I found one of moms notebooks today. Not a surprise, she had so many, we will probably be finding them, and her notes on random pieces of paper for years to come, since my husband and I have made the difficult decision to live in moms old run down little cottage of a house, out in the country. Maybe its my last desperate attempt to get to know the woman who gave me life, and a good childhood, yet whom I never seemed to truly understand in any way. My husband put it to me like this one night after dinner with my mom in this very kitchen, “you my darling are Champaign the finest I have ever tasted if I might add (he can be one for dramatics, but it makes me giggle every time) and your mom, well she is more like lemon water” I went over what he said as I got ready for bed, and on and off sine that night just a few months ago. He was right. I enjoy the finer side of things, my astethic is still simple (as my moms is) but classic, timeless, simple elegance. Mom on the other hand was far simpler. Where I would go buy the perfect vase for the flowers my husband would occasionally surprise me with, Mom’s smile would light up the entire room as dad walked in with a handful of wildflowers he found while he was pitting around the property (doing god knows what, but to be perfectly honest, but I’m sure Dave and I will quickly find out lol) anyway, she would simply reach for an empty mason Jar of an aliquot size, fill the bottom with water, and proudly display dad’s latest bouquet in the middle of the kitchen table. That was her favorite place for flowers, but his flowers especially, since she spent most of her time in the kitchen and or dining area either cooking, or having all sorts of who knows what spread over the table working on her latest DIY project.
I smile to myself at the thought of mom and her DIY projects, as the notebook I found seems to be one of them. Its quite thick, the pages don’t line up perfectly anywhere, and I see colors exploding from pages seemingly out of no where. I open the dark green cover and see the title page MY ADVENTURES THROUGH THE WORLD OF AMAZING PEOPLE AND FAMERS MARKETS, ‘of corse’ I think to myself, mom loved going to farmers markets, she would go just about anywhere in California for one. Flipping to the next page I see a 4x6 photo of my mom several years earlier standing with a boy no more then 6 years old, and his dad. The boy is proudly holding a basket of strawberries, next to the photo there is a “business card” on what appears to be a torn piece off binder paper with what I can only imaging is the boys name, his “occupation”, and “contact info”. I giggled as I read “Jimmy Bowen, Carrot Farmer, call my dad” the fact that it was written in blue crayon made it all the more precious. Leave it to my mom to wait patiently while little jimmy found paper, tore it out, and wrote his information down. I would not doubt one bit that it was her idea in the first place, she probably paid little jimmy directly for his carrots and with a little bit extra for himself. Glued in under Jimmys card was his dads, who according to the card was himself actually a bee keeper, a hand jotted noted from my mom said it was amazing honey and that she would purchase from both Bowen boys again. The page opposite the page with he photo was a ledger of what and when she had made her following purchases, there were other notes as well (some on the paper its self, and some on sticky notes over different notes) about how the Bowen family were doing personally, and how she was praying for them. There was a page number next to one of the notes and I knew that If I went to her prayer journal there would be a section for them starting at that page.
As I flip through the pages of the green notebook I see the same basic template, a photo of mom with a proud small business owner at a farmers market, making sure their goods were in view. On the page somewhere was the merchants business card, and a ledger of other items bought, as well as personal notes and prayers. Page after page after page. Realizing that mom left a piece of her heart with every single one of the people in this photos, she left a piece of her heart in everyone she connected with. That gave me an idea. I pulled out my phone and started typing a message to my husband
“This might sound crazy, but I just found one of moms notebooks with all of her favorite farmers market merchants, some go back years, I wanna go and see if I can find them, as many as I can, see if they remember mom, and what they remember. The catch is that the famers markets she went too weren’t all local. In fact she went up and down the California coast line, even up into the bay up north. What do you think?”
Taking a breath, knowing full well I might get back a response something along the lines of “we haven’t moved in yet lets revisit this in a few months or next year” which I would understand but ultimately would insist against, so as I push send I am crafting my rebuttal. His response is quicker then I expected (he must not have been busy at work shit is that good or bad?) I force my breathing to stay as normal as possible as I open the message and read
“I was wondering when yours moms sense of wanderlust was going to kick in. Lol I love you babe, Road trip! Where is our first destination?”
‘God I love this man’ is the first thought that came to mind, second was a thank you to my mom, for leaving a trail of breadcrumbs that helped me open my sense of wonder, and though he should have been first, my biggest thought and thank you was to God, for arranging all this for me, knowing exactly what I would need when I would need it. I simply responded with,
“Oxnard for strawberries and honey. Ill pack the lemon water”
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