Litha (Summer Solstice): '...summer solstice, or midsummer, is a time to spread warmth and enjoy the sun's energy. The sun is at its highest point in the sky. Everywhere you look nature shows her bounty; praise
the opulence and abundance available to you for the asking. This is a day to celebrate your gifts of healing, whether they are intuitive or use plants. Make peace with the impermanence of life and changing
relationships, knowing that you are always guided and watched over. Bloom where you are planted. Respect male energy, honor your light, hug yourself. You are one with the infinite sun...
Looking around my garden yesterday, I could see that things were definitely starting to grow, but whether it's because of the cooler temperatures lately, or the fact it has rained almost every single day for the past
month or so, I did notice that my baby plants (especially the annuals) are all struggling to survive. I planted a veggie garden with neat rows of little peppers, pumpkins, cucumbers, tomatoes, chives, various herbs,
etc. and thanks to the hail and the rain, and the lack of sunlight, the plants seemed to almost shrink, some even disappeared, and weeds are starting to take their place. Hmmm. I'm thinking I'll have to turn that
corner into a nice shaded bed next year as it doesn't seem to be a good place to grow sun-loving plants (my elm tree hangs over it which is a problem).
At least I did have enough sense to keep three tomato plants and a large planter full of herbs up on my deck where they have received more sunlight and are starting to grow quite nicely now. I just finished a
book called 'The Birth House' by Ami MacKay (here's her website: www.thebirthhouse.com. Throughout the book, various herbal remedies (centered around childbirth of course) were mentioned, and in the back,
just for fun, they included what was in her 'willow book' - a list of various herbs, remedies, and 'spells' that midwives would use. It was a neat book, not quite as indepth as I thought it would be, but still a nice
read... Anyway, it got me thinking that I still would like to continue my study of herbs and their uses. There is a book that I'd love to have, called: The Herbal History of Plants by John Gerard - originally published
in 1597 and then revised in 1633, it's full of original herbal remedies, medieval folk-lore, and interesting facts about hundreds upon hundreds of plants. It's on my wishlist, but it's $100 so I'll have to save my
pennies. ;)
Anyhow, on to other things - last night, I took what was probably my final walk through my grandparents' house. They bought the farmland back in the early 70's (I believe) and built their house there. Throughout
my life, as my sister pointed out, that was one of few constant places that we always came back to. It's sad to think that the one home that we hadn't yet lost is now going to be owned by someone else, and
they've already applied to sever the area around the house from the rest of the farmland below, and then to divide the 'cow field' and the orchard, where two more homes might be built. I have to admit, I regret being so quick to say 'no thanks' to my aunt when she asked if we were interested in the farm. Of course, the reason why I said no still makes sense - it sold for over $500,000. There is no
way (especially since we already own two properties) that we were ever going to afford that!! But walking through the house yesterday, with its old (but perfect) wall-paper, original curtains, gigantic brick fireplace,
and that old familiar smell that was always 'the farm' (somewhere between a cool, damp basement and clean fresh powder). I was fine until I walked into what was once my mother's bedroom, and then became
the room that I often slept in when we visited. There was the same heavy orange curtains (circa 1960-something). I gently pulled one back from the window that used to scare me, and I felt a sense of cool
sadness come over me. I always swore that room was haunted (and later in life learned that my great grandmother had passed away there). Call me wacky but every time I walked into that room, the same sense
of sadness was hanging in the air. At the risk of sounding kooky, it felt as though she was there.
What probably hurt the most though, was looking at the fields and trees and barns that we loved so much. Each was 'so old' to us, filled with 'treasures'. We'd build forts out of the wood in the woodshed, tease
the chickens in the chicken coup, play for hours in the old horse stalls (that still had hay and straw from when Mom was a teenager), and creep through the barn, to the back where grandpa had built his airplane.
Looking at those buildings, I got a supreme sense of sadness, and while part of me wished I could take one last walk through, another part of me was thankful that the car was moving and we were moving on.
I would have loved to own that house, to fix it up, but carefully preserve some sense of my grandparents within it. I had a thought that, perhaps once the lots were sold, if that house ever went up for sale, I'd buy
it, but then I wonder if the new owners would have gutted it, removing every last shred of what was once sacred to my family.
Sigh...
Anyway, my mother had said to me yesterday that I should see the house empty to 'bring a sense of closure'. At the time, I told her I'd actually prefer that I remembered it full, and that still rings true. So I will try to
forget leaving it, empty and sad, and try to remember all the times we left it, with grandma and grandpa standing on the front steps, waving, dogs barking, cousins running around. Much better. :)