Finally Some Sunny Days and a Cow in the Wrong Place!

Job 12:7-10

7 “But ask the animals, and they will teach you, or the birds in the sky, and they will tell you; 

8 or speak to the earth, and it will teach you, or let the fish in the sea inform you. 

9 Which of all these does not know that the hand of the LORD has done this? 

It's been a while since I blogged about life on the farm. It's been a long winter with so much rain and dreary weather that wasn't conducive to doing anything but sitting by the gas logs and reading a good book!  I wanted to get a jump on spring gardening and routine maintenance of the yard, but the weather just did not cooperate until the last few days.  I must confess too, that my time spent for writing has been devoted to writing about a sweet little calf named Crybaby and his adventures on the farm. Crybaby has his own Facebook page and his antics are enjoyed by young and old. A childrens' book is in my head. I just have to figure out how to write it and get it published. That's a new venture for me but one that so many have encouraged me to do, that I think Crybaby's followers will enjoy it. 

But back to gardening and outdoor activities.  The weather was pretty enough one day last week that I was able to take time to prune the roses in my rose bed.  I have loved roses all my life and get my "rose knowledge" from my mother. She loved roses and always had a bed of beautiful roses. Because I always had a horse and manure was in good supply, my job was to muck out the horse stall and put the manure on mama's rose bed. I also helped weed but she never let me prune, I guess because she maybe didn't trust me to do it the right way. But now I have my own rose bed and it's my job to prune. I arm myself with leather gloves, long-sleeves, and my garden boots.  Those thorns are relentless and as I am aging, my skin is easier to scratch.  I have several Knock-out roses in the bed and I really pruned them back. They had gotten to be a large size and were crowding out some of the more fancy tea-roses.  I've found that you can really prune Knock-out roses back and they will come back just fine. As I prune, I am always on the lookout for praying mantis chrysalises that have been deposited in the branches.  I take care to remove them and put them in a bush near the house where they can develop and become complete insects. The chrysalis is a very pretty object in nature (to my mind) and once I thought the branch and the pretty object on it would be nice in a vase in the living room.  At that time, I just thought it was a growth on the branch. Only after the living room was literally filled with hundreds of baby praying mantises did I realize what I had done!

 I am careful with how I prune the tea-roses as they are a little more delicate. I have to remember that I am pruning to get beautiful buds to enjoy later this spring and summer. I have several favorite roses in the bed. One I enjoy the most is one called Mr. Lincoln. It is a dark red and has the most wonderful fragrance in the world. Another of my favorites is a beautiful pink rose that started out being called Princess Elizabeth but when Princess Elizabeth became Queen Elizabeth so did the rose!  I think that is neat story. 

 I still need to work in the bed and weed out that despicable chickweed. How I hate that stuff!  I have not found a way to keep it from coming up over the winter so my major task each spring is to weed all the borders and beds of chickweed. One positive though, is that the cows love to eat the chickweed so I always take it and throw it over the fence for the cows.  I pruned the roses and left the prunings on the ground, thinking to come back the next day and gather them up. Of course it rained so it wasn't until today that I was able to get them up.  We have a large ditch down in the pasture that Harry has been working to fill up and keep from washing for several years.  We take all our yard waste and brush from pruning there. It eventually breaks down but while it does, it provides a nice shelter for birds.  

Harry helped me prune the fig bush, or should I say tree, today.  The first time I ever pruned it, I was scared to death because I thought I would kill it.  Not so.  We have pruned it about every other year now because if we didn't, it would be too big to pick the figs.  I've found that taking out some of the branches from the middle opens it up and the figs can get air and seem to produce better.  There is nothing like fig preserves on a hot biscuit with butter slathered all over it!  Mmmmm!

