Sunday, March 18, 2012

Yesterday....


Here is the house that DH grew up in, a typical farm house about one hundred years old. The picture was taken in better days. Now the shutters are gone, the paint peels, thanks to a recent storm the roof shingles on the south side are missing, and the blue front door is no longer such a vibrant hue. The trees still linger and are greening up right now as spring stretches over the Kansas prairie.
My in-laws are in assisted living and have accepted that after two years they will not be able to return to this home. Over six decades of living must be dismantled, divided, sold, or burned. It is a big job, made larger by the fact that my mother-in-law was an artist alongside of being a farm wife. Along with canning jars, cooking pots, quilted blankets, and a lifetime of notebooks and pictures are canvases, sketch books, frames, drawings and paintings.

She was an everywoman who struggled to rear her children, feed her family, make ends meet on a Kansas farm that fought her daily with wind, drought, or too much rain at the wrong times ruining crops and undermining her livelihood. Yet she struggled and fought the land back to do more than merely survive; she wanted to see her creative side of writing and painting flourish just as she wanted to cultivate wheat, corn, and a truck garden.

Her children grew up on the farm, influenced by both parent and land, but so did I in a sense. I was a mere 16 years old when I first appeared at the farm. I was not what she wanted to see the only son bring home, but to be fair, any outsider is often just that, an outsider to family and clan. But like the Osage orange in the hedge rows, I sank my roots deep and stayed. Now when DH needs me, I am there for him and my in-laws to help. The dismantling of this farm household hurts me too.

I found so many small things that I gave my mother-in-law like journals, letter openers, candle holders, a purse, a scarf, even a quote from my favorite book that I typed out for her 25 years ago. I took down the colored glass that sat in her windows for years filtering in sunlight through greens, ambers, and her all-time favorite cobalt blue. When the window sills stood empty, it was like the room had darkened. I boxed up the Gladys Taber books that I had bought her; we both loved the Taber books, rereading them in the winter and then discussing the old scenes over the phone. As I boxed up things for an auction, I shuddered thinking of people pawing through her things.

When the dirt and dust and memories became too much, I stepped out on the deck for a minute. The day was balmy and warm, and the trees out near the chicken house fluttered their faintly pink and white spring flowers. The hyacinths and jonquils she had patiently set deep into the earth were up like flags to greet the season….soon redbud would burst forth. I remembered when a mimosa, now long gone, leaned over the deck sprinkling pink gauzy flowers along the wooden bench seats. The garden spot that normally this time of year would already be tilled and planted now lay silent waiting for, maybe longing for, the forked spade of my mother-in-law turning over the earth. The frogs, probably lined up on the fallen tree trunk in the south pond, chirped like it was any farm day. They did not know there was change in the wind.

In my mind, I heard that song...”that was yesterday and yesterday is gone”…

10 comments:

BECKY said...

What a beautiful post, Claudia. I felt as if I were part of the family, too. Your writing is magical. I was there with you, seeing and smelling everything you described. How sad to see the end of something so dear. Your mother-in-law was very fortunate to have you ase DH's wife! And, oh...what an artist she was! I would love to see her paintings. Thank you for sharing this.

Susan said...

Awwwww, Claudia. You have written a heart-rendering piece. How sad to say goodbye to the old farmstead. Ohhhh, your mother-in-law's mark is there. What a wonderful painting you showed, too. Ohhhhh, how tragic they could not have lived out all their days in their home. Such is life---filled with joy but tinged with disappointment.

What a difficult task you have to pack everything up and auction it off. Oh, Claudia, if I were there, I would have bought All of Gladys' books. She is truly one of my favorite authors.

I like your new profile photo, too, by the way. And thank you for all your visits and comments to my blog.

Claudia. You should submit your recollection somewhere. It is moving, powerful, and able to touch the human heart. Susan

Rebecca said...

I agree with EVERYthing Susan wrote! Esp. re. those Gladys Taber's books! Without EVER meeting your in-laws, I felt like I knew them after reading this...

What a difficult and fine thing you are doing, Claudia.

Linda O'Connell said...

Claudia, the one line that stood out was,"When the window sills stood empty, it was like the room darkened. I feel your pain, your connection. I feel your M-I-L in this home. This post is so evocative, you should submit this to your hometown paper, and then increase word count and submit it to a woman's magazine (or anthology on family). This is beautiful, poignant and sad. You are sitting on something here as valuable as one of the paintings. God bless you as you go through this heart wrenching time.

Lynn said...

Beautiful post - and like everyone said, you should submit this somewhere!

Martha said...

We've done that three times -- but not because of assisted living -- but because we lost them -- about 10 years apart. It is sad to see the old things go. But we do have memories and we did find some treasures.

Hugs to you for it is a difficult time.

I hope the family doesn't make it more difficult -- that can be trying!

Lisa Ricard Claro said...

Lovely, Claudia. Ditto the comments above. Your whole heart is here, and it shows. God bless.

I actually found this post accidentally. I was clicking to your "very late microfiction" and blogger told me the page didn't exist, so I went for your home page and found this. Glad I did.

Ames said...

Your sentiment is from the heart! My three sisters and I had the task of clearing out my parents home. Though it was a huge undertaking, there was no fighting over anything. It was just a sad time and we helped each other get through it. I know this must have been very hard knowing your inlaws were still alive. My heart goes out to you and anyone that has this to go through.~Ames

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