All of my life I have heard about the farm in Pennsylvania
where my Grandma Grace spent her youth. While I was in
Colorado, in between the helping and caring, I was sifting
and scanning as I pored over the treasures my uncle has
kept so well over the years. I was astonished to find this
little group of photos that made so real what had only
been imaginary to me until now.

Now, as I drive into town along the country roads
and gaze at the dry, rustly corn and the golden stubble,
the dark earth and the twining morning glories…I am
also gazing in my mind’s eye as my great-great uncle
plows the September fields with his white shirt and
his dusty horses.

And when the crisp morning gave me permission to
finally don my faded flowery ankle socks and little
brown boots again (oh joy!), to layer a long skirt
beneath my sundress, and to gather my reading
materials for my quiet afternoon in town….I thought
of my grandmother’s sister Mary, with her boots and
her reading and the quiet porch in October of 1918.

I am so moved by these….the lacy leaves embowering
the porch, the weave of the wicker, the comfy pillows,
the softness of the women and the atmosphere, yet
the substance of the columns and the shutters…the
satisfying contrasts. And the contrasts ripple outward
in my mind as I realize that while Mary and Nettie are
settled on their cosy porch, Grace is on her way to France
as a Red Cross nurse at the end of World War I.

Ahhh….but it is time for me to leave the past, and also
the chill of the library and take my booted feet out into
the warmth of the afternoon for a bit. Then I will pick
up Grace’s daughter and we will wend our beautiful
way home.

Like Grace and her family, we have a
watermelon or two from the garden to enjoy this
weekend…and some ice cream in the freezer and
cones in the pantry cupboard. For tho’ I am rather
over-the-moon that Autumn is stepping closer
each day, I also want to enjoy a few more summery
moments while we have them.