I have a Kawasaki Mule that is the best thing to have to do yard work and just running around the farm. It has a hydraulic dump bed on it and I am able to manage it by myself quite easily.  Today as I was driving the Mule down through the pasture to dump the last load of fig branches and rose prunings, I noticed one of our young heifers had her head stuck in the fork of a tree. The cows love to scratch themselves on trees and somehow this one had gotten her head stuck in the fork of the tree. She was trying frantically to get loose but was just making herself more upset and more panicked as she tried to get her head out.  Our cows are pretty tame so when I walked near her, she seemed to calm down.  I called Harry on the cell as he was at the barn doing something to a tractor---he is always doing something to a tractor.  He came down where she was and spoke to her, and she immediately calmed down. Harry was able to lift her head (not an easy task) and help her get out. 

I couldn't help but give thanks to God for allowing us to have an afternoon of working in the yard with my sweet husband helping. If we had not been working and pruning, and I had not ridden down in the pasture to discard the brush, that poor cow might have eventually hung herself or broken her neck trying to get loose. 

 10 In his hand is the life of every creature and the breath of all mankind.

Harry working to prune the fig bush.

Mule is loaded with fig branches to dump in the pasture.

Rose bed before

Rose bed after I pruned

All cleaned up and ready to weed

A Little Finch in the Sunshine

After many days of rain and messy weather, Harry and I were enjoying the sunshine Monday morning and doing a little tidying up around our back patio. Harry had the leaf blower going full blast and I was making a lot of noise and movement as well as I moved items around to help him. I glanced over at a bird feeder near the patio and  spotted a little finch of some kind  just chilling out in the bird feeder. I believe it is an American Goldfinch female with winter plumage. At first, I thought maybe it was hurt or had hit a window or the french doors and was stunned momentarily. As I crept closer and closer to the bird feeder, I realized that the little bird was apparently sound asleep, just enjoying the morning sun. He had his eyes closed and was leaning back against the side of the feeder. I closely watched it for probably 10 seconds, close enough to reach out and stroke its sweet little head.  I didn't touch it, though I was surely tempted to, as I respected its enjoyment of the sun and I wanted to continue to enjoy watching it.  All of a sudden, the little fellow opened its eyes, not startled or frightened, but just calm and serene. It  looked at me as if to say, "Do you mind? I'm resting here." After a few seconds, just like that, it flew away toward the barn. I watched to see its flight because I still wasn't sure that it wasn't hurt in some way, and I was relieved to see it flying and cavorting with other birds at the barn. Precious moment over. 

As I reflect on this special moment between bird and human, it reminded me of our Sunday School lesson for January 6, 2019. The topic was how the Wise Men traveled a great distance as they followed the Star with their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. They wanted to find the King of the Jews in order to worship Him. We were challenged by the lesson to find ways to really worship Jesus as the Wise Men did in our daily comings and goings. We talked about looking at the stars at night and just worshipping Jesus for His power and His creation. We talked about how we should be humbled and awed at the majesty and power of God's creation. But I found my focus of worship today as I looked at that little bird. Jesus told us that even the birds don't worry and that if God cares for one of them, surely He cares about us. Seeing this little bird resting on my bird feeder without a care in the world reminded me of that. That little bird was confident, restful, at peace, and just enjoying the sunshine that God had made!  Just like that little bird,we can be confident, restful, and at peace knowing that God cares for us. He wants good for us, and  we can have peace through our relationship with Jesus.  Of course, we know that the reality is that life is not without its challenges and dangers!  The whole time I was enjoying the little bird, I was perusing my surroundings to make sure my two cats, LC (Lucky Cat) and Charlie, were not around. I love my cats but they are country cats and have been known to catch a bird or two.  That doesn't make me happy but I am a pragmatist and I know that nature will follow its course.  LC and Charlie are not without their merits however.  They spend most of their waking hours patrolling the hay barns and equipment sheds, hunting mice and rats.  We do not have a rodent problem anywhere around the house or barns, so I have to give them their due even if they do catch the occasional bird. 
That innocent little bird, not paying attention to its surroundings, at peace and content, was blissfully unaware that two cats could be lurking nearby. Just as we go through our day to day activities, we can be blissfully unaware that the Devil is lurking nearby, waiting to pounce!  As we worship Jesus, we need to make sure that we flee from temptation, knowing that like that little bird, we will be free to fly away to the Heavens some day!

