Lizzie's World
I have a friend in her seventies who has a place I love to visit. For more than seventy years she lived there with her parents and her older sister. One by one the others all died and left her alone on a 160-acre farm. Alone, that is, except for God and her beloved animals and flowers. I like visiting her because she likes some of the same things I do.
I don't know for sure, but I suspect that when she was born the family was known ahead of time to be complete. Women who had their first baby by C-section were always told in those days that two children was the limit. Lizzie and her sister were nearly always together and dressed alike--until the day that Fannie died, after a 24-hour illness.
Lizzie told me once that she hates the long nights of winter. On those days, taking care of her sheep mark an important part of the day. "At least something's glad to see me," she said of them. But the dark evenings alone indoors are a burden. In the summer she can be outside a lot of the time, and she has things to keep her busy.
I asked her once if her house could be altered slightly to accommodate a house mate with separate living quarters upstairs. She thought out loud about what might be possible and seemed to be considering it favorably. I knew not to push her, because I know it would take a special kind of person to live there. Lizzie is not difficult to get along with, as I know her, but
not everyone would happily open and close the gate across the drive to keep the sheep confined and then tiptoe to the gate among the sheep droppings, and just the right mix of sociability and isolation would be a little tricky, but I know I would have loved such a living situation as a young person.
Her sheep respond to her care by thriving and keeping the native buffalo grass pasture manicured. During lambing season she can always tell me exactly how many singles, twins, and triplets have been born and how many ewes have not yet lambed. The neighbor who farms her acreage hauls lambs to market when necessary and helps with vaccinations, etc. I've learned from her that sheep love eating fallen leaves, and that black-faced sheep are more difficult to confine than white-faced sheep.
When Lizzie shows me a newly opened flower, and when she talks to her cats or her sheep, she talks in a child-like voice, full of the delight these things have always given her. It's a very different side of Lizzie than most of the world sees.
Lizzie knows about the family of foxes that live in a den by the sheep shed. And she knows that if she leaves the cat food outside overnight the raccoons will clean it up. Her hens are kept in the chicken house to save them from these predators. She's fairly philosophical about the presence of these wild animals. "Do you know what that bird is?" she asked me recently when we both heard the same bird song. "It's a little brown bird," she continued, "but I couldn't get a real good look at it." I didn't know either, and I do know the bird songs of the more familiar local birds. It's a tantalizing mystery. She knew that the blue jay and chickadee populations have been decimated of late because of West Nile Virus. She misses these bird friends.
Besides the fenced-in yard around the house, two other places on the farm are fenced off from the roaming sheep. These are the places I go with Lizzie when I visit her. One place is the vegetable garden right next to the barn. Extending east from the corner of the barn is a block wall more than six feet high. It extends to the silo. This creates a wonderful windbreak to the south of the garden. It's a perfect backdrop for the tall hollyhocks that are gearing up to bloom shortly. The far end of the garden has several apricot trees with strawberries to the south; the north edge has a double row of rhubarb near the trees and winter onions and perennial sweet peas populating the rest of that side east of the garden gate. To the west are mums in great drifts, columbine, hardy dahlias, Lollipop lilies, and asparagus. Raspberries huddle next to the barn.
In the middle of the garden Lizzie plants out the tender bulbs she has saved from the year before: gladiolus, calla lily, and sacred lily (also known as voodoo lily). Any flowers that have reseeded from the year before are allowed to stay, and typical warm-season vegetables join the food parade. Always there is parsley, which Lizzie eats in sandwiches all summer long. I think Lizzie's garden would feel right at home in Europe where fruits, vegetables, and flowers often keep company comfortably in walled spaces.
What would be known in modern garden parlance as a cottage garden is to the south of the driveway and farmstead yard. Among the spring bulbs, larkspur, and iris, here are some of Lizzie's most prized flowers--lilies that must be either Aurelian or Oriental lilies. They do look magnificent in bloom atop 5-foot stems. She sometimes alerts me when they're in bloom and I drive over there to see them.
Inside the fenced yard by the house are roses at the base of the windmill, wisteria and larkspur alongside the north wall of the house, miniature roses by the fence, and reseeding petunias along the walkway to the front door. A huge clump of peonies grows among the petunias, and baby tears fills an old clawfoot bath tub around the corner from the front door. House plants from the porch fill up a table in a protected spot by the front door. After the petunias begin blooming, the evening air is fragrant with their scent.
