Pine Cone Messages

It was a warm, moonlit summer night and my best friend was spending the night. We were about 13 at the time and now at age 71, the clarity of the memory has faded. I’m sure we were sleeping out in the back yard of my family’s modest home. We loved to do that after the long, hot days of summer and we took turns spending the night at each other’s homes.

My bestie, Cathy, and her family were horse people. They raised Tennessee Walkers and some of my fondest memories of childhood revolve around those days.

Her family was probably one of the wealthiest members of our small, tight-knit community. Because we lived in what was then a rural neighborhood, the families in our little community were known as the “country bumpkins” to the kids from the schools of the larger city, further south. But to us, we had it far better than any of the “city slickers”. We had a mountain to climb, a lake nearby to swim, a pond to skate on in the winter, two little grocery markets, woods to walk in and a hill with woods where we loved to ride our horses. We also loved to ride them around the neighborhood, where traffic was minimal and paths along side the roads were many.

Cathy was smart, pretty, and feminine. I was just an average kid, and a bit of a “tom-boy” at that age. I was a big fan of the Trixie Belden book series when I was young and to me, I was Trixie Belden (all except for the short, curly blonde hair) and Cathy was Honey Wheeler to a T - the rich, pretty, best friend who had horses, a fancy stable, lots of property with woods and everything else a kid would want to grow up with at their disposal.

Cathy's family had three horses that I remember. Sandy, Midnight and Go-Go (yes, after the Go-Go Girls of the 1960’s). Sandy was the aging Palomino mare, that in the beginning we rode the most and who I was allowed to ride on my own. Next, Cathy got Midnight; a big, black Tennessee Walker that we rode together on all kinds of adventures. And then there was Go-Go the young Palomino filly who I only remember riding once. And in all honesty, I was a bit frightened when Cathy (with her Dad) allowed me to ride Go-Go in their large pasture. She was young and spirited. I only took this little filly a ways down the pasture, quickly returning, telling them “I had better not ride her, I don’t want to ruin her training.” lol     That was a kid’s way of saying: “Get me off here. I am scared!” In reality, Go-Go was as good as gold, or they wouldn’t have let me ride her alone. Fear has always been the emotion that has held me back the most, it seems, no matter the issue. Oh to be 13 again and do it all differently! Oh to be 71 and do the same!

But on this particular night, as we laid out our sleeping bags in the back yard of my safe, childhood home, an idea came to us. The next door neighbors’, whom we did not know at the time, had horses that seemed to be beckoning to us. Why, I don’t really know, as often as we got to ride Cathy’s horses.

“Let’s sneak over there and ride those horses!” Cathy was already plotting all of it out in her mind. Me, being not the leader, but the follower, willingly agreed; not stopping to have even one care about the fact that we had not one idea about the rideability of these horses. (Double negative for emphasis!) We didn’t know if they had ever been ridden or not; we didn’t care if we had a bridle or halter, or rope; and we most certainly had not one concern about a saddle. We just went. We crept under the fence and into their pasture. I don’t remember all of it, but I know Cathy told me she would mount first. As young teenagers it was easy for us to jump onto a horse’s back, stomach first and then swing our right leg over. With her getting on first though, this wouldn’t have been possible for me to mount that way, and I don’t remember exactly how I mounted. Perhaps she extended a hand and I somehow managed to mount without pulling her off. Or maybe we found a tree for me to grab onto and pull myself up. I just don’t remember. I only remember my friend, who was already an expert horse woman, guiding that horse around the pasture, lit only by the light of the moon. I remember riding past the big old tree that sat along the side of the road at the furthest edge of their pasture and ducking under a branch. I remember thinking excitedly, “We did it!” The horse was obviously well-behaved, and though there was another horse in the pasture as well, we rode together. I don’t remember anything after that...only this short scene that feels like it is fighting it’s way out of my mind, seemingly not wanting to stay. But it is one memory, that I absolutely treasure, so I hold onto it just as fiercely, as it tries to leave.

I have so many fond memories of this childhood friend – the day she got her first high heeled tap shoes as she continued her dance lessons; galloping Midnight across their pasture singing “Scarecrow, Scarecrow”...a popular Walt Disney movie of the era… “Don’t tell Dad we do this,” she had often warned me. 

And I remember one time at the pond, which the owners so graciously let the entire community use, we found a dead horse. She was distraught, but knew just what to do. She went up to get help and told me to stay there with the horse. (Not sure why) The owners of the home didn’t answer the door, so apparently she went on to her own home. But it was taking so long that I got scared, (big surprise) so I left. Kinda regret to this day not waiting for her to come back. 

I also remember camping out alone at the base of their mountain in the woods...in the dark...alone...in our homemade shelter, Did I say alone? At night? We got scared. I think we eventually went in to her house before the night was over. Not sure she was too happy with me about that. She was obviously the brave one, I think.

