Steadying ourselves
Phyllis Gwendolyn Bolling Williams works in her garden
It’s a Saturday morning in April. I’m sleeping in my childhood bedroom in the house I grew up in. This strip of suburbia is known as Little Hollywood, which is an inexplicable name for a 1950s neighborhood built on an old strip mine in the coalfields of southwest Virginia. When I pull myself from sweet slumber I look out the window and there is my Mother already working in the garden. This won’t surprise anyone who knows her, but keep in mind these are the Appalchian mountains, and there isn’t a lot of flat ground.
I’m visiting from the piedmont of Carolina and I’m coming off some stressful weeks at work, a tired story in itself. So, I’ve taken this opportunity to sleep a little later than usual. Not to mention it was sometime between midnight and dawn when my parents, my brother and I, gave up the old ghosts last night and let the stories taper off with no endings. And yet, there is my elderly Mom, outside with a hoe in her hand.
Our house sits at the bottom of a steep hill, and for years my parents grew a very large garden way up the hill. Now my Mom has smaller gardens closer to the house, including some raised beds my brothers built her in a back corner. But today she’s working the soil along the bottom edge of an old rose garden that now shares space with radishes and garlic, and when she’s finished this morning will have a small patch of early peas. She works close to the house because the climb up the incline to the big garden feels insurmountable most days.
Her hips ache even when there’s not a storm on the way. In the heat of the summer she will still make the trek a few times, carrying soapy water to rid the tomato patch of stinkbugs, or to check on the potato rows my Daddy plants.But this morning when I look out my window, she’s working this small piece of ground by leaning on her cane with one hand and hoeing with the other. Steadying herself.
There’s so much more I could write here, but for now I just want to think about her steadying herself. And express my gratitude for her steadying hand in my life.
POSTSCRIPT NOVEMBER 2022: My mother, Phyllis Gwendolyn Bolling Williams was almost 82 when I first wrote this piece. In December of 2022 she will turn 87. She still gardens though it’s gotten even harder for her to move around. She has a young woman (60 years old) who helps her now a few days a week. This past season they grew an astonishing amount of food in little patches close to the house. See below Phyllis with tomato seedlings she starts every year from seeds she saves. Several of her friends and garden club colleagues still count on her for their tomato plants each Spring.
6 RESPONSES TO “STEADYING OURSELVES”
Rosie Locke | May 13, 2017 at 3:29 pm |
A beautiful tribute to your Mom, Julie. I can visualize each detail. Your words paint with color.
Jo garrison | May 13, 2017 at 3:51 pm |
Nice, Julie. Would love to share with my friend, Darnell Arnoult, who teaches creative writing at Lincoln Memorial.
Liz,Gray | May 13, 2017 at 4:42 pm |
Julie, this is a beautiful piece that left me with a desire to read more. Write on!
DruAnna Overbay | May 13, 2017 at 5:06 pm |
What reality looks like for most Appalachians who still believe in the wholesome home grown vegetables. This poignant story is so true to those who grew up in the area. Though my mother quit her gardening when we moved to Knoxville, I can still remember that special garden in Vardy where I would sneak a fresh green onion from the bed, wipe it on Mt dress tail and eat it sans salt. Enjoy your time with your mom.
Dave Russo | May 14, 2017 at 8:39 am |
Love this tribute, Julie! I don’t think the apple has fallen far from the tree 😉
Teresa Hayden | May 20, 2017 at 5:15 pm |
Lovely, Julie.
