, "Yes, we like to keep this a secret so no one else moves here."

As I mused, the empty box felt lighter. I picked it up and turned it round and round and upside down. Nothing in it. No secret compartments. Even the fragrance had lifted and blown away. Just one thought remained. The memory, the realization that perceptions and thoughts we hold of other people and places can be quite heavy, filled with beliefs and fears we have been taught until some magical moment when we realize we have been fooled. A box of false concepts often falls with a thud, but nothing inside is real. Yes, bad things had happened, still do, but knifing through the packing tape allowed the fresh fragrance of something new being possible. Flowers and ideas fade and fall leaving the space for new fair hopes to take their places.

How had I acquired such a burden of heavy concepts? None were based on my actual experiences, just news of the times, opinions of people who viewed and listened to the news, and images of news "in the making." It is a mystery why and how we so quickly absorb the views of others without much questioning. Boxes of a candied mix of sweet fair hopes and fearsome sorrows. They are falling on us now. Let us find the boxes empty for awhile.