I also remember letting her down another time. We would meet each morning before school so that we could walk the mile to school together. I lived on the last street in our neighborhood. At that time, our street was sometimes called “Foothill” and she lived at the base of the mountain, and perpendicular to our street, with their house as the center point, directly across from their huge pastures. Every morning she would walk across that big pasture to meet me at the corner of my street. There were two big pine trees there, and we were to place a pine cone at the bottom of the biggest tree if one of us was late and the other got worried the friend was not coming. That way if one did come late, we would know the other one had been there, but gave up waiting...so we should just continue on to school. Well one day, I was pretty late...and I waited a few minutes, and decided there was no way she was coming, so I had better get going. But I couldn’t be bothered to leave a pinecone! I was so convinced she had already gone and had simply not left me a pine cone! I regret doing that to this day!! Because I later found out she hadn’t been there! And when she did get there, she trusted me enough to wait for me, being certain I hadn’t been there, because there was no pinecone! A good friend would have left a pinecone. Her waiting for me had made her late for school and it was my fault! What kind of a friend does that! I guess, I do. Suffice it to say, that was the end of the pinecone messages...and maybe just a bit of a loss of trust.

Anyway, we shared a lot more friendship after that. We were Raggedy Ann and Raggedy Andy together for a school party. We shared secrets and hopes and crushes on the cutest boys. We called each other every morning and stood by one another through thick and thin, We separated a bit in high school, when she was popular with a different crowd than I was, but we came back in full measure as adults. She comforted me through divorce and being newly single; and I cried with her when she lost her favorite horse, then close family members and finally her biggest tragedy of all – the loss of her only daughter in a tragic traffic accident at the age of 13. Cathy was also seriously injured.

I don’t think Cathy was ever the same after that; understandably so. Though a few years before the accident, she had moved to the southern part of the state, we always stayed in touch through letters. But I never saw her again. 

Finally, one day I got a call from her little sister telling me that she had passed away. 

After her memorial which I could not attend, her husband sent me the beautiful memorial, a  picture of her when she was young and a poem her daughter had written her when she was just a little tyke. A bit later, her husband called out of the kindness of his heart with a message, which I kind of look at now as kind of a “pinecone message”. She had gone on ahead, but she had thought of me. 

When their daughter had passed away, I had given Cathy a locket which held a photo of their daughter. He wanted me to know how much that meant to her and that she had never taken off...even for a day. I knew this was true, because when Cathy received it, she called me and told me how much it meant to her because it told her that I understood... Her grief, of course, was about losing her daughter; not about her own injuries. 

When her husband made that phone call to me, he also wanted me to know that she had often told him that some of her fondest memories were of time spent at my modest, childhood home, where she always only felt safety and love of family.

I don’t remember too many phone calls meaning more to me than that one. And I most certainly know and will forever remember that she was always the one to leave the important messages...

When Sorrow Is Offered Hope

 

It was a bright, sunny March day, and it seemed spring had arrived early. I knew it wouldn’t be long until my bluebirds arrived for the season. Their normal arrival date is around March 11^th , only 1 week away. I suspect due to the mostly mild winter and apparent early spring, they will arrive early. I knew I had to get out to clean their boxes before they arrive. I didn’t really relish the task, but I also knew from past experience it wouldn’t take long and it isn’t at all difficult.

I felt the warmth of the sun, without even a slight breeze and everything was so still, as I walked out the back door. It was actually a perfect day to have a small job outside. But as I started my task, I became a bit discouraged by the condition of the boxes. They are old and it is probably time, to replace all of them. I realized they were no longer as safe for my birds as they should be.

A walk through the
Raspberries.

The first boxes that I worked on went easily. But the last box that I cleaned, took longer than the other 4 all put together. It was in rough shape and the nest that was left over seemed to be stuck to the floor of the box. I had been negligent in getting to this box last year. Too, the box was a bit higher than the rest of them and I was foolish enough not to bring a step stool or ladder and too stubborn after already getting started, to go get one.

For no reason, I started to cry in frustration. It didn’t really have anything to do with the task at hand, or my difficulties in finishing it. It was due to the moment I walked out the back door, and I had felt the stillness, I felt only the emptiness. “It feels like death”, I told myself. It was all due to the fact that my little Arabian mare, was not there to greet me. And she never would be again. 

I know it is past time to be over the sorrow of losing her. But I also knew all winter long that I would feel like this come spring. I didn’t, however, expect it to be this bad. I simply cannot get over the sorrow and regret. Not only have I lost a loving, little friend who was my favorite creature to run away from life with, I have lost my life style. This is the first time in 21 years this property has been without a horse. Even as I write this, the tears come and the despair is great. As I went about my first outside chore of the spring season, I actually began to feel like I no longer even wanted to be here. Too many changes, nothing is the same. Too much work, which I am left alone to do. And all the hopes, dreams and desires from the past, now only linger in memory...much of it unaccomplished. It is now too late for a future.

