Claiming My Lineage – My Grandfather

"Longenecker" Crabapple Blossoms

Crabapple Blossoms © 2013 Bo Mackison

“As a child, one has that magical capacity to move among the many eras of the earth; to see the land as an animal does; to experience the sky from the perspective of a flower or a bee; to feel the earth quiver and breathe beneath us; to know a hundred different smells of mud and listen unself-consciously to the soughing of the trees. We are continually articulating the intelligence of the planet, which has grown up through all the species. The whole earth lives within us, and in every moment, we are both its creators and discoverers. We only need to reawaken all these early memories.” ~ Valerie Andrews in A Passion for This Earth

*** Last week in Jen Louden’s TeachNow course, each participant was “invited to become a story gatherer and story creator.”  I jotted a few stories in my journal and that was that. This week, we are invited to “claim and own our authority and lineage” so that we can step into the teacher that we are (or are becoming). In order to claim my lineage, I recall past teachers in my life – childhood, youth, student, adult – and identify those people, places, books, experiences — positive and negative — that were influential in shaping the person I am today. This post combines both assignments.

I was blessed to grow up in a multigenerational home. I lived not only with my parents, but with my maternal grandparents and my grandmother’s mother. As an only child for much of my childhood, I had no age-mates for play, but I had devoted adults who were  always at the ready to nurture, instruct, and entertain.

My grandfather relished telling me the following story when I was a youngster. It was one of his favorite stories.

As a toddler, I was easy to watch whenever I spent time outdoors. My mother needed only to spread a quilt on the grassy lawn, remove my shoes and socks, and I never ventured into the stubbly grass. Mother delighted in this arrangement, as any mother of an intrepid, almost two-year-old explorer might. It gave her some down time when she could be near me, yet visit with friends or family, or simply read a magazine. But at some point, my wariness of all grassy spaces turned into a babysitting monster. I became fearful of the edge of the quilt and what was beyond. I began to limit my safe space to the very middle of the quilt. I refused to reach for toys near the quilt’s edge. Eventually I began to fuss whenever I was near grass of any sort.

My grandfather became troubled about my fear of grass. He was a gardener, devoted to the earth and plants that grew. He spent his daylight hours outside: tending his vegetable gardens; caring for a variety of flower beds — tulips, peonies, irises, roses; pruning his ornamental and nut trees; caring for the yard and exterior of the house; and deriving deep pleasure from the gifts of the land.

He decided to introduce me to his world. He wrapped me in my “safe” outside quilt and carried me to a garden space in the back recesses of the property. First, he picked a few blades of grass and offered them to me. I promptly grabbed them and took a taste. Then he set me on a few paving stones and stepped into the grassy field. When he told this story, he always claimed that he “danced a jig and sang a song,” I have no proof of this! Then he picked more blades of grass and pretended to nibble them. He claimed he made noises like a bunny, but again I have only his word, which is good enough for me.

Tiny Tulips

Tiny Tulips © 2013 Bo Mackison

Before long he was sitting in the grass, then lying on the grass, and finally rolling down the slight decline in the yard, chuckling all the way. It didn’t take much more coaxing on his part. Soon I was mimicking his actions. A tentative crouch to pick a blade of grass. Another taste. An accidental plop on my seat and I there I was, sitting in the grass. I began to fret. Then we noticed the violets, white clover, and dandelions aplenty. I became entranced with the flowers. We picked bouquets for Mother, Grandma, and Great-Grandma Prudie.

It didn’t take much more encouragement, nor many more days, before I was following Grandpa everywhere. Digging worms between the rows of tomatoes. Eating strawberries and green onions fresh from the garden. Watering the plants with a miniature watering can. When we rested, we leaned our backs against a hundred-year-old maple. In a few short weeks, I changed from a young child afraid of the outdoors to one enamored with her grandfather’s company and the outdoor’s infinite possibilities for exploration and discovery. I spent the next 12 summers working or playing in his gardens.

My grandfather was a truck driver and a factory worker until he retired shortly after I was born. But he was a gardener in his heart and soul. I consider my grandfather one of my first and finest teachers — the person who introduced me to his gardens and fostered in me a deep love for the earth. He was a nurturer, a gardener, an entertainer. And a mighty fine teacher!