"Therefore, I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is life not more than food and the body more than clothes? 

Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your (our) Heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?"
Matthew 6: 25-26

It's the Little Things That Really Matter

It’s the Little Things that Really Matter

OR

A Turnip in the Vegetable Soup

I like to think about the little things that can make a big difference to a person, event or thing. I can remember as a classroom teacher getting positive cards and thank you notes from parents and students. Through the years, if I was having a bad day, or week, or month, or year, I’d pull out some of those cards and notes and read them just to reassure myself that someone,somewhere, sometime liked and appreciated me!  I’ve gotten some that weren’t so nice over the years too, probably deservedly so, but those I tossed. No sense dwelling on the negative. One doesn’t forget what they say anyway.  It takes a lot of positives to overshadow one bad word or event. Often a little word, a smile, a pat on the back or even a “like” on Facebook can make the difference in one’s attitude and outlook. Many motivational books and programs are written about this and it is a reality.  That’s probably why the Bible has so much to say about our words and thoughts.
 It is the little things that really matter.

On the subject of foods and cooking, it’s no secret that ingredients make all the difference in the outcome and what one cook puts in his or her special dish is the singular thing that can make it stand out from all the rest.  I am always amazed at what a little salt will do to anything--even sweets! Salt  is useful to clean with, it heals and cures meat and sore places on people. No wonder Jesus told us that we were to be the salt of the earth!  This old evil world needs the salt of good people to balance out all the negativity  that is rampant today.
Spices and seasonings can make all the difference in a dish being special or bland. Think about that pan of Thanksgiving dressing--just a little sage or too much sage and the taste is entirely different.
It’s the little things that really matter.


As I write this, I have a pot of vegetable soup simmering away on the stove.  This morning I dug out a soupbone that was stuck back in the freezer and put it in the pressure cooker with some onion, salt, and pepper.  I lit candles everywhere  because that soupbone and onion cooking together sure stink up the whole house.  But it is so good as a stock for my vegetable soup made like Mama made hers.  I add tomatoes and okra canned over the summer, carrots, English peas (out of a can), corn frozen from the garden, macaroni, and ONE SLICED TURNIP.

I wrapped myself up in my rain gear, work boots, and gloves and braved the deluge of this morning to go out to the garden and find that one turnip to put in my vegetable soup.
It’s the little things that really matter.

My mother was a wonderful cook but her specialty was just good ole Southern food. I always thought she was a born cook, but after her death, I discovered her journals and learned that she did not know how to cook when she married. I found one of her cookbooks that she must have gotten when she married--it is copyrighted 1924. There were several recipes and dishes in there that were exactly how Mama made them.  That was very encouraging to me because I couldn’t boil water when I married and felt so inadequate compared to Mama when it came to cooking.  Even though she has been gone for 28 years, I still find myself wanting to call her and ask her how to make something!

Growing up, I remember coming home from school and walking in the back door into the kitchen to the aroma of a big pot of vegetable soup on the stove.  I literally could eat a gallon of it over the course of a day.  It was so good!   Over the years, when I married and was teaching, Mama would call and tell me to come by and get vegetable soup! She would call the grandsons and everyone would go home with a quart jar of her vegetable soup. Once I teased her that she must have been making it in her big canner since she gave so much away.   It was so good.

Mama became ill with cancer in 1987.  Over the next few years, she valiantly and gracefully fought her illness and chemo ( so different in those days than it is now) and finally succumbed to her illness on April 30, 1990. Over the next few weeks, my siblings and I were faced with the inevitable yet sad, task of emptying her house and disposing of a lifetime of possessions.  My oldest brother, David, and his family lived in Gainesville, FL. The second born of the family, Daniel, was living in London at the time but had come to stay for an extended visit during Mama’s last days and for a few months after.  My sister, MG, who lived in Inman, and I would work during the week cleaning out and categorizing.  The sons would do their part when they came home for the weekends.
It was a hard thing to do, and as we got closer and closer to clearing out Mama’s house, my sadness and grief over the whole experience seemed to intensify. I was doing well during the day and I held it together in front of my 13 year old and 7 year old.  But at night, in the bed with my husband sleeping soundly beside me, I silently wept and grieved for Mama.  I prayed to God that He would somehow assuage the grief and help me to embrace the fact that she was no longer with us because she was free of pain and in a better place, reunited with her “Bill”.