There will be no more horses, because we cannot out live one, and it would be wrong to do that to an animal. I am too old to get an older animal in hopes that I might outlive it. An older horse requires far  more care and I would simply be putting myself in the state of worry I have lived the last few years, all over again.

I sometimes know it was right to put Juliee down, last fall. She was 30 years old, with suspected Cushings disease. She was missing 8 teeth and restricted to only a diet of soaked grass pellets and grain. I couldn’t throw down extra hay at night that she would have to eat to help keep her warm through a cold winter night. She was so fragile the harsh winter before, that I did not want to put her through that again. And yet, she had come through the winter remarkably. The prior two winters had been difficult with her suffering from a colic in March both of those years. It wasn’t due to indulging in too much rich green grass that often happens to horses in the spring. It was due to her not being able to chew her hay well enough for it to digest properly – thus the colic. She was doing well on the soaked pellets but for 2 prior winters I had readied myself for putting her down in the fall. This was the 3^rd year of feeling that way. When she came down with a leg injury, I felt we could no longer justify the expense. We tried wrapping it for ten days with a round of antibiotics and bute, but at the end of those days, it wasn’t any better. In fact, it actually looked worse. I couldn’t justify putting any more money into her. But I will always regret that decision. I should have given it just a little more time so that I would know I had given her every opportunity and not just given up on her.

I have carried on too long with the regret, I know. But it wasn’t just myself that I was letting down. It was my grandsons, and my little neighbor kids, my nieces and nephew. My son… We all wanted her to stay. I still haven’t been able to tell my little grandsons, letting them believe she was in the barn the last few times they were here. We can’t tell them. They had just lost their own two horses (not to death, fortunately) and a kitty. I simply cannot stand to see them sad, especially the older one who has fuller understanding.

Anyway, these were all the thoughts that ran through my mind as I cleaned my boxes for the birds that give me so much joy. But I only became more sad, and then frustrated as I tried to walk through my raspberry bushes, in order to get to the last box that I needed to clean. 

After I was finished with that box, I decided to go get the clippers and clip the bushes all away. I thought I would get them ready to have my husband come till them all away later this spring. In that moment I just wanted them gone. I wondered if I could get hubby out there to do it. That made me sad too. These were my mom’s raspberry bushes, but they too have been let go too long and they have spread until they are really unmanageable.

As I went to get the clippers, I had walked past the bleeding heart bush that when we first moved here, my mom had given me from my childhood home. It had thrived for over 20 years, But last year, it started doing poorly. I believe it was from when we stained our house, I hadn’t protected it properly. It was struggling and then I made a grave mistake of planting a flower next to it that I shouldn’t have. By the end of summer, it became apparent it was no longer going to make it in the spot it had always done so well. So I transplanted it that fall. What I saw now as I passed by where I had transplanted it, was that my beautiful bleeding heart no longer lived. I am heartbroken. 

So again back at the raspberries, I clipped and clipped and clipped with a powerful vengeance and still I didn’t get them all. (That may be a good thing. I guess I would like to keep a remnant.) Attacking the raspberries with every spark of anger in me, only helped a little.

And then realizing the futility of it all, I stopped. Letting out a sigh of surrender, I relinquished my mad attack on the raspberries, remembering instead how Juliee had loved to lean over the fence line and nibble at these raspberry bushes. And the silent tears I had been softly releasing all along turned to torrents….anger, sorrow and regret all wrapped up in a tsunami of destruction intent on washing everything that lived here all away.

I couldn’t do any more. I told myself I don’t want to live here anymore. Nothing is the same, nor ever will be. In exasperation, I threw down my tools and stomped off to the house. I had to pass by the magnolia trees I had planted a few years ago. Now still bushes, I had been watching them patiently every year, excited for them to become flowering trees.

I had asked a friend when I planted them, “Will I ever live long enough to see them become a tree like yours?” I had asked her.

“Oh yes”, she assured me, “you will see it in your life time.”

In spite of my anger and tears, something caught my eye and I stopped for a moment, to take a closer look. “They are turning green already”, I whispered in surprise. The snow is barely off the ground and they even have what looks like buds! I was absolutely amazed. In that little speck of green life, I found hope. Just enough hope to help me correct my perspective. Thank you, Jesus.

And then I heard the meadowlark sing. Pause. Breathe.

It was a God Wink in an otherwise ultra sorrowful day. I was glad I had cleaned the boxes. The raspberries can be for another day. I guess we will be around for that.

To be continued...