Her Hands

This was written a week and a half ago... and I updated the tense... life continues to be ever so slightly busy and off kilter...

"Yesterday" was a chaotic day of trying to decide if we had time, and could that time be stretched to cover all the bases.  It was decided that time would tear if stretched that far unless we used two people.
So my husband went alone to his dying mother's side, he was already more than half-way there in Southern Maine.  I'm glad that we could stretch it that far.  But I missed supporting my mother-in-law and my husband in this hour. 

She was not one to stand on ceremony and would tell you that you didn't need to attend any old funeral for her.  But I know in her heart she still would care.  My daughter and I made the 11+ hour drive to Presque Isle a week and a half ago for her service.  It was a long but leisurely drive once we got into Maine.  Half of the trip is outside of Maine, half is just Maine.

Northern Maine has not always been near and dear to my heart.  I didn't know it existed until I met my husband to be.  At that point I began learning about The County, and all the different types of potatoes and how the sky was just as big over oceans of potatoes as it is over the water. 
There are very few places in this world I could live besides near the ocean, and Aroostook County is one of them. My first year teaching was in the small town where my husband was born and spent his entire pre-marriage life.  Winters are cold, the snows are deep, and the wind howls as it piles up drifts over the roads and covers windows.

I will miss going up there for family gatherings.  Our connection is gone.  A strong woman has strode off into heaven.  She was plowing to the post.  She made it.   Straight and narrow... and now everything is opened up wide and beautiful... maybe even prettier than Aroostook County potato fields.

Her Hands

Her hands were gnarled

with veins like maps

of where she'd been

and beans she'd snapped.

They worked the fields

and picked the rocks

released from winter

fields unlocked.

From wet of bogs

To widest lands

Fiddleheads and berries

Knew her hands.

 

They hung the wash

on lines outside

Till County's heavenly

breezes dried.

Her hands could bake

and they could sew

They planted trees

and they could mow.

When came the fall,

and frosty weather

Her hands slipped into

Gloves of leather.

Katahdins, Mountains

From deep, rich soil -

Her hands helped glean

The County's oil.

Hand in hand

Beside her men -

God knows she'd

Do it all again.

And though her hands

are now at rest,

Proof still remains

her hands had blessed. 

by Donna JT Smith

(daughter-in-law)

It's Poetry Friday.  I'm late, but I've squeezed in a bit of poetry at the end.
Carol Varsalona at Beyond LiteracyLink is hosting today!