When Ned was in Iraq, there was one thing I promised God: I will walk as long as I can walk, every day, up the hill, as long as Ned comes home alive. And he was three times in Iraq and he came home alive. So I’m on a mission. Sometimes I make that walk twice a day, especially in the summertime. Pete even bought me some snowshoes, so except for a blizzard, I’m up here in the winter too, to listen, to see, to really inhale – to be the closest I can be to God. “This is the place I’d like to end up later on,” I told my family. Our dog Rocky is already here, beneath a fir.
The sun is setting now, far to the left over Haycock Mountain, where I pick my raspberries. I make jam and put them in the freezer for my morning yogurt. In the summer, though I love the full trees, I can’t see as much as I can in the winter through the bare branches. From here, I measure the years, season to season. The green giving way to the ambers and reds, then the browns and grays until the buds start pushing in April again.
I think this place is paradise.
Often in the morning now, the wild turkeys are out, resting in the grass. They like to sit in our driveway too, and aren’t very happy about moving when I back out of the garage if I have somewhere to go. It’s a scene we play again and again. But just the other day, walking up the hill, I hear this funny noise I’ve never heard. So I’m looking and looking; it was somewhere up in the tree. I cupped my eyes, looking up into the eastern sky, and sure enough, here around the tree looks a raccoon. I’m looking at him; he’s looking at me. We are…sharing a moment. Then suddenly he disappears into the hole in the tree, which I guess was where his nest is. I’ve never seen that before. Even after all these years, I’m still discovering something new.
Oh, to be on this farm… I would love to stay here as long as I can.
——–
“No, you’re too young,” I said facing her, her blue eyes pleading.
“But Mom…” I could tell she wanted to stamp her feet, her left knee bent, then straightened a bit. Acting like a child would not further her cause.
“No. Look at me,” I said. “I don’t have my ears pierced. Clip-ons are fine for me, so they’re fine for you.”
A few weeks later, their father took all the kids on vacation to the Poconos. It was Dad Time, which left me with a full week of Mom-On-Her-Own Time. I had lunch with friends, sat outside with a book… And I got my ears pierced. I don’t know why it had become so important to me so suddenly. Maybe Natalie had planted a bug in my ear! So they got back from the Poconos, and we were standing in the kitchen looking at each other. Adolescents are not often observant. They don’t see the clothes on the floor or crumbs on the counter. But this she saw right away.
Like a machine gun going off: “Mom!”…”You said…” “I can’t believe…!”… “It’s so unfair.”…
I turned my back on her. Yes, I did. I turned my back, walked out of the kitchen, and climbed the stairs to the bedroom.
She was still standing on the same spot on the checkered linoleum, hadn’t moved a muscle, when I returned with my purse.
“Nathalie, we’re going to the mall to get your ears pierced,” I said.
Moms are humans too.
This website uses cookies.