At the Great Plains Art Museum for the exhibit "Last Year on the Farm"
Today I want to write about my parents and the "last year on the
farm," their farm being their home of almost forty years which they
moved out of almost on the eve of its hundredth birthday. So far I
feel mostly okay about it, very grown up and accepting of what
clearly was an overdue change. Come Friday, however, I will visit
them for the first time at their Not My Childhood Home. I wonder how
I will feel when I get there.
Look ahead to Springtime in Nebraska, to when bulbs I planted two or
more years ago come up, or don't, or appear and are not the colors I
remember choosing from the bins, or whose colors have reverted to an
earlier, core hue. The daffodils always seem to multiply and retain
-- if not intensify - their brightness. Jane (my mother) has told me
the natural light is good in their rental home. I think of various
objects, the brass candlestick holder with three pigeons at its base,
the blue glass salt cellar in its silver cherub stand, Jane's
collection of cooking oils and vinegars and wines now in a corner
cupboard with hinges recently repaired. How will their hues have
changed when I see them in a few days? How will the natural light
illuminate my mother in this new home, this not yet familiar Spring?
-- Kate Brooke, NeWP Writing Marathon, January 26, 2008, Lincoln