Today if Mama had lived, she would be 101. She passed away two years ago and I still miss her. We were best friends, took trips together, went to church together, we enjoyed each other's company. Some people may think I "should have" gotten over the grief, moved on with life. Sure, life goes on and I must go on, too. But today I grieve the loss of Mom. Of course, I believe she's in heaven, but I still miss her. Always will. I've written a poem about her and posting it in celebration of precious Mom.
Blanche, Blue Ridge Woman
I am from home-canned jellies,
from Ball jars and Blair food coloring,
I am from a log cabin
tucked away in the Trout Cove.
I am from black-eyed Susans
pulsing in the fields,
I'm from pumpkins and squash
piled in orange and yellow heaps.
I'm from mountain dulcimers,
Granddaddy Shook sawing the fiddle,
clogging in the old red barn.
I'm from moss-covered rocks,
swimming in Brasstown Creek.
I'm from Shady Grove Baptist Church,
Richard Powers leading shape-note music,
and Daddy planting crops by the signs.
I am from the Blue Ridge Mountains,
water-bath canning, jars
of peaches and garden produce
sparkling like gems in the pantry.
--Brenda Kay Ledford
