Now and then, the alarm clock and I are friends. On Thursday, at six am, I truly appreciated it. I quickly dressed and added a few items to my backpack. I gulped a glass of water then reached for my keys, closing the door quietly and facing the freezing air of morning. Thin snowflakes whipped about my heavy head as I turned toward the train station, taking the route down James, then Queen street to stay in the streetlights. [Hmm, streetlights: do they give one company, or make a lonely walk even lonelier merely by their contrast at the very moments when one might have accustomed herself to the darkness?]
The train station was lit with high chandeliers and in motion with commuters and a few droopy-eyed travelers like myself. On the train, I began to focus on my book, but I put it down in short time, noticing that the east was brightening ever so slightly. Around me, professional people picked up binders and pens and text messages beeped.
We reached the Downingtown station. I was the only one to get off, while a dozen alighted to take my place. I saw Grandma and Grandpa, snugly wrapped to ward off the windy morning. The sky was fully awake now.
We talked and laughed at our breakfast in their sunny kitchen, anticipating our day together. Grandma politely asked if Grandpa wouldn't mind her driving to Longwood, for we both knew he would get confused, and she would be reminding him of our destination the whole time. He consented with a humorous grace and opened her door for her, as he has done for the past 52 years.
My stomach full, and the sun in my eyes, I fought sleep as we wound around a few back roads to reach the gardens. We entered Longwood with few other visitors. We had the gardens to ourselves so early on a weekday, and we explored the treehouses and hiked around the back ways toward the pond. I resisted the urge to run toward the meadow to the left. A green pathway extended far off the road over a rill and into a grove of firs. The walk would have worn out my companions unnecessarily, and we decided on an early lunch at the Terrace cafe.
We stayed over an hour at lunch, talking about the most important things: baptism, the Holy Spirit, family, coffee, teaching, hospitality. It turns out my grandparents know a thing or two about what makes guests comfortable, and I was glad to learn from them by experience. My grandmother once took a class on flower arrangement, and ever since has created a centerpiece for the table when hosting, giving it as a favor to her guests.
I had almost forgotten that we had yet to visit the Conservatory. It was all the more spectacular because I had not been expecting it! We passed through walks of dapper cyclamen, poinsettias arranged around decorated Christmas trees, one of which had a thousand electric-blue butterflies, slowly flapping their wings! I explored the children's labyrinth of fountains. We entered the orchid room... if only I could tell you! Then the palm room, which they maintain at a balmy 80 degrees. It was the first time I'd been that kind of warm in months! I wanted to remain in the very midst of it all, clinging to a large palm leaf and drop into the center of the rainforest below the walkway. But Grandma moved us on at a stunning pace for a woman of 75 years. On and on we went, room after room of sunlight and green and moisture. We whipped through the desert room, always my favorite, and took seats in the rose room. It was there where I finally realized how much I missed summertime, and how rejuvenated I felt.
Spring is not so far away, after all. We passed a Magnolia tree with buds.
Back at home, we played cards and talked about the news. Grandma always has stories to tell me about both sides of my family, for she was good friends with my father's family, as well. I listened. Then we sat down at the piano and we sang until my voice went hoarse. I'm still not recovered.
I was refreshed. Their slower, steadier burn of energy renewed my spirits. I felt what some people feel their whole lives and never know it: belonging. This is a place where I find pictures of myself through the years on their walls. This is a place where we talk, and we both have a right to say whatever will benefit the other. When I return with them to the gardens in the spring, I'll bound up that hill in the meadow, nothing can possibly stop me.
No comments:
Post a Comment