Remember the poem When I am an Old Woman? If not you can find both the poem and the backstory HERE.
Once that poem made the rounds at the art fair circuit in the late 80's and early 90's, the Red Hat Society was formed and well, the rest is history.
However, NOW, that I am an old woman I am giving up wearing purple. The color doesn't suit me as much as red and orange. But, soon I will not care about color and wear baggy work trousers without matching a shirt. There will be stains on the bottom of my shirt from carrying unwashed vegetables from the garden to the house. The hem on my pants will be worn and thready, but I can roll them up to my knees, but not past, since I might have to garden on my knees and need the protection. Shoes are optional.
I will never comb my hair and allow the wind to style it in waves and tangles. Someday you may find a lady bug, or two, sunning themselves on the twigs that wind their way through the curls. The curls, of course, becoming curlier from the sweat on hot summer days or when it's going to rain. But, I will love the rain and will stand in it with welcoming arms with prayers of thanks for thunder and lightening and precious water to nourish my tomatoes.
Oh yes, now that I am an old woman, my desire is to drive less, and walk more. Stay out of closed rooms and work outdoors. Eat all the fresh bread and butter and vegetables that I can. Order my toilet paper online and hand the UPS driver a fresh-baked cookie when he or she delivers my box.
My grandchildren will come out to visit me as often as they can and lift heavy bags for me because both Grandpa JC and Grandma Sue BB have to start thinking about avoiding lifting. You know you have to watch your back when you are an old woman, never letting that stop you from pulling those weeds or thinning those carrots.
I will daily say my prayers and listen for the sound of God the Father, Son and especially the Holy Ghost, in the wind and every living thing that crosses my path. In the morning I will stretch and give thanks for the sun and in the evening I will watch the moon rise and give thanks again.
If I have time, I will write my memoirs and tell a story that can only be told by me. If you are my friend, expect a card or letter in the mail because hand written notes are still the best.
So, now that I am an old woman and say what I want, I will begin by thanking you for all the birthday wishes and saying, "have a blessed Easter."
It is one day past the first day of spring in North Dakota. It means different things to different people. There have been days of teasing with temperatures near 50-degrees. There have been blasts of cold arctic air from the north crashing into warm wet fronts from the southeast; and in the middle wonderful wet snow.
There is nothing more beautiful than waking up at 5 a.m. and feeling the heaviness of a blanket of fresh white snow. Reflecting the distant city lights and sometimes the moon, sans clouds, the snow reveals the nooks and crannies of the landscape and the arms of bare-boned trees lifted high in worship to the creator.
Oh, yes, if you haven't guessed, I love spring. I love the smell of wet earth and the warmth of the hoop house. Farmers with season-extension high tunnels can go "south" any time the sun is out; even in the coldest of winters.
It is time to prepare for those days of warm soil waiting for a new crop of tomatoes, peppers, cabbage, celery, beans, peas, edamame, etc.
While that might be six or eight weeks away, my front porch is all warm and sunny and full of vibrant growing green seedlings. Today, I am sharing a bit of spring with you ...
Sue B. Balcom
Writing, or maybe talking, comes naturally to me and under the guidance of a great newspaper editor I have acquired skills that led me to author four books.