The days became routine with the same activities and the nights continued to be filled with grief and loss.

We came to a point where we had finally cleaned out all the rooms and finished the dispersing of family things.  My sister and I had saved Mama’s freezer until last. Why we did that I do not know.  Probably one of the instances when God winks. Finally the day came when we made our way to the back porch and her freezer.

Now the reader must understand that Mama was a product of the Great Depression. She saved everything including aluminum foil, string, rubber bands, twist ties--you’ve seen the FaceBook videos.  That was my Mama.  So when we opened up the freezer, we saw bread bags stuffed with leftover cornbread, bread heels, and biscuits ready to be used for the next pan of dressing.  (That’s another post.)  We saw little freezer containers of leftovers, veggies, and the like. A piece of that and a portion of this.  Most had to be discarded.  Some of the Cool Whip containers had things in them that will never be identified!
But on one shelf, we saw several pretty cookie tins.  Each one had a family member’s name on it. The cookie tins were filled with Mama’s chocolate pecan fudge. Mama was known in the family for her fudge. My husband always got fudge for his birthday and Christmas. It wasn’t an event until you got Mama’s fudge.  She had made the fudge for us, labeled it, and stored it in the freezer during a time when she was able.  There was no note, but we knew that she had done that purposely for us!  I can’t describe the feeling I got knowing that Mama had done that, but I did know that she somehow had wanted us to know that it was okay.  Even during her pain and end of life, she was thinking about us and wanted us to have something special from her.
It’s the little things that really matter.

On the next shelf up were two Tupperware bowls that were labeled “Cathy” and “Martha Gail”.  It was frozen but we knew immediately what it was.  It was vegetable soup!  I remember my sister and I saying that we didn’t want to eat it because we knew it was the last vegetable soup of Mama’s that we would ever get.  Finally after a time, memory doesn’t serve me how long, but we broke down and ate the vegetable soup.  I can’t describe how comforting it was and how much it made me feel closer to Mama.  It was like she was there!  I came to realize that even though she was gone, the memories and things she taught me would never leave me.
It’s the little things that really matter.

Over the course of the next few weeks, I still grieved but the open wound was slowly closing and I was beginning to work my way through the grief.  One day, my youngest son and I went to White Oak Nursing Home in Spartanburg to visit our Auntie Gail, Mama's sister (she gets her own post someday) who had fallen and broken her hip shortly before Mama’s death.  Going to see her was always emotional and as we left the building, I was weeping.  My youngest son took my hand, looked up at me and said, “Mommy, I want you to feel better. It hurts my heart to see you crying.”  I decided then and there that I had to move on for the sake of my children and husband.  That night as I lay in the bed, the tears came again and I prayed to God.  “Dear God, please take this grief away from me. I don’t want to feel this way anymore. Just let me have good memories and be able to rejoice that Mama is in Heaven with you!”  Immediately, I felt a sense of peace that seemed to ease all the pain and grief away. As a calmness enveloped me,  I was left with peace and comfort. It was real. It was palpable.  Just as God is real. He hears our prayers and knows our pain and grief.  If we just turn things over to Him, He can make it right.

My sister was the first to decide that she wanted to “recreate” Mama’s vegetable soup and make a big pot to share.  She made the soup and like Mama would have, called me and told me to come and get some!  I got my jar of soup and took it home, eagerly anticipating that special feeling that came from eating Mama’s soup.  MG’s soup was delicious.  It was filling.  It was nutritious.  But it wasn’t like Mama’s.   Something was missing.

