Pickin' Memories

It started in Oregon in my 7th year.

Talking walks with Grammie on the outskirts of Portland.

Little baskets, hand in hand, smiles plastered,

talking about the pie we would never make -

arriving home with purple juice on our face.

The birds and wildlife would play and say hello,

while we harvested wild berries from their home.

In Tennessee, a whole lifetime later,

My own ducklings follow in a row,

quacking about the pies and pastries that we will make.

Baskets in their hands, climbing into stickers brave!

Triumphantly calling their bounties from bushes and vines.

Pointing excitedly at the rabbits home burrow,

exclaiming over the red of the cardinal -

The black of the berries that squirt out purple.

Laughter, thorn-filled small victories,

and the appreciation of the beauty of our world.

And the hard work it takes to grow.

I planted blueberries and other things too-

So that I can pluck more memories from the vines.

I started a garden and I didn't know I planted seeds -

that aren't at all meant for a stomach to feed.

Little hands help dig in the cool dark earth,

and those hands grow along with our fruit,

And when it's time, those hands are a little bigger,

they pluck the harvest from which they helped me grow -

the pride on their faces and joy in their smiles.

The Garden has taught us many things -

not just the joy and victory of the harvest.

But the disappointment of failure,

and the determination to get back to work.

And for me, the largest lesson was patience.

We are not sad if the deer nibble or the rabbits steal -

I taught them that everything deserves a meal.

I taught them to plant enough for everyone.

That seeds of joy and love will grow -

Even if it's long going, even if it's slow -

Seeds of all things will sprout when sown.

That there is room at the table for anyone who hungers.

My children will grieve a plant like a pet -

And that's when I know that I am nailing it.

My wild berries and my garden don't just feed their bodies.

With every memory the garden allows to grow,

The joy and the memories feed all of our souls.

I hope when they are grown with their ducks in a row,

they will pick, pluck, and harvest -

and that they will plant memories and gather love.

And when my vine no longer produces,

They will remember how we harvested memories -

And I pray that they will grow their own.