Wednesday, April 10, 2013
The Birds Sing
But I also had a special friend, a neighbor whose house was next to ours, accessed by a winding path through salmonberry and snowberry bushes. Her name was Dora Studeman, and when I met her she must have been in her late 60s. Her husband of many years had recently died, and she must have been at such a loss, since he had been wheelchair bound for many years before his death, and she had no other family. We were kindred spirits from the start. I, the middle child of 6, was full of wonder and excitement, and so was Mrs Studeman. She showed me how to garden, how to eat what we had grown, and it is to her that I owe the life on Lummi Island that I now inhabit. Perhaps unconsiously, I have been recreating the garden that she had, and the life as well. I remember her giant gooseberry bush, the glorious tomatoes, the berries and the fruits, and as I watch my cherry trees bud, and my red currants and my gooseberries, I think of her, with her scratchy white haired voice full of kindness and love. And I think of my 6 year old granddaughter, Madeleine, and hope that I can be a beacon for those same instincts in her.