That’s the eldest -— there in the middle. Of the three of them, she stands tallest — towers over the other two. They don’t mind, though. The middle sister is glad for the protection and the leg up. She clings to her older sister. Then there’s the youngest who spreads her loving arms around both her sisters. No mother could ask for more. They have something to tell us — something important — if we’ll listen.
Marie
She was my neighbor for twelve years, and a trusted friend and confidant for several decades. Descended from an Amerindian tribe, Marie had a way about her that was different from anyone I’d ever known. She managed her ten-acre plot of land that was behind and catty-corner to my family’s property. She had three children including a daughter my age who was my friend.
Growing up, our brothers built a bridge over the corner fences where the properties met so we could walk to each other’s house. My friend and I spent a good part of our childhood sitting on that bridge. We dreamed our dreams, talked about boys, how our bodies were changing, what we feared, what might be possible — all out of reach of our families’ ears.
Revisiting
After my mother left this world much too early, and Marie’s daughter moved to the east coast, I made regular trips to visit with Marie. Late in the day, I could find her out back tending her garden. She’d inspect her crops, occasionally stooping down to pull out a weed. A half dozen chickens loitered about with the odd peacock offering its plaintive call — like a baby’s cry -— every now and then. A barn cat or two would saunter by, casting a look of disinterest our way.
There was an old hutch where Marie placed the occasional wounded animal that she was nursing back to health. I’d peer in to see if there were any occupants. Once, a wild rabbit was there recovering after its close brush with a predator. It hid in the straw, its breathing grown shallow as it froze under my scrutiny.
Another time, a bird with a damaged wing was sporting a brace Marie had fashioned for it. On several occasions I discovered a litter of baby rabbits whose mother had disappeared. We couldn’t pet them since they were to be returned to the wild. But until they were weaned, we could don gloves and bottle feed them.
What to talk about
I didn’t have to have a reason for coming. Marie never asked if something was up, or if I needed anything. There wasn’t always a lot of conversation. Sometimes we’d talk about life and Marie would offer up what she knew in order to advise me. Mostly there was a delicious normalcy around just being in the moment.
This state of being had been a way of life for me for so many years. But I found myself having to work to recapture it as life grew more and more complicated. So Marie and I sat together often in silence while the day waned and the sun slowly sank out of view, draining the world of color.
Once I confided to Marie about a crush I was exploring with an older man. She smiled a knowing smile.
“Good-lookin’, I suppose?” She winked. I winked back. She nodded sympathetically. “Well, just know that looks wear off. And you’d be surprised how quick they do. If you decide to get serious, imagine rolling over and waking up to that face every morning for the rest of your life. Will that be enough? Looks wear off..."
Marie paused a minute, then continued, "What stays on is the way he makes you feel. Is he good for his word? Are you comfortable? Can you be yourself with him? That’s what tells you if he’s worth the trouble... So give it some time to see if that flittery feeling lasts. More often than not, it goes darn quick.”
One time Marie shared with me how she’d counseled her oldest daughter on the eve of her wedding.
“You know I’m always here for you. If something big happens and you need my help, I’m here. But your life and mine are separating now. You’re attaching your fate to his. When you two have squabbles — make no mistake, you will — don’t tell me about it. When you’re annoyed with him, when you lose patience with the things you don’t like about him — find someone else to complain to. Not your mother. Those little things you want to get off your chest aren’t important. You’ll forget about them — but I won’t."
Tending the garden
Marie patiently worked the soil around the Three Sisters with the peace and solemnity of a nun saying prayers. I was in awe of what she’d created. I’d never seen a garden designed like this. A half dozen mounds dotted the landscape like boroughs in villages. Corn in the middle, with beans and squash around it — each “borough” stood like its own community.
The plants were bountiful, healthy, vigorous. Circling each mound were rings of vibrant marigolds. Interspersed between the mounds, more flowers grew — bee balm, bright orange cosmos, coneflowers and snapdragons. Rows of sunflowers, like cheery soldiers, stood at attention around the perimeter of the garden.
Taking it all in, I asked, “How did you create this?”
“Just an old woman and a hoe.” Marie smiled. “It’s how my mother did. I suppose her mother, too. When my first husband and I bought this land, he came up with a grand scheme. Couldn’t talk him out of it. He bought a lot of expensive equipment, including a tiller. Then he went tearing into the earth from here to that row of pine trees way yonder. He planted more seed than we could manage in a month of Sundays." Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes.
"He was so proud of himself and his grand plans. But what for? We struggled to keep it watered. Weeds took over. Between the rabbits and birds helping themselves, wasn’t hardly anything left for us to eat! There I was with three young-uns to chase down. And him always gone — worked dawn to dusk at his refinery job, at least, that’s what he said. In the end, we had less of a crop than I have here with my little mounds.”
A better way
“I have more than I can eat with way less fuss and bother. Sister Corn in the center, tall and strong, supporting Sister Bean who climbs up Sister Corn’s stalk to greet the sun. Sister Bean tends the soil, fertilizing it. Sister Squash stays low to the ground holding in moisture. She wraps her big, pointy leaves around them all to keep out predators.”
“People can learn a lot from understanding how nature does things. Instead they try to control it. Yeah — like they know better — a bull in a china shop is what that is. These sisters have it figured out. They each have something different to offer. They work together. I don’t really have that much to do with it. But they tolerate me coming out here, acting like I’m a part of it. Thing is — I just like being here with these ladies. It’s a nice way to end the day.”
Time to go
I liked ending my day with those ladies as well. I also benefited from Marie’s companion planting. I always left with a big bag of corn, beans and squash to take home and savor. These plants were unlike any my family had grown in our garden, nor any I’d ever had. Marie got the seeds from her family — heirloom varieties from who knows where. They fed the soul, as well as the body. I partook of them with a kind of reverence, along with Marie’s life lessons — the most plentiful crop of all.
I was out that way recently, and drove by to check on the land. I met the man who now owns what was once my family’s property. He also bought Marie’s land from her children. Not a single trace of Marie’s intention remains on those ten acres. It’s now commercial property.
I had to work to remember the lay of the land that used to be — when evening meant slowing down and going outside to be close to the land. When a distraught, wild animal could find help, care and safety until strong again. When each evening the sun set on a woman tending her garden with the scent of bee balm in the air.
Video courtesy of Beachfront licensed under CC BY 3.0
This video uses these sounds from freesound:
Bee buzzing courtesy of Klankbeeld licensed under CC BY 3.0
Chickens clucking courtesy fo craigsmith licensed under CC0.10
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