The Briar Philosopher - Dish Towels and Kitchen Doors (FREE ACCESS)

I mowed quite a bit in the orchard last night after work. The weather was pleasant for it and with the apple trees in bloom, the smell was just this side of heaven. After I had accomplished the section I set out to accomplish, I put my mower away and took myself inside to rest a spell before making supper. I decided on something simple since the day had been long. Pasta is always a good fit for such evenings so I set my water to boil.  With a moment to spare I found myself looking out the kitchen door toward the orchard. It was a lovely site, especially with the mowing done and the apple trees in bloom. The evening sun was hitting the trees with that magical light that only comes in late evening, just before the sun goes down and the breeze had the new blossoms dancing. Standing there looking out that kitchen door with a dish towel over my shoulder I couldn’t help but think of the other women that had stood in that very doorway, dish towel and all, looking out at the evening light and reflecting on the day just ending. In that moment I was connected not just to the women of that particular ridge, but to so many women down through the years in places such as this. It felt like an unbroken line of strength and resilience passing through me and, in that moment, I was the daughter of them all. 

In a very true sense we are all the children of everyone who came before us. I think we lose sight of that sometimes and that makes us feel all the more lonely. We also tend to avoid thinking of those who have passed before because the memories grieve us and we wish to avoid the sorrow.  I fear that, with that avoidance, we often miss that feeling of continuation I experienced looking out that kitchen door.  Too often we cling to some material reminder of our forbearers, some tangible thing they left behind…momma’s ring or daddy’s tools….but we invest all of that person into that bit of material while missing the memory of their days and dreams, their moments of joy and pain, their reflections in the world around us.  We stand where they stood but cannot feel them there. We see what they saw but miss the spark of their vision that still lingers.  We hold an old hoe in our hand that our mother once held but we don’t look up and out and around us and feel the truth of that shared experience that gives truth to the idea that their essence still walks the land within us. 

While standing in that kitchen door last night I remembered how many times I had seen my mother stand so, dish towel like a mantle, with a look of serenity or worry or determination or a thousand other feelings on her face.  The Boy’s mother, Mable Sparks, had gone on before I moved back to Kentucky so I never got to meet her but I can know, with certainty, that she also stood there looking out at  the end of the day a thousand times with a thousand expressions playing over her face as she reflected on her life and the lives of her children. 

Wherever we may find ourselves standing, it’s a pretty fair bet that we stand on common ground with those who came before us. We can also rest assured that we share many other things in common with them. We all face much the same things in life; joy, sorrow, struggle, fear, hope, laughter, love and change.  These things bind us together over years, generations, centuries and eons. These things are the essence of our shared human story. We are the sons and daughters of an unbroken line of humanity stretching back further than we can imagine. If we set our minds right and try not to avoid the sorrow that may come from such vision, we can hear them speaking to us and telling us to carry on. 

The next time you find yourself standing by a kitchen door, or planting as your ancestors did, or fixing that old car your daddy left you, or leaning against that tree your grandmother planted, let them in. Let their lives flow through you and remember that you are the result of those who chose to continue. It will give you strength to do so yourself.