A mother’s heart desire

My youngest daughter lives on Detroit’s west side, which means our visits between holidays and birthdays remain few. Add to our geographical distance our personal preferences and something like this happens:

The phone rings with her number on my caller ID. I gladly pick up.

“Hello Mama. I just realized you’re going to be out of town for Mother’s Day.”

“Yep.”

“Do you want to get together before you go?”

“Sure do.”

“Will this weekend work?”

“Yes. Saturday is better for me. What about you?”

“Saturday’s good,” Ruth says. “What would you like to do?”

“Doesn’t matter, as long as we’re together.”

“What about coming here and going for a massage or facial?”

Now, she’s fond of these luxury treatments and has suggested them before. And I’ve declined. “I’d rather not,” I said.

“Okay, what would you like to do?”

I dared speak my heart’s desire. “What about you come here. I’ll cook breakfast, and you can help me weed the asparagus patch while Lily runs around.”

Lily, her black lab and my grand-dog, sealed the deal.

“Okay, how about 10-2?” she replied.

Saturday, on time, we sat at the kitchen table and consumed scrambled eggs with asparagus, sourdough toast, fruit, and a cup of disappointingly mediocre French press coffee.

“I loved your hen’s eggs. Do you miss them?” Ruth asked.

“Tremendously. But the hen house and pen need repair, and the house’s roof needs replaced.”

Also a homeowner who recently named her house “a money pit”, she nodded knowingly.

We finished our meal and didn’t linger over my failed attempt to repeat “the best cup of coffee” she’d ever drank that I served the prior Sunday with our Easter dinner.

“Sorry to disappoint you. I warned you my success was a happy accident. Now, let’s not bother with dishes and get right out to the asparagus,” I said.

I loaded Betsy, my golf cart, with my trusty large, garden fork and other tools including garbage can. Lily ran behind the golf cart to the asparagus patch.

Why is it dogs love to chase spinning wheels?

“I’ll loosen the soil, and you pull weeds,” I said to Ruth. “Halfway, we’ll trade,”

We made good time under an overcast sky with no wind. Ideal gardening weather.

Lily, our comic relief, ate more than her fair share of asparagus.

Ruth loaded Betsy with the garbage can filled with weeds and drove to the dump site, Lily chasing behind.

We finished raking up the last half of weeds at 2 p.m., my daughter’s quitin’ time.

Dear Reader, after Ruth and Lily left, I shoveled ashes from the fire pit into the garbage can and then onto the four rows of asparagus.

For the first time in seven months, I opened the hen house doors and raked the bedding into the back of my golf cart, then onto the asparagus patch.

At last, the sun set on a most remarkable Mother’s Day. However, I have a feeling Ruth is hankering for a massage about now.

Contact Iris at irisfarmletters@gmail.com