When Lizzie works outside, she usually wears a long apron over her dress, and a scarf tied like a "do" rag. She walks awkwardly, as if lifting her feet were hard work, but she never acts as though taking a few extra steps is a burden. As I get into my vehicle to leave, she willingly walks ahead of me to open and then close the driveway gate.
My regular visits there began after Fannie died and Lizzie wanted to continue selling rhubarb and asparagus at the Farmer's Market. In my early days of selling flowers there, I often set up next to them and visited while we waited for customers. Fannie and Lizzie were veteran vendors, with angel food cakes and homemade noodles their main products. Surplus garden vegetables and other baked goods rounded out their offerings. They chatted easily with their customers as these old friends came and went.
Lizzie could not face going to market after Fannie died. I'm sure she thought that meeting people without Fannie would be too emotional and difficult. And she had wearied of the hard work of getting ready for market long before her sister was ready to quit. But all her rhubarb and asparagus begged for an outlet, so she asked me if I would sell her garden produce for her. She also generously lets me pick any flowers she has in bloom to add to my bouquets. It has worked out well for both of us. I'm still hoping to take her to market with me some day. I want her to feel the love and welcome that people who knew her would offer.
Lizzie and I sometimes do a little language dance. She loves to talk Dutch and I love to hear her. She uses German words I remember my parents using, but they're not everyday Dutch for most people in my generation. My Dutch is a little awkward sometimes from lack of practice, and I can't be very expressive in that language without giving it some thought. So we switch back and forth repeatedly over the course of one visit. I answer her in Dutch and continue talking in that language till I get stuck. She responds to me in English till she gets stuck and then switches to Dutch. Since we both understand it all, it works out alright.
Lizzie does not gossip. I like that about her. She doesn't complain about the weather either. I like that too. She does not easily articulate matters of faith, but she lives a consistent, faithful life that is a blessing to see.
I hope that Lizzie can stay on her farm as long as she lives. And after she's gone, I hope someone who cares as much as she does for the plants and animals of the place will make it their home. In any case, I'm hoping to make many more treks to the place of peace and tranquility that is Lizzie's home.
I don't know for sure, but I suspect that when she was born the family was known ahead of time to be complete. Women who had their first baby by C-section were always told in those days that two children was the limit. Lizzie and her sister were nearly always together and dressed alike--until the day that Fannie died, after a 24-hour illness.
Lizzie told me once that she hates the long nights of winter. On those days, taking care of her sheep mark an important part of the day. "At least something's glad to see me," she said of them. But the dark evenings alone indoors are a burden. In the summer she can be outside a lot of the time, and she has things to keep her busy.
I asked her once if her house could be altered slightly to accommodate a house mate with separate living quarters upstairs. She thought out loud about what might be possible and seemed to be considering it favorably. I knew not to push her, because I know it would take a special kind of person to live there. Lizzie is not difficult to get along with, as I know her, but
not everyone would happily open and close the gate across the drive to keep the sheep confined and then tiptoe to the gate among the sheep droppings, and just the right mix of sociability and isolation would be a little tricky, but I know I would have loved such a living situation as a young person.
Her sheep respond to her care by thriving and keeping the native buffalo grass pasture manicured. During lambing season she can always tell me exactly how many singles, twins, and triplets have been born and how many ewes have not yet lambed. The neighbor who farms her acreage hauls lambs to market when necessary and helps with vaccinations, etc. I've learned from her that sheep love eating fallen leaves, and that black-faced sheep are more difficult to confine than white-faced sheep.
When Lizzie shows me a newly opened flower, and when she talks to her cats or her sheep, she talks in a child-like voice, full of the delight these things have always given her. It's a very different side of Lizzie than most of the world sees.
Lizzie knows about the family of foxes that live in a den by the sheep shed. And she knows that if she leaves the cat food outside overnight the raccoons will clean it up. Her hens are kept in the chicken house to save them from these predators. She's fairly philosophical about the presence of these wild animals. "Do you know what that bird is?" she asked me recently when we both heard the same bird song. "It's a little brown bird," she continued, "but I couldn't get a real good look at it." I didn't know either, and I do know the bird songs of the more familiar local birds. It's a tantalizing mystery. She knew that the blue jay and chickadee populations have been decimated of late because of West Nile Virus. She misses these bird friends.
