“Mom, what does ‘i-dee-lick’ mean?” I looked up from my
bread dough to meet the chocolate brown eyes of my youngest daughter. Slightly
confused by what could only be incorrect pronunciation, I requested she spell it.
“Idyllic.” I said. “It means peaceful or calm, pleasant.” I paused, thinking. “I
spent an idyllic afternoon in the hammock.” Satisfied, Tessa returned to her
book and I, to the pounding of the dough.
Tessa was a reader. While her older brother and sister were usually found outside
chasing butterflies or playing catch, I could count on finding Tessa curled up
in a chair, book in one hand, the other one twisting a lock of hair.
I certainly didn’t mind! I was an avid reader myself. Todd and Tara were too,
but they much preferred the outdoor activities of the farm and helping their
dad during the day. Save the book reading for evenings when daylight was gone,
or the weather too unpleasant to play in.
Ours was a good life, this one my husband and I had carved.
Country kids, both of us, when the McGregor Farm came up for sale, we couldn’t
think of a better place to raise a family. We doled out chores along with
discipline and manners. It was the way our parents raised us and their parents
had raised them.
Out of the corner of my eye I watched my eight year olds mouth work its way
around another unfamiliar word. My heart surged with pride for her independent
streak that would not allow her to ask for help until she had exhausted her own
efforts. Sure enough I saw her face alight with comprehension and she sank
deeper into her little world.
I moved the bread dough to the warming oven and wiped my hands. “Tess, tear
yourself away from your book a minute and come take a walk with me.”
She groaned but obeyed. While I was glad she loved to read, I worried that my
little bookworm wasn’t getting enough physical activities. As we made our way
down the worn path to the garden, I looked closely at Tessa. In the sunlight, I
noticed the dark circles under her eyes and wondered how long she’d stayed
awake the night before, reading under the covers. I circled my arm around her
shoulders and drew her closer to me. Instantly she stood straighter.
It had been a busy productive summer as usual and perhaps I had been too busy
to really pay attention to my quiet compliant child. With a rowdy thirteen year
old son and a precocious eleven year old daughter clamoring for my time, Tessa
was the easy one. Maybe too easy, and too often overlooked with all these
things demanding my attention. I resolved to spend some extra time with Tessa
before school resumed next month.
We had reached the blueberries and we knelt together as I handed Tessa a bucket
that rested against the fencepost. For some time we picked berries in
companionable silence, enjoying the plinking of plump ripe fruit as it landed
in the buckets. The sunlight danced across the burnished red of the
blueberry bush. The cooing of a dove lulled us.
“Mom?” Tessa’s voice broke the stillness. “Is this an i-dyl-lic moment?”
Sitting back on my heels, I studied her small face for a moment, brushing a
strand of hair so I could see her eyes better. A memory floated to the surface
like a picture from a storybook. I was a child picking vegetables from the
garden with my mother. It was a memory awash in sunshine, fragrant and rich.
Tessa grinned at me. A wave of love rushed over me, a love so fierce, so pure. I
wished I could freeze frame this moment.
"Idyllic? Yes, Tessa, I believe it is.”
* this story will soon be appearing in an upcoming publication, "Mixed Blessings, Simple Pleasures" a series of anthologies brought to you by Breath of Fresh Air Press. For more information on Breath of Fresh Air Press please like their Facebook page or look for them on the Faithwriters website.