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Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC. She is exploring her lineage with Jen Louden and the other TeachNow participants.  Memories of Bo’s grandparents are in her thoughts often: they are mentioned in her gratitude journal daily.

Endings and Beginnings

End of the Season

End of the Season ©2012 Bo Mackison

Life is not so much about beginnings and endings as it is about going on and on and on. It is about muddling through the middle.  ~ Anna Quindlen

Life is about muddling through the middle. November is about endings and beginnings. The ending of autumn’s high season and the beginning of autumn’s low season.

Autumn, three months long, loses much of its easily seen glory after the first month. Autumn conjures scenes of flaming trees, crisp fall mornings which glide into warm sunny days, apple picking, pumpkin patching, harvest gathering. That is high season autumn, autumn in its glory.

Then the low season of autumn arrives. The generosity of the year’s gardens dwindles. Anything worth saving from the coming cold is saved.

The first hard frost crisps the hardiest plants, the cold holds them in icy suspension for a few hours, and their leaves droop, as if in a state of exhaustion. Plants crinkle, dry out.

The planters are emptied, plants pulled from their summer containers and dropped on the compost pile; gardens are trimmed – a few perennials are cut short and banked with mulch in preparation for the soon to fly snow. The taller ones, their seed heads dried and bountiful, remain standing, crowded one upon another for support.

For now, the garden is quiet, an empty space. Wait until autumn is in her last days. The seed heads of the cone flowers and sunflowers will be the birds’ favorite in late December when other feeders are empty and the ground is hidden in drifts of snow.

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Bo Mackison is a photographer and the owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC. In this month of many ending and as many beginnings, I will post iPhonography processed with the Snapseed application.

 

At the Garden Shop – Sunday Series

Ah, the Variety - Seed Packets at the NYBG

Ah, the Variety © 2012 Bo Mackison

“Whether you tend a garden or not, you are the gardener of your own being, the seed of your destiny.”
–  The Findhorn Community

Gardening Display at NYBG

Gathering at the Garden Store © 2012 Bo Mackison

“Though I do not believe that a plant will spring up where no seed has been, I have great faith in a seed.  Convince me that you have a seed there, and I am prepared to expect wonders.”
–  Henry David Thoreau

Sun Hats, Garden Hats, Hat Hats at the NYBG

Sun Hats, Garden Hats, Hat Hats © 2012 Bo Mackison

“What dreadful hot weather we have!
It keeps me in a continual state of inelegance.”
~ Jane Austen

Wall Flowers at NYBG

Wall Flowers © 2012 Bo Mackison

“Flowers have a mysterious and subtle influence upon the feelings, not unlike some strains of music.
They relax the tenseness of the mind. They dissolve its vigor.” ~ Henry Ward Beecher

Garden Layers - NYBG

Plants for Sale © 2012 Bo Mackison

I have found through years of practice, that people garden in order to make something grow; to interact with nature; to share, to find sanctuary, to heal, to honor the earth, to leave a mark. Through gardening, we feel whole as we make our personal work of art upon the land. ~ Julie Moir Messervy

Ceramic Stone Path - NYBG

Ceramic Stone Path © 2012 Bo Mackison

“The mere thought of walking outdoors on a brilliant golden-blue day causes fire-works of delight to go off in most people’s psyche.  It gives one an instant feeling of happiness and that is meditation!  We are not only in touch, at that moment, with the physical splendor of nature, but also with the beauty of merging our own spiritual nature with it.”  –  Karen Zebroff

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These photographs were taken at the Garden Store at the New York Botanical Gardens.

And a note of explanation regarding the last photo – this garden path was made of round ceramic stones, in varying sizes but most about an inch and a half in diameter. The Garden Store sold these small ceramic stones to benefit the Botanical Gardens.

The stones have possibly the most interesting history of any garden stone I have ever heard – each stone was handmade in the early 1900s as a functional object in a clothing factory. What could have been their use?

The stones were put in with newly manufactured fabric and washed. Stone washing!  It “gentled” the fabric and made it ready for use.

And yes, I absolutely had to buy a couple of dozen ceramic stones to place in odd spots in my garden – if only for the history they hold. At 4 for a dollar, it was money well spent. I have much enjoyed this tiny addition to my garden! Simple joys!

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Bo Mackison is a photographer and the owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC.