A Tuft of Flowers

Sometimes the village green is the turn around point for our walks, but not today. Working out to Denise Austin tapes all winter gets a little monotonous; I need to do some hill reps. We cross the street between the green and church, then make our way through to the steep hill on the Yale Music and Art School property.

I sit Cindy down on the grass to the side of the hill where there are large rocks to obstruct the breezes. She smiles up at me as I empty my pockets and leave the Oz book near her. If left standing, Cindy would wander at some point, but I knew that being seated on the grass posed too much difficulty for her to get up and do that. Still, I like to keep her focused on the present; that’s when I noticed she was sitting among various wildflowers.

Wildflowers surrounded Cindy, which seemed appropriate. Cindy has had a long love affair with flowers. One of my favorite vignettes from our American Discovery Trail journey features me holding a map, wondering out loud things like “Are we lost?” “Will we find water?” Meanwhile, I Cindy is nearby sweetly saying: “Oh, look how pretty this flower is?” “I don’t think I have this one yet.” How ironic that, between the two of us, she would be the one eventually victimized by stress.

Ah, but it’s been a long, long while since Cindy was stressed about anything more significant than crosswalks and breezes. I believe that is why she still can perceive and understand so well, though her ability to function steadily declines. At least that is what I want to believe; that is my comfort in these difficult times.

Cindy collected and pressed flowers from our hikes, which gave me an idea. With each hill rep I ran up, I picked a different wildflower. When I walked back down the hill I swung over by Cindy to give her the flower. Each time she beamed up at me.

There’s nothing like a good sweat to bring out the beta endorphins and, in so doing, one’s reflective nature. While doing the hill reps I reflected on one of my two favorite poems, Robert Frost’s “A Tuft of Flowers.” The poem tells a story about a person turning the hay by himself, dwelling in his solitude, until he notices and admires a tuft of flowers, He realizes that the person who cut the hay must also have admired these same flowers and chose to leave them be. That realization led to the stirring line closing the poem:

“Men work together,” I said from the heart,
“Whether they work together or apart.”

I resolved to bring the picked flowers home with us where I would press them for posterity, one more special memory of our time on earth together. Not that I needed something tangible like pressed flowers; Cindy is a part of me more than anyone ever has been or will be. There will come a time when Cindy and I will part. Yet the same memories that flood my mind as I do the hill reps will remain. On my last hill rep the verse of “A Tuft of Flowers” comes back to me with new meaning:

“Loved ones stay together,” I feel from the heart,
“Whether we are together or apart.”

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This is one of four posts that are part of the Calm the Mind campaign. The other posts are:

Give Me Some Sugar
Motorcycle Mama
Family Embedded in a Community

Help your stress management and our need for a walk-in shower with this campaign. Purchase “Humility, Faith, Courage” by The Bards of Balance from CD Baby. Be well.