Then it was my turn.  I decided I WOULD make vegetable soup like Mama’s.  I did the soupbone like she did with the little pieces of beef in the soup.  I prepared the vegetables.  I added shredded cabbage, onions, peas, carrots, canned tomatoes, okra, and potatoes.  When my pot of soup was ready, I sampled it.  It was delicious.  It was filling. It was nutritious.  But it wasn’t like Mama’s.  Something was missing.  But what?  I had added every vegetable I knew to add to her soup!

Over the months, my sister and I became  resigned to the fact that Mama’s recipe for soup had been lost and we would never know what we were doing wrong. Often we see it written  and hear it said that we wish we had gotten Mama or grandma or whomever to write down those special recipes!  But we never do it!  Make it a family project now to get those favorite dishes’ recipes written down!

At some later point in time, my sister and I were visiting with Mama’s younger sister, Elizabeth--Aunt Ibby to us.  She and Mama were close in age and shared many life experiences together over the years as they raised their families in Spartanburg, SC.   We were talking and reminiscing and for some reason, the subject of Mama’s vegetable soup came up. We told her we had tried and tried and we just couldn’t get the taste right.  I asked Aunt Ibby, ”Do you know how Mama made her vegetable soup?”  She replied that she might.  She said to tell her how we had been making it.  My sister and I went over the ingredients and how we had been preparing it. She laughed and said, “Well, you forgot the turnip!” 

That was it.  The one thinly sliced turnip.  Just one.  Too many and the flavor is overpowering--I know because I tried it.  If one turnip is good, then several ought to be delicious, right?  Wrong.  JUST ONE TURNIP is all it takes.
It’s the little things that really matter. 

We couldn’t wait to get home and make a pot of vegetable soup to see if that turnip was the missing ingredient in Mama’s vegetable soup.  Of course it was!  Aunt Ibby was right.

Since that time, we have been happily and joyfully making Mama’s vegetable soup and lovingly remembering her with every bite we take!
It’s the little things that really matter.  

The Prayer Rock Back Story Part Two

I am going to share my experience with breast cancer but I want to be sure that anyone reading this post understands that each cancer experience and diagnosis is different for each person. The process I went through is mine and would not be the same for another woman or man. Cancer is a very personal experience and while some treatments and protocols may be common, the journey is never the same.  If diagnosed with cancer, each person has to work with her or his medical team to determine the best treatment plan.

I hope my walk through this faith experience can encourage someone and bring honor to God for answered prayers and His providence in my life.

In 2005, I left the principal position at Mabry Junior High School and moved to work at the District Office in the area of curriculum and special programs.  That first year at the District Office was a great learning experience, and while I missed the daily interactions with the students, teachers, and parents, I didn’t miss the long hours and stress that came with being a principal. 

That spring 2006, my successor at New Prospect Elementary, Mrs. Cathy Bird, passed away unexpectedly and I returned to finish the year out at New Prospect from mid-March until June.  It was a very sad and challenging time and is still hard for me to think about. 

Fast forward to Labor Day weekend, 2006.  I have always been one of those people who tried to keep up with physical exams, dentist appointments, other specialists, and try to be healthy.  I have been blessed to have good insurance so getting to the doctor for physicals and keeping up with all the screening tests was never a hardship.   Although at the time, there was no breast cancer in our immediate family, I had always been religious about the self-exam and mammograms.  In fact, I had just had a mammogram about 2 months ago that was normal. 

I was watching TV, reared back in the recliner, when I casually ran my hand over the top of my right breast.  I felt a thickening—not a lump really, but a thickening about the size of my little finger and about an inch long.   That had not been there when I had done my last monthly self-check.

I didn’t panic and I didn’t tell Harry. 

Tuesday morning I called my doctor and reported what I had found and by 11:00 AM that morning, I was in his office and he was checking it out.

He felt what I felt and said that I needed to have an ultrasound scheduled. 

A few days later, I went in for the ultrasound, Harry with me.  The ultrasound was conducted and results given to the doctor.  He said that nothing really showed up on the ultrasound. He couldn’t tell what it was but it “didn’t look like anything to be concerned about.”   

