My sister was a faithful reader of this page. So last time I had a wheelbarrow picture it
was titled “Our Father’s Wheelbarrow”.
Our father was not mechanical. He couldn’t fix a broken lawn mower. But he was Saint Francis
when it came to plants, he’d touch them and they’d grow. The wheelbarrow feels full of his energy.
Imagination? Dementia? Fond wishes? A combination of the three.
Planted a q.stellata, q. macrocarpa, q.falcata and a taxodium distichum…
EG’s tribe gathered, from Rhode Island, Pennsylvania, Washington State, Florida, Mexico, Massachusetts, Kentucky, Illinois,
from Fredericksburg, Charlottesville, Richmond, Warrenton, Marshall, Brooklyn, from the other side. Very sweet couple of days.
Train whistles, crows, a bluff over the James River, special grave dirt, wonderful clergy,
cellist from the Richmond Symphony.
Emma read a poem. Gary and Sam spoke to EG’s character, Ned, Weezie and Scott read from the Bible.
A MOTHER TO HER DAUGHTER
What will you take from me
For your wayfaring?
What shall I have to give
You would be sharing?
When you are lonely,
When your feet falter
You will need song.
Music to march by,
Silver and gold,
Fire for warming you
If it be cold;
These things will comfort you,
Carry you far
On the road you are going.
But if a star
Tempt you to follow,
Wings will be needed,
Wings for your flying,
These I have fashioned
From pinions of light,
Caught as they fell
From a swift bird in flight.
I give you for courage
A light heart that sings,
And I who have never flown,
Give you my wings.–Emma Gray Trigg
Jim Orr edits images for Emma Gray Trigg Emory’s slideshow