One evening not too long ago, during a week when I was really missing my grandmother (Verna Weaver). I kept having moments when I wanted to give her a call and chat about something or other - the sunny weather, my fresh blueberries and peaches, my bible study time, but I can no longer pick up the phone and just chat for a while.
However, I did have opportunity to spend time with my mother digging saffron that she has kindly been growing for me. My other grandmother (MaryAnn White), not that I don't miss her at times, but she passed away when I was in high school and I didn't chat with her on the phone about various things of everyday life as an adult - anyways, she grew saffron for many years. My uncle continued the tradition and when he moved to a senior apartment complex a year or two ago asked if anyone would want some of the saffron bulbs. Being nostalgic as tend to be, I said I would, but then because my mother has a fenced garden and tills up her own garden, I let her grow it. That doesn't seem quite fair, but here where I live I would have to put up a fence or have the bunnies eat my saffron or come home one day to find my saffron patch tilled up, so I plead with her and she accommodates - I do feel a little guilty. I know I enjoyed this evening and hopefully mom did too, and she is welcome to keep the saffron threads when the time comes, but first I will remember to set aside time to visit again when it is time to plant the bulbs again in a couple weeks.
This particular evening was about 90 degrees and we were dripping sweat just digging up this small patch, I will pray for a little cooler of an evening when we plant them again.
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| Found one! |
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| Mom taking a turn with the fork. |
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| Sorting through the dirt to find the bulbs. |
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| This little rectangle of fresh dirt is where mom had the saffron planted. |
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| The yield from our digging and sorting efforts. |
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| A view over the fields from the corner of mom's garden. |
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| The sun setting over mom and dad's. |
Following is a little piece I wrote about my grandmother (Verna) not to long after she passed away this spring. This was a timed writing exercise, I did for something.
GRANDMA
Verna Gehman Weaver. She had a round face, a face we always called a "Gehman"face. I have the same face, just like my mother. her face was quick to smile when you walked in the room that is what I remember. She was 96 the last time I saw her, I was supposed to go to New York City to see an art show - felted art but there was a winter storm and it snowed and was cold so we cancelled out train tickets and stayed and visited grandma. What a blessing. She didn't seem to remember my name but she remembered me. We put together a pretzel mix to sell in the gift store as one of her activities at the Lincoln Home. The next day I mixed them up and brought one back for her. She was very proud of that soft pretzel. I still have the bag - where she changed "Aunt Annie's" to VernaW's. Those were good days but they are gone now. She is gone. I keep thinking of calling her but I can't. I called her many Saturday's after grandpa died. I enjoyed talking to her. When she lived at Fairmount early on. I would talk to her about Bible Study she frequently went to Wheatridge for bible study and then I would talk about what I was teaching for Sunday School or for Thursday evening bible study. She frequently asked me about work and if I was still helping people and going to their houses. I remember talking to her many places - on walks along Zuercher Road, in the Kidron MC parking lot waiting to go water-skiing, at mom's house, in my car, at Beth and Arlin's when she gave me a Peanut Butter pie recipe and someone was being such a pest so I couldn't focus to write or listen to grandma that I went outside on the deck. I also remember visiting grandma at Fairmount with my friends on the way back from NYC - with Elly, SongJu, Beth, and Holly. It was a bright sunny day and we surprised her - I hadn't told her ahead so she wouldn't be disappointed if we didn't stop.
I have other memories too at her home on Gockley Rd, above the farm she grew up on. I remember walks, visiting her friends, My times up.
GRANDMA I WILL MISS YOU. THERE IS MORE WE COULD TALK ABOUT, MORE WE COULD SHARE BUT WE HAD GOOD TIMES - THANK YOU.
