SMOKING WEEDS IN MOTHER'S GARDEN

A Mother's Day Tribute

I wrote this short story in 2010 as a heartfelt tribute to the love and care my mom and other mothers provide. It's a celebration of their unwavering support, much like how a mother's garden flourishes under their care.

Happy Mother's Day to the mothers of the family or individuals, as well as the motherhood, maternal bonds, and the influence of mothers in society, especially to my sweet mom, Anne Stone. Mom, thank you for sowing the seeds of your children's hearts and teaching us to be strong in the storm.

Smoking Weeds In Mother's Garden by Rebecka Evans

My mother's garden was beautiful, filled with various herbs, fruits, and vegetables. It was a joy to witness the miracle of dried seeds being bedded in late spring, transforming into the first shoots of life, tended with care, and flourished. My mother promised to teach me how to cultivate my own "green thumb" just like hers, which I eagerly anticipated.

Lacy blue and pink borage flowers found their way into wilted spinach salads, accompanied by tender fried squash blossoms, while nasturtiums lent their bright orange color and spicy bite to an array of meals. Each new planting beckoned to be picked and transformed into delectable dishes in my mother's kitchen.

I helped my mom weed and harvest the garden each day, early in the mornings and the late afternoons. Thankful for my mom's garden wisdom, I was fascinated by the growth of tiny green seedlings that became crispy, sweet snow peas, and watchful as meandering, rough leaves gave birth to brightly colored, crooked-neck squash, I was rapt; by the age of six to the bond I shared with God's creation and the provision of His nourishment to our physical bodies.

NOT AN ORDINARY DAY IN THE GARDEN

It was just about dusk on a balmy summer day when Mom's Garden was much more than a place to find fresh garden fare for our family table.

MY TWIN BROTHER'S

They both had peculiar expressions, reminding me of the one I had when Mom heard me utter the "F" word for the first time only a few weeks earlier. Unfortunately, that moment didn't turn out so well, and that is why I was weeding that day. 

Brother Brad was fidgety, standing above me, and Brother Jeff had his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. Mom continued gardening silently while the boys waited for the courage to spit out their request. Mom, they both blurted out simultaneously (being twins, they did that a lot). We were wondering if… we can try to smoke…some of your garden herbs. Not even looking up from her work and without a second thought, she said, sure, go right ahead.

SMOKING WEEDS...

What? Did I hear my mother correctly? I was only twelve, so maybe I was missing something. Astonished by the fact that she meant it, I watched in disbelief as my brothers started smoking weeds from Mom's garden.

Mother returned to gardening with little expression or concern as the boys started picking herbs, grass, weeds, and blossoms. I felt a little light-headed about the prospect of seeing my twin brothers attempt such a bold act right in front of Mom, especially after the grounding they received for using bad language.

SORTING THE GOODS

Mother's garden ran the length of our house and then around the side; filled with yellow squash, pumpkins, and zucchini, we learned that this was a place to tread carefully. The boys stayed clear of the area and concentrated on the mint, borage, dill, and chives. Gathering their sampling of tobacco, they began pulling apart the herbs, placing the stems in one pile and the flowering bits in another. As I recollect, they seemed very adept at their work.

After much care was taken to separate and sort the goods, the boys began to discuss which combination of herbs they would try first. Once decided, they both produced rolling papers from their trouser pockets and deftly began to roll.  

MOMENT OF CLARITY

Another moment of clarity washes over me now, knowing full well this brilliant idea was hatched and planned for some time. My brothers were seniors in high school, and it was smack dab in the throes of the '60s, so seeing this shouldn't have phased me. I watched the evening news with my parents and learned about free love, hippie vans, peace signs, and the like, and I'd even seen the movie Hair.

The times were ripe with curiosity about marijuana, magic mushrooms, and other mood-altering drugs, so I had to suppose this is what drove my brother's quest to experiment in such a way; I couldn't get over the fact that mom continued to ignore them with such blatant disregard.

Armed with twelve years of knowledge, I sat there with my mouth on the ground and watched in horror as my mom kept picking.

GETTING HIGH OR SO THEY THOUGHT...

The first experimental joint seemed to excite the boys as they puffed the wet tobacco; giddy and so proud of themselves, they shared a high-five, all the while looking to me to be a bit deranged.

The next paper was filled with the flowering bits, and after a few puffs into the borage-laced dooby, I noticed a strange green tint come over their faces. Jeff's eyes crossed and glazed over, and Brad looked like he would keel over at any moment. The fun came to an abrupt halt as I heard a slight moan escape their heaving bodies. Slowly, then at a dead run, they both sprinted to the family bathroom! Gruesome were the sounds emitting from the back of the house. 

A MOTHERS KNOWING 

I saw movement from my mother's direction as if ripped from a trance. She collected the basket of freshly picked tomatoes and lettuce, and with a stealthily calm, she walked deliberately into the house. As she passed me, I was shocked to see her stoic demeanor crack momentarily. I saw a familiar and all-knowingly gentle smile creep over her face. 

LEADING BY EXAMPLE

Leading by example, Mom taught me how to garden, cook with heart, and be an adventurous eater. Now that I'm a mother and have experienced teenage angst from my children and grandchildren, I understand how mom remained so calm in such defiance.

After years of experience and maturity, some mothers and fathers have acquired the ability to see into the future, read minds, and see out of the back of their heads!

HAVE A BLESSED MOTHER'S DAY

HEARTFELT TRIBUTE

I am honored to share this heartfelt memory of my brother, Jeffrey Allan Stone, as he is gone on to his home in the sky. His presence lingers in many of our family stories, the recipes we create, and the warmth of shared meals. Brother, you are sorely missed. We are blessed to have mom, Anne, still with us at 89, my father, Harold, 92, and my brothers, Brad and John Stone.