Besides the fenced-in yard around the house, two other places on the farm are fenced off from the roaming sheep. These are the places I go with Lizzie when I visit her. One place is the vegetable garden right next to the barn. Extending east from the corner of the barn is a block wall more than six feet high. It extends to the silo. This creates a wonderful windbreak to the south of the garden. It's a perfect backdrop for the tall hollyhocks that are gearing up to bloom shortly. The far end of the garden has several apricot trees with strawberries to the south; the north edge has a double row of rhubarb near the trees and winter onions and perennial sweet peas populating the rest of that side east of the garden gate. To the west are mums in great drifts, columbine, hardy dahlias, Lollipop lilies, and asparagus. Raspberries huddle next to the barn.
In the middle of the garden Lizzie plants out the tender bulbs she has saved from the year before: gladiolus, calla lily, and sacred lily (also known as voodoo lily). Any flowers that have reseeded from the year before are allowed to stay, and typical warm-season vegetables join the food parade. Always there is parsley, which Lizzie eats in sandwiches all summer long. I think Lizzie's garden would feel right at home in Europe where fruits, vegetables, and flowers often keep company comfortably in walled spaces.
What would be known in modern garden parlance as a cottage garden is to the south of the driveway and farmstead yard. Among the spring bulbs, larkspur, and iris, here are some of Lizzie's most prized flowers--lilies that must be either Aurelian or Oriental lilies. They do look magnificent in bloom atop 5-foot stems. She sometimes alerts me when they're in bloom and I drive over there to see them.
Inside the fenced yard by the house are roses at the base of the windmill, wisteria and larkspur alongside the north wall of the house, miniature roses by the fence, and reseeding petunias along the walkway to the front door. A huge clump of peonies grows among the petunias, and baby tears fills an old clawfoot bath tub around the corner from the front door. House plants from the porch fill up a table in a protected spot by the front door. After the petunias begin blooming, the evening air is fragrant with their scent.
When Lizzie works outside, she usually wears a long apron over her dress, and a scarf tied like a "do" rag. She walks awkwardly, as if lifting her feet were hard work, but she never acts as though taking a few extra steps is a burden. As I get into my vehicle to leave, she willingly walks ahead of me to open and then close the driveway gate.
My regular visits there began after Fannie died and Lizzie wanted to continue selling rhubarb and asparagus at the Farmer's Market. In my early days of selling flowers there, I often set up next to them and visited while we waited for customers. Fannie and Lizzie were veteran vendors, with angel food cakes and homemade noodles their main products. Surplus garden vegetables and other baked goods rounded out their offerings. They chatted easily with their customers as these old friends came and went.
Lizzie could not face going to market after Fannie died. I'm sure she thought that meeting people without Fannie would be too emotional and difficult. And she had wearied of the hard work of getting ready for market long before her sister was ready to quit. But all her rhubarb and asparagus begged for an outlet, so she asked me if I would sell her garden produce for her. She also generously lets me pick any flowers she has in bloom to add to my bouquets. It has worked out well for both of us. I'm still hoping to take her to market with me some day. I want her to feel the love and welcome that people who knew her would offer.
Lizzie and I sometimes do a little language dance. She loves to talk Dutch and I love to hear her. She uses German words I remember my parents using, but they're not everyday Dutch for most people in my generation. My Dutch is a little awkward sometimes from lack of practice, and I can't be very expressive in that language without giving it some thought. So we switch back and forth repeatedly over the course of one visit. I answer her in Dutch and continue talking in that language till I get stuck. She responds to me in English till she gets stuck and then switches to Dutch. Since we both understand it all, it works out alright.
Lizzie does not gossip. I like that about her. She doesn't complain about the weather either. I like that too. She does not easily articulate matters of faith, but she lives a consistent, faithful life that is a blessing to see.
I hope that Lizzie can stay on her farm as long as she lives. And after she's gone, I hope someone who cares as much as she does for the plants and animals of the place will make it their home. In any case, I'm hoping to make many more treks to the place of peace and tranquility that is Lizzie's home.
posted by Mrs. I at
6:32 PM
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