By Kim Nelson, on April 6th, 2010%
I learned much of what I know from my 98-year old grandmother. First in her lap, and then in her kitchen and garden, I learned a lot. I heard words and songs, stories, prayers and poems from a woman to whom most sound remained elusive. Deaf from age eight, when chicken pox, measles, and scarlet fever joined forces to ravage her body and damage her auditory nerves, my Gram introduced me to both the wonder and the power of words. The relationship coalesced, and I’ve had a love affair with the written word ever since.
Outdoors, I learned the joy of working in tandem with the seasons, with the earth, with indeed, the universe. I learned how to grow almost anything from seed or seedling, to compost, to harvest, to cook and preserve. Then Gram taught me how to conserve and re-build resources, to encourage and support the natural cycles of life. Later, when my life challenged me in ways never expected, I took refuge in the garden. The bounty of Gram’s lessons filled not only my pantry, but also my soul, repeatedly renewing my spirit. Through her actions and examples, I learned to open my heart and my mind, and to anticipate and embrace the promise of abundance and hope.
The lessons I learned in Gram’s vegetable plot and flower beds, the truths discovered in her orchard and kitchen, have carried me through lean times, both financial and emotional. I learned to have faith, to nurture patience and to see the unique wonder and beauty in every living thing. I learned to discover individual value and to look for the good and praise it. I learned to love without condition, accept despite disagreement, release judgment and anger, and to walk with my head held high. My gram taught me a lot.
She taught me how to fry the chicken everyone wants at a potluck, the secret to a good “biscuit hand,” and how to make the best vanilla ice cream and deep dark fudge. She taught me to play Aggravation and Scrabble and Kings in The Corners, and how to be gracious in victory and defeat. She taught how to baste and hem and sew a straight seam, keeping the stitches close and tight and the fabric pucker-free. She imparted the value of long, drawn-out suppers where conversation and love flow back and forth across the table just as surely as the tide rolls in and out. So many lessons. Blessed gifts.
Pondering all that Gram generously bestowed, I’m behooved to ask “What was of greatest value?” The answer is quick, pure and true. The best gift given, the most valuable lesson learned is the wonder of Love. Unconditional, unfettered, unabashed Love. Because she loved me so completely, I learned to love that way too. Lucky me.
Facing the latest in a long line of temporal assaults, my sweet Gram left the hospital yesterday for a physical rehab facility, following a fall and a broken hip. Always soft-spoken, non-judgmental, forgiving and accepting, Gram (also diagnosed with Alzheimer’s) has recently displayed some atypical characteristics. Pain, frustration and dementia pushed her to “damn” the physical therapist “to hell” (!) when he made her walk just 24-hours after surgery. With a wide smile and dancing eyes, the young PT who already calls Gram “Grandma,” said to my mom, “She’s the feistiest patient I have. She’s amazing us all.”
That’s my Gram ~ Amazing.
Always has been.
Love…
By Kim Nelson, on January 27th, 2010%
I garden avidly.
When I was a child, my now 98-year old grandmother introduced me to the magic of coaxing food, medicine, scent, and sensation from seeds planted in the earth.
Gram lived a few blocks from my childhood home (in which my mom still lives) and I could walk to her place in minutes. In my first book, A Desert Gardener’s Companion, I share a few of my happy-memory stories:
~ Gram supervised while I planted bulbs in her front bed to earn my Brownie Girl Scout Handbook.
~ I learned to double-dig alongside her in the vegetable plot of her half-acre garden.
~ All the girls in the family made jams and jellies from home-grown fruit in Gram’s tiny but efficient kitchen.
It was at the dining table in that same kitchen that I first perused stacks of seed catalogs with color-rich covers cradling packet descriptions and hundreds of varieties possessing distinct and unique qualities. I loved those catalogs then, and I love them now. But these days my favorite catalogs and companies are online.
I recently ordered seed from Botanical Interests, enticed by their Facebook page , our Twitter connection and their inspirational blog posts.
Botanical Interests is ”a family owned garden seed packet company specializing in dependable herb, flower, and vegetable varieties for the home gardener.” Always pleased with their products, I expect this year’s choices to perform just as well.
 
Bring Home The Butterflies, Xeriscape Extreme and Perennial Bloom promise to be great additions to my newly-installed bird and butterfly garden. Just outside the massive bay of windows that define my work space, I’ve planted lots of seed- and berry-producing plants to entice the desert’s insect and avian creatures.
When interplanted with the Guara, lavender, Loropetalum, Plumbago, Pyracantha, Salvia and others, I’m sure the nectar-producing florals these selections boast, along with the baby’s breath, Nasturtiums, Penstemon, and poppies, will be utterly adored.
And I will adore the creatures they attract.
I just hope the raptors
…and the coyotes
…and wild cats
mind their manners.
Bless the beasts…
By Kim Nelson, on November 4th, 2009%
I AM One
In a long line of poets.
~
My grandmother,
Now ninety-eight,
Spent lifetime writing about her God.
She writes about how “He Lives!”
And how “Great He Is.”
How he offers up chocolate when hunger gnaws,
And a ten dollar bill when there is nothing.
He is her Master as well as her Salvation.
Her Source, her Solace, her sole Inspiration.
~
My mother,
Much younger,
Spent days scattered through years writing about her life.
She writes about love and children
And how great they are.
How they offer up a busy day when depression threatens,
And hope, when there is none.
They are her Challenge as well as her Comfort.
Her Dreams, her Accomplishments, her Future.
~
My daughter,
Much younger still,
Spent hours writing about this world and its inequities.
She writes about joy and despair
And how they affect reality‘s perception.
How they roam through her life with a life of their own,
Leaving impressions as reminders of what has been endured.
They are her Teachers as well as her Nemeses
Her Motivators, her Fears, her Companions.
~
I,
Marking my age near the middle,
Spend hours, days, weeks, writing about them all.
I write about lessons learned and connections made,
And how they nurture growth.
How they forge the way back to God,
Creating opportunities to correct mistakes and try again.
They are my Source, my Dreams, and my Motivation.
~
Together,
We write the vital, the real,
Telling a history (herstory) of divine women,
Each doing her best, in her own way,
To figure it out and move forward.
By Kim Nelson, on April 3rd, 2009%
She is in there, still.
Although sometimes
Gone back to childhood.
Memories and moments
Now dance together,
Creating new realities
For her,
For us.
I am you – and you are me – and we are she -
Connected by love,
Shared experience
And synaptic inaccuracies.
As she shrinks,
The enormity of her influence
Is more apparent.
But then,
I think we always knew
We were in the presence
Of greatness.
By Kim Nelson, on February 27th, 2009%
Mindful of cadence and rhythm and rhyme,
She wrote poetry
Exclusively
for
The One.
Her turns of phrase and praise homed in.
After proper humility and gratitude,
She explained her needs
Before invoking strength, absolution, guidance or solution.
She wrote poetry.
For God.
To God.
With Him,
She was most intimate.
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