THE EVERGREEN ON THE HILL

 

A series of essays….

THE NORTHERN RED CARDINAL APPEARS 
AS THE SNOW FLIES AROUND US…

Photo courtesy of acoustimac.com

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

                                                                    

My memories of spending weekends, summers, and holidays on my grandparent’s farm in northern Indiana was the inspiration for my poem, The Evergreen on the Hill. What a lucky kid I was getting to collect fresh eggs in a basket with grandma, ride with grandpa on his green John Deere as he harvested the acres of planted corn, and build snow forts up on the hill with brothers and cousins and top it all off with lengthy snowball fights. Magical!

Grandma would ask us kids to venture into the fenced-in apple orchard to collect fruit to be baked into a pie for our dessert that evening. Being kids, all around the age of ten and younger, we were always up for this interesting challenge. You see, grandpa kept his prize rams in the apple orchard to feed off fallen fruit and be contained and controlled for most of the year. 

The orchard covered several acres and, for the most part, the rams would ignore us and we were able to collect our fruit and haul the baskets back to grandma with visions of giant slabs of apple pie dancing in our heads. Upon one occasion, however, I remember having to scratch my way up a tree in order to avoid a solid charge by a very angry looking ram. The exhilaration was unforgettable. I will say that the slice of grandma’s pie tasted even better that particular evening.

Summertime on the farm conjures up images of working with the farm animals, getting used to the smells that went along with them, harvesting the garden vegetables that grandma would turn into hearty soups and side dishes, and running through the giant stalks of corn at the end of July back when corn was planted a greater distance apart. Today, this would be impossible due to the higher yield expected from each acre of corn and there’s barely inches between stalks.

The story-and-a-half, clapboard farmhouse was painted white and wore black wooden shutters at each window like exotic jewelry framing each mullioned glass face staring back at us. I loved that house. It sat up on a small hill and was completely surrounded by the narrow, gravel drive that was an extension of the two-track lane that outlined the front corn field to one side and the apple orchard on the other side as we turned off from the paved country road on our long drive back to the house.

In the summer the hill served as our very own mountain. All of us kids would roll down it, gathering grass stains on our clothing along the way, until we came to a stop at the gravel drive, climb the mountain, and repeat the thrill once again. In the winter, dressed like Michelin figures, we’d roll the snow into giant balls of various sizes after a heavy snowfall and create our snowman army that would protect our snow fort when we were inside the warm, cozy farmhouse. Stretching high above all of our activity was the trusty evergreen tree standing so proud next to the house and visible from the living room windows.

Here is my tribute to our evergreen soldier standing tall and proud high above us no matter which month, holiday, birthday celebration, or reason we employed to gather beneath her:

                                                    The Evergreen on the Hill

                                                                           Over

                                                                          barren 

                                                                     winter fields

                                                            snow billows and dances.

                                                                        Swirling

                                                               across the gravel lane

                                                      the wind embraces the clapboard 

                                                                      farmhouse:

                                                               black shutters shiver, 

                                                             overhead wires     sway.

                                                    And I see     when  standing on the hill

                                                      beside the majestic evergreen tree

                                  a single cardinal     seeking refuge     from the biting wind.

                             His snow laden perch     vibrates as he     gently shifts his feathered

                                          weight     and sprinkles      the world     In white.

                                                   A single pinecone     photobombs

                                          my crimson friend     offering a new layer to an

                                already perfect scene.     Often, as greenery and the exotic

                           colors of nature fade,     the red cardinal     appears     as the snow

                      flies around us     serving as another     reminder     of its power     of life    

                                                             and the winter season.

                                                                    The Beginning

                                                                    The Beginning

                                                                    The Beginning

             A poem by Jacqueline Hughes, 12/04/‘23

The Christmas Holidays were always my favorite time of year on the farm. There was so much going on at any given moment. Grandma would have the fresh-cut tree, sequestered for years somewhere on the property and chosen first-hand by grandpa to cut down, decorated with what seemed like a thousand colorful baubles collected and gifted throughout the years. The red velvet tree skirt stretched out under the pine landscape but was mostly hidden under beribboned packages she’d been wrapping for weeks. 

The generous aroma of freshly baked cookies, cakes, and golden pies sent our tastebuds into a frenzy of delight with the anticipation of a large ham, stuffed turkey, and roasted chicken yet to come. My mom and aunts were always there to help slice, dice, and mash but always under the close scrutiny of grandma. It was her kitchen and she never let any of us forget it. 

Being a grown-up now for the past many, many years, I take genuine delight in knowing that I’ve incorporated most of these fond memories into my own lifestyle, with my own family. Their dad and I have always taught our girls to be curious, question everything if it helps you to understand something better, and then blend it (or not) into your own life. Be free like the wind! Walk between the cornstalks and get lost—there’s always a way out if you look hard enough. 

Taste the food first before deciding if you like it or not. Walk and play in the giant puddles while the rain pats you on the head and saturates your clothes on a warm summer afternoon. Smile and laugh as often as possible. Build snow forts with your children under the watchful eyes of snowmen. Observe the  cardinal seeking refuge in the majestic evergreen tree and be reminded of its power, of life, and the winter season in our lives we have yet to experience, but know we must—one day.

A very Merry Christmas to all of you! And, may the New Year find you more curious than ever before!

Copyright © 2023 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved