A family that grows Photo by Beverly Demafiles Photography ROBIN LEE I could see a tiny speck of green out of the corner of my eye. A wisp of a blade was stretching toward the sun. “Grow, baby, grow,” I whispered. I planted that seed, against all hope, in a graveyard of grass smothered by weeds. My husband was skeptical. He was reasonably convinced the effort was wasted. “If I don’t spread any seeds there will (for sure) be nothing but weeds,” I proclaimed. I knew it was right when I said it, but I ignored its implications. He noticed the baby sprout first and pointed it out. “Your grass is growing.” Hope stirred. My chest tightened just a bit as I thought to myself, “If planting seeds can produce new life in the wasteland of my front lawn, what could happen if I began to sow seeds in the daily world around me?” Stunned by my visceral reaction, my thoughts began to whir. This last year brought death, disease, debt, and doubt. LOVE OF DIXIE MAGAZINE
There are a million things we have celebrated and would not change; a thousand changes we are so glad we made; and yet there are moments when their light dims, shadowed by the dozens of places we feel powerless or stuck. The darkness of this world desires to devour my family. The dimness of some of our own mistakes sometimes helps it along, but that germinating spore shouted this reminder to me: I am completely in charge of the seeds I choose to sow. My middle child is in her first year of college. She made the dean’s list and is navigating Vermont’s snow and ice. I am remarkably impressed by that since she spent most of her days a half hour from the beach in California and her final year before university by the lakes of East Texas. I love her resilience! I want to pay attention and give voice to the things in my family I admire. If I cultivate a garden of admiration, what will it harvest? What do we respect? Who do we look up to?
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SPRING 2019