The theme of these series of blogs is the Prayer Rock.  Sometime between the time I found the thickening and had the ultrasound, I had sat on the rock and prayed about it.  I remember saying to God that I didn’t have a good feeling about this.  I think women know their bodies and our bodies do speak to us.  I just didn’t feel good about this event and I was preparing myself for bad news.   I asked God to take care of me and to help me make the right decisions as this situation went on.

When the doctor said he didn’t see anything to be concerned about and that we could “watch” it for 3 months or take it out, I emphatically replied, “NO!  We take it out now and we don’t watch it.”    

That still small voice had said to me quite clearly and rather loudly,  “Don’t wait. Don’t watch it. Get it out now.”   I said to the doctor, “ I realize that you don’t see anything, but we know it is there. And if you can’t tell me what it is or isn’t, then we need to take it out as soon as possible.”  He agreed with me and his next question was who I wanted for a surgeon.   I had never had a surgeon and the only name that I could think of was the nice young surgeon who had performed our son’s emergency appendectomy, Dr. Darren Chapman.   The doctor said that was a good choice and Dr. Chapman was doing almost exclusively breast surgery now.   So, two days later, I was in Dr. Chapman’s office discussing the minor surgery that was to take place. 

Dr. Chapman felt that the thickening we were feeling was nothing to be concerned about, but he agreed that since it wasn’t showing up on the ultrasound, the best course was to be safe and take it out.

And so on Oct. 3, 2006, I found myself at Mary Black Hospital being prepped for surgery.   I remember Dr. Chapman coming to the gurney where I lay awaiting surgery.  He took my hand and said, “I want to check that this thing is still there. I have known you ladies to pray them away.”   He checked and it was still there.  He looked me in the eye and said, “I really don’t think you have anything to worry about.   We’ll just take it out and it will be fine.”  He prayed with me and things got underway.

When I woke up, the first thing I remember is having my right hand held by Dr. Chapman and my left hand held by Harry.  I only had to look in their faces to know.  Even today, I feel so sorry for Dr. Chapman.  He had the sickest look on his face and I said, “Well, let’s have it.”  

He said that he was completely blown out of the water. He never expected to find cancer. When he removed the thickening we had all felt but couldn’t identify, it was benign.  Completely harmless.  However, hidden behind the growth, masked so that it didn’t show up on the ultrasound was a 1.3-centimeter tumor.  Breast cancer.   He had cleared all the margins and it was being sent for testing but we would need to talk in his office in two days. 

While he was upset that he had missed the diagnosis, I have a different perspective.  I think in my heart, even though everyone said I had nothing to worry about, I had known that it was not going to be good. 

I really believe that God put the growth there.  The tumor had not shown up in my recent mammogram. Perhaps it was fast growing and wasn’t even there when I had the mammogram. I had not felt it when I did my self-exams.  If I had not felt the thickening and taken action, it might have been too late.

And I thank God every day that He spoke to me so emphatically so that I was compelled to demand that the growth be removed immediately.  Had we waited 3 months to watch it, it might have been too late.  The type of cancer with which I was diagnosed is aggressive.  I don’t like to think about it.  

And so began a journey that I might do differently if I had it to do over, but again, maybe not.  I think all women must contemplate what they might do if they were ever diagnosed with breast cancer and for me, I had always told myself that I would have a mastectomy and not question it.  Treatment of breast cancer has come a long way and today, a total mastectomy is not always the first course of treatment. But for me, I still had that voice telling me to have a mastectomy. The course of action I would have taken differently, however, would be to have met with the oncologist and gotten a treatment plan first before having the mastectomy, but in October 2006, all I could think was that I wanted the offending breast removed as soon as possible.

During this time, I spent a lot of time on the prayer rock.  I mentioned in an earlier post, that my mother had died of colon/liver cancer in 1990.  During the 3 years or so that she was sick, I never heard her complain or question God.  She never asked ‘why me?” She was always positive and hoping for the best.  She might be in pain, but she would never let you see it.  A cousin remarked that his aunt had shown how to live life as a Christian and how to die as a Christian.  I remembered that.   And so, as I sat on the rock and talked to God, my prayer was that I would be brave like Mama, strong like Mama, and gracious like her.  And that no one who worked around me was going to be uncomfortable or feel like they had to tippy toe around.  I asked for peace, grace, a sense of humor, and strength to get through what was ahead.

