Who can say what the oldest human ritual might be? Certainly not I, but I feel confident that the pattern we and a largish group of our friends and family followed last evening must be among the earliest.
Here is what we did: Having been invited by us, somewhere in the range of 55 people arrived at our home place, divisions of ornamental perennial plants (in pots, bags, and boxes) in hand, and we planted them together, nearly filling the crescent-shaped garden we've established as a way of honoring and remembering Nora tangibly. Then we went to the house and ate with gusto from the cornucopia of scrumptious food our guests had brought. A number of folks were able to stay and sit with us late into the evening, around an open fire in the fire ring in the front yard, and together we recounted some of our "Nora stories" and sang a few songs.
The basic format--the work of planting, sharing our food, singing and telling stories of absent but remembered loved ones--cannot be an uncommon one in the history of humanity, although in ancient times the demands of survival would clearly have increased the immediacy and necessity of the elements of the ritual. I emphasize the commonality between the ancient past and the activities of last evening to illustrate the depth to which the event, which was created to commemorate the first anniversary of Nora's passing (June 4th was the exact date of her death) resonated with me. It was comforting to feel the reiterated support of so many of those whose encouragement and tangible help made such a difference to us during Nora's life. The benefits to us did not end when Nora's life did, however, because over the past year it has repeatedly come to our attention that the work of grief that we have had before us is rendered more manageable by the good fortune we have of remembering--when we remember the time of Nora's life with all its joys and heartaches--a time when we felt the caring support of our community. Many who pass through such agonizing circumstances do so with the added burdens of disappointment with their community and an acute loneliness.
My spirits were high this evening as I arranged a mulch layer of grass clippings around the new plants. To those who helped create this memorial oasis I wish to express the thanks I fear I failed to make known in the moments the plants changed hands; my mind was rather full at the time: please pardon me. The garden is beautiful, and will only grow more so with the passage of time (this is my fondest wish for the presence of Nora in my life). At one point this evening I stood back to look at the garden, and, experiencing a wave of pleasure, caught myself thinking, 'Well, what do you think, Nora?' It is the first time I have addressed her directly, even in my mind, since her death. Before that moment I had not been aware of having not addressed her, nor felt a need to. But it is striking to me that it felt so natural in that space. I feel hopeful that the Memory Garden will be a place where I can go to be with her. I also feel thankful to those who contributed financially to the garden bench and water feature we plan to place in the garden. I am eager to sit on the bench and watch the children and birds as they are drawn to the sounds and sight of moving water.
My good mood was not just from the aforementioned event. Spring is springing in grand form around here, which is just what this family needs. It was either the late evening of June 4 or the early morning of June 5 that the brood of Carolina Wrens that's been incubating in Kali's bicycle helmet on our front porch made their grand debut. The parents got down to the caterpillar-finding business right away (where and how do they come up with all those bugs?).
Also, while weeding the spinach/lamb's quarter bed in preparation for its conversion to bean patch (yes, it's kind of late, but there's still time), I found a nest of baby cottontails in the turf of the garden path. Unfortunately, I found it with my heel, but despite some pitiful (and startling!) squeaking, no harm appears to have been done. Since I don't believe the assertion that touching a baby animal will cause its mother to abandon it on grounds of its smelling funny, I went and called Kali, Janelle, and my sister Emily, who is staying the weekend after the Friday event, and they each enjoyed holding a bunny for a few moments. However, despite the fact that I felt the potential risks were worth it for this one episode of cuddling, I do believe that handling wild animals is generally ill-advised for both parties. This was the only holding we'll do of these little ones, though I'm sure we'll go back for a peek or two.
I suppose there's a basic contradiction with gardeners cooing over the baby wild rabbits being raised in their garden, but my philosophy is generally to make garden preparations with the assumption that whatever creature could be around will be around. This allows us to live more peacefully with the other species that claim this place as home. The spinach and lamb's quarter were grown inside a wire enclosure, and the beans will benefit from the same structure.
Perhaps the above paragraph about garden philosophy and practice provides a reasonable context for giving notice that we are planning to redirect our web log energies towards a modest production (the same format as this blog, most likely) that explicitly expands its focus to accommodate reflections on a broader range of activities and topics, with a general emphasis on our family's attempts to live a joyful and responsible life in this place. We will leave the "Cascades of Light" blog available for perusal, but do not plan to spend time updating it. Writings about the experience of Nora's presence in our lives will be integrated into the broader perspective (this reflects the integration we seek and need).
Thank you for your interest in our family's story, especially as it relates to Nora's brief life. We can only hope that, in reading what is found here, you've gotten at least a taste of what it means to know our dear baby daughter and sister.
More pictures can be seen at
http://picasaweb.google.com/bennerj8/1YearGathering#
I'll end with some words that my Dad shared with us recently, that were inspired while sitting on the bench by the little serviceberry tree my family planted in West Virginia at "the mountain house" in memory of Nora.
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