Thursday, September 1, 2011

September and Mama


This post is NOT about canning, but about the wonderful woman who taught me how... my sweet Mama! Mama has been gone, taken earlier in life than I thought she should have been, for three years now, but the missing has not eased up much.

Mama's favorite time of year was fall... and she carried on a tradition with us kids that her own Mama had begun years before... every September 1st for as long as I can remember, Mama (and her Mama before her) recited the poem, "September" to us... when we were teenagers, we would roll our eyes and giggle, but she said it anyway... and we listened, and in spite of ourselves we memorized it too, and learned to love it. When we grew up and moved away from home, she called each of us four children and each of her four siblings, and later the grandchildren... every September 1 and recited it for us.

I missed her call three years ago and she left the recitation on my voice mail... my DH being the "tech guru" that he is, was able to save that voice mail and save it as a recording which I have stored on my computer. I have yet to listen to it again... I'm not ready... you see, Mama died unexpectedly two weeks after that last September 1 recitation. I returned her call that September 1st three years ago, and we had the best conversation we had had in awhile. We laughed and talked and asked about each other's day and shared the latest gossip... that was the very last time I talked to Mama, and a wonderful memory. Some day I will be able to listen to the recorded message again... but not today.

Happy September 1... and may I share Mama's tradition?

September

The goldenrod is yellow,
The corn is turning brown,
The trees in the apple orchard,
With fruit are bending down.

The gentian's bluest fringes,
Are curling in the sun,
In dusty pods, the milkweed,
Its hidden silk has spun.

The sedges flaunt their harvest,
In every meadow nook.
And asters by the brookside,
Make asters in the brook.

In dewy lanes at morning,
The grapes sweet odors rise,
At noon the roads all flutter
With yellow butterflies.

By all these lovely tokens,
September days are here.
With summer's best of weather,
And autumn's best of cheer.

I miss you Mama!

1 comment:

  1. What a beautiful memory - one of so very many, I am sure.
    Blessings to you Ma'am.

    ReplyDelete

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