Perennial

 Scrolling down my Facebook page I was greeted by a picture of Lady Slippers. Memories of my mother flooded my mind. I can't say that they were her favorite flowers, only that as a child they were my favorite flower to give her. I loved the name, the way they looked, and how relatively rare they were to find. The lore of them was they were illegal to pick, a protected species. As a child I thought the flower police were watching everything I did as I stalked the woods searching for them. Oh, I knew a few spots that they were likely to be found. I was familiar with that. Those places I felt fairly safe, they were closer to home. But, discovering them in "foreign" locations was something different. Someone could be watching. And then I remembered my sister usually accompanied me on those "distant" forays into the wilderness as she was older. I thought of her and remembered.

 Now I've written about just about everything at one time or another. There really is little I haven't touched upon in some fashion. Sometimes briefly, at others, in depth and repeatedly. Some subjects I have avoided altogether but may visit them in the future. Lady Slippers, I have written about in the past, along the same lines in fact. I concentrated more upon my sister and I in that story. It was written and published in October of 2018. My sister would pass on December the fourth 2018. My mother would pass in May of 2021. And so today seeing that photo of two lady slippers in a field brought all that back into focus. I went and reread what I had written, and I have to say I would describe my reaction as "poignant."  It's a bit longer this posting than what I would normally post, it's difficult to hold an audience and I'm a fan of brevity, of getting to the point. What follows is that previous post.

  When I was a little boy, I would go with my big sister in search of a particular flower. The elusive and beautiful lady slipper, Cypripedium Acaule, is an orchid that grows in the northeastern United States. It can be found in shady areas. usually at the base of a tree. They are quite rare, although we didn't know that, but had been told it was illegal to pick as it was endangered. In our minds that meant it was dangerous and we reveled in the adventure. Sneaking through the woods, trying our best to walk like an Indian, we watched for the police because we just knew they were watching. What we were going to do was illegal after all. It was the nineteen fifties, and you didn't challenge the law. When you are eight or ten the danger is real. None of that mattered as Mom liked these flowers and it was Mom we were out to please. With the innocence of youth, the intent was to bring a smile to Moms' face, receive a thank you, perhaps a hug, and continue on with life. When you are young like that you often pause your life to please others. When you get older you sometimes hoard that time for yourself. Something I didn't understand then, and only recently discovered, was how precious sharing that time with my sister was. It is one of the strings that tie our hearts together. Secrets shared; we searched the wood for those flowers.

 It was such a small thing, something I hadn't really given thought too. It is that way with things from the heart, thought usually isn't involved, only feelings. It remains as a pleasant memory, occasionally making its' way to the surface. It was just something we did together in the spring, when we knew those flowers bloomed. Such a delicate flower, a pale shade of pink peeking from the shadows. The leaves of last fall would still be there, the leaves that acted as a blanket to keep the plants warm during the long winter months. Surely those plants were chilled, as frail as they appeared to be, but always persevering. And now, in reflection I see my sister in those buds. Rare and beautiful, elusive at times, delicate, but with an inner strength that endures.
 There came a time when we left that wood and went into the world. We traveled separate paths that rarely intersected. I was sailing in the Navy, and she had married the Air Force. At times we were half a world apart. Children and grandchildren filling our lives as the years rolled by. Yet in my memories we walk together through the wood, dodging the law, in our quest together. The quest was for just a moments love, a simple touching of the heart. What was shared was the love of brother and sister, a love untarnished by time and growing still. We went in search of a flower but what we found was far more precious, far rarer than any orchid. We discovered love is perennial, always enduring, even during the longest winter. The spring will arrive, and love will bloom once again.

 That rare and elusive flower, Cypripedium Acaule, the Lady Slipper is a symbol of that love. I've always thought that Angels were barefooted, but now I'm not so sure. I'm thinking my sister will be wearing slippers in heaven, when her times comes to travel there. I'll find her on a wooded path or perhaps she'll find me. Only time can write the story, only time will tell.

Time has indeed written the story. I couldn't know then my sister's time was to be so soon. That I had my mother for another six years following that loss was a blessing. Now she, and my sister are wearing their slippers in heaven. Perhaps my eldest brother who joined the angels in December of 2014, just four years before my sister has located the Lady Slippers that surely grow there, in the shady areas beneath a tree, and was waiting for them there. Perennials, all of them. 

                                                                    

                                        Photo credit to Francine D Muller 

                                            and thanks for the inspiration