A series of essays….
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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
