Digging Saffron

       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.

Found one!

Mom taking a turn with the fork.

Sorting through the dirt to find the bulbs.

This little rectangle of fresh dirt is where mom had the saffron planted.

The yield from our digging and sorting efforts.

A view over the fields from the corner of mom's garden.

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.