Dr. Chapman and I made an appointment to have the right breast removed on October 13, 2006.  He would remove the breast and also perform a sentinel node biopsy at the same time.  This is a procedure where radioactive dye is injected into the breast and travels to the lymph nodes.  If the lymph node or nodes are  “hot”, then that indicates that cancer has spread to the lymph nodes.

The Rose Bush from Hell

My mother gave many of my plants and bushes to me.  She was a wonderful gardener and she got it honestly from my grandfather, her father.  He lived in Charleston, West Virginia, and was an educator but he gardened for pleasure. His garden was beautiful, and even though he died before I was born, I remember his garden, especially the iris.  Mama had many plants in her yard and garden that she had gotten from his garden when she married and moved to Spartanburg. 

 I didn’t care much for gardening when I was a kid and teenager at home—most normal teenagers don’t care for pulling weeds out of the rose bed or picking green beans.  I do remember occasionally helping weed flowerbeds but it was usually under duress or guilt. 

When I married and moved to our farm, gradually I became interested in plants and having a lovely yard of my own.  Mama was more than happy to help me and give me plants.  Plant swapping is a given in the south, especially those prolific plants that have to be divided and thinned anyway.  Mama was always ready with advice and suggestions for planting and cultivating and I am grateful for that and that I listened.

Mama had a favorite rose bush that was rooted from a cutting from her father’s garden in West Virginia.  It is the 1932 New Dawn Rambling Rose.  And it was a new rose bush in 1932 when Grandfather acquired it for his garden.  I saw this rose in the rose garden at Biltmore Gardens when my son and daughter-in-law took me there for a Mother’s Day gift to see the Downton Abbey costume display.  Anyway, the 1932 New Dawn Rose is there and even if I do say so myself, Biltmore’s rose bush doesn’t have anything on mine. 

But my rose bush has quite a story.  NOW, it has a place of honor in my garden, neatly trained on a sturdy iron trellis crafted by a local iron craftsman, Ed Simmons.  It wasn’t always on that trellis though.

When Mama first gave me the rose bush which she had rooted for me, she told me it needed “room”, so we planted it near the pasture fence located where our vegetable garden is now. But then, over 45 years ago, it was in a remote part of the yard, near the fence, and had the run of the place.  I failed to mention that my version of the New Dawn Rose is a rambler—not a climber.  There is a difference.  A climber rose basically will send shoots UP and can be trained on a vertical trellis easily.  A rambler does just that—it rambles. It sends out long canes in a horizontal direction and if these canes are on the ground, they will easily root and send out more shoots.

Over the years, the bush had gotten so big that rabbits made beds in it; birds nested in it, and was literally the size of a small living room.  Really.  Our oldest son was convinced that it was the rose bush in Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimn, where one descended under the bush into the ground.  I also failed to mention that this rose has large, ferocious thorns.  Between the canes that shoot out and the thorns, and the size of the bush, it reminded one of an animated tree in a Disney movie.  Everything would be fine until Harry mowed the grass.  He hated that rose bush!  Understandably so. Invariably, thorns would attack him as he tried to keep it tamed with the mower.  I’d hear him complain about the Rose Bush from Hell as he dubbed it …as I doctored his wounds.

Finally, I consented to let him dig most of it up and transplant it along the side of a newly constructed hay storage barn.  I was fine with that because it would be out of the way, look nice against the barn wall, and be out of the yard where he had to mow.  So, New Dawn got moved to the new barn where she flourished and grew for about four years. 

My mother passed away in 1991 and the plants and bushes she had given me were a comfort.  As long as I had her rocks and her plants, I had a part of her with me always.  Anyone who has lost someone can understand how possessions or objects belonging to that person become important and cherished.

