As I was sitting out this morning, catching sight of the Leverett Peace Pagoda- far away in the distant hills, a very dear old friend called , inviting me to come by the CSA down the road, while they picked flowers and shared their produce with me.
So Kevin dropped me off, and I found her-of course, in the mounds and mounds of flowers. Really, an insect heaven, where all of the insects can feed and feed and flourish.
We smiled and talked and held hands underneath an aquamarine sky and feathery clouds, strolling over to the barn, where there was laid out, like a lavish feast, boxes and boxes of produce of such a radiant colors. Striking.
And of course, some of her remarkable paintings, on the wall over the counter.
She described drying flowers and sachets, and I told her about when my oldest child was three.
We had bought a three family house right in the middle of Montague, and wanted the front apartment, but a woman was living there , not well, who was bound to her bed. So we moved into a different apartment.
Before you knew it, we got to be fast friends. She was very very ill, growing more so, and we would come over in the evenings to bring her her sandwich dinner from the fridge, and sit and talk as we watched the skies outside darken- and then lock things up and other sorts of things.
Soon, my then four-year-old would go knock on her door and visit her, either just to say hi, or because he was angry with me, and needed someone to talk to. It was wonderful. They both were very happy being friends.
She was unable to attend to her beautiful gardens any longer, so we took to cutting some of the flowers, and bringing them in, where we would put a tray on her lap, and my child would sit with her and snip the plants and make sachets.
They would make sachets of so many different kinds, and color combinations, like impressionist paintings, while they talked about this and that, as they gazed out the large broad windows that looked out upon Main Street, and the center of town.
Today my friend was talking about drying flowers and letting people come and make sachets.
She asked what we used to do with ours. I said that we would find, at flea markets, little ceramic pots with tops to them, and we would put the sachets in them.
And then periodically, take the top off and and smell the fragrance, saved from the summer before. And admire the mixture of blossoms and colors.
At the time, my son was unaware of sex roles, and a sandwich make a sachet for birthday presents-for friends, for family members, for us. It was such wonderful, quiet work, watching him.
My friend brought me back home, and I showed her one of my beloved Gardens, and held the bag while she snipped all the pink Rose blossoms, happily thinking about how they would be preserved, dried carefully, and then added to various sachets, ending up in people's homes, to be savored, all year long.
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