One day, I came home from school and saw that along the length of the hay barn, a big swath of dirt had been moved and the dirt laid bare.  My rose bush was gone! Nothing but a big scar of red dirt remained.  My father-in-law, bless his heart, had decided that water was running into the barn and would damage the hay, so his solution was to have a bulldozer operator from down the street come up and do some repair work.

I loved my father-in-law, but I was angry, hurt, and devastated that my rose bush was gone!  I understood that water didn’t need to get in the hay barn, but couldn’t he have at least waited until I could move the rose bush?  Well, McMillan men are not known for their foresight when it comes to bushes.  Harry’s mother loves to tell about the time she came home to find her prized camellias pruned to the ground with the chain saw by this same man.  That’s another blog. 

Anyway, I was so hurt and crushed.  By this time, Mama’s yard was not the same as it was when she was living and there was no chance of going to her house and getting another cutting from the bush.  So I mourned her and the rose bush for several weeks.   Then one day, I happened to be walking in the yard and ventured down near the barn where the bush had been—I’m sure that I wanted revisit my anger and hurt and truth be told  --POUT.   But like a phoenix rising up from the ashes, what did I see but sprigs of the rose bush coming up bold and strong out of the ground!  Several nice sprouts were coming up and I knew then that this rose bush was going to survive!  What a testament to resilience and hardiness!   It was then that I determined that the bush was going to be moved to a spot where I could protect it and not worry that it would be bulldozed again.

So, I found the trellis which Harry placed in the ground for me and transplanted the rose bush.   I wish I could say that all was wonderful and pleasant after that. But even though I had transplanted the rose bush and had her in a safe place, I had not changed anything genetically in the rose bush’s DNA. She still had thorns and she still had those accursed rambles.   So, even though she had been in this spot for at least 20 years, she had to routinely get pruned way back, which only encouraged her to send out even more thorny rambles.   And I still had to make sure that the rambles were contained within the garden and trellis so that when Harry mowed the yard, the Rose from Hell wouldn’t attack him.  Still, she did well there and provided many years of beautiful blooms that start out a deep pink and gradually as the buds open, become snow white.  The fragrance of the blooms is wonderfully strong and powerful, not like some of the more grand roses bushes that are all show and no smell.

Sometime in early fall 2017, we had one of those freak thunderstorms with high winds that did some damage in the area. The rose bush was a casualty. The wind was so strong that is was blown off the trellis and so damaged that there was no way to get it back where it belonged.   So, unbelievable still to me, I invited Harry to help me really prune the bush back and start over.  We armed ourselves with the best leather work gloves we own, long sleeves, and good shoes.  This rose bush doesn’t play!  After several hours, we had New Dawn really trimmed up with a lot of dead wood and old canes removed.  I was worried that we had really trimmed her up too much, but why would I question the ability of this rose to resurrect itself?  

Now, while she won’t have the profusion of blooms she usually has, this spring she does look healthier and stronger for the pruning.  

And if the reader would like to have her own Rose from Hell, or 1932 New Dawn, I have several cuttings ready to go.  The bush is easy to root. I guess that’s why all my grandfather’s children had one in their yard.  I root it simply by taking one of the rambling shoots and burying a portion of it in an old pot, covering it with dirt, weighing it down with a rock, watering it often, and just waiting a couple of months. Pretty soon, it will be rooted and another plant will be ready to go.

Just like Mama’s 1932 New Dawn Rose, we all need pruning from time to time.  God reminds us that pruning is good for plants and good for the soul. Jesus was very specific about the benefits of pruning and discarding what is not productive.

 We can all stand to have Him help us prune out the bad, diseased wood that is not productive and not good for us.  Pruning exposes new wood and encourages new growth.  Pruning makes way for renewal and restoration.  Pruning strengthens the plant and helps it prepare for the blooming or growing season.  Pruning strengthens us and gets us ready for what is coming.

And just like the rose bush, life has thorns. I’m thankful that the fragrant blooms of New Dawn remind us that even in the midst of trouble, we can still find beauty.