Sharon's blog: Jus'open yore eyes

I must have heard those words hundreds of times when I was growing up. 

"Ninna, you told me the mayapples were blooming but I can't find them."

"Jus'open yore eyes, chile, they're under their own umbrellas, jus'open yore eyes!"

And then there was the May day before my wedding many years ago; we'd had a chilly spring and there were very few blooms to be found. I'd planned to use my own blooms to decorate my little hometown church but I hardly had enough to fill even one vase.

We stood on the front porch of my house and looked around the yard for blooms that weren't there; Ninna whispered those words:

"Jus'open yore eyes, chile, an' look to th' trees."

I raised my eyes in the direction she pointed; the magnificent old southern magnolia was in full bloom; she helped me gather enough blooms to nearly fill the little church.

I heard her this morning when I glanced again at what I thought was the backside of a golden maple leaf laying in the pot that held my Blue Ravine Clematis. I'd been seeing that pale gray green leaf all week - but from a distance - and wondered why it hadn't blown away or turned brown or crumbled.

"Jus'open yore eyes, chile, an' look a little closer."

It wasn't the underside of a maple leaf.

I have no idea why the bloom is so pale, nor why it chose to bloom the last week of October, but I sure am glad I opened my eyes and saw it. It was a deep blue when it bloomed so beautifully last summer; pale gray today.

It was the same with my holly tree this year, the one the birds planted a few years ago; the same one the ice storm nearly squashed, the same one the akebia nearly strangled. It's struggled along for several years, starting over a few times and surprising me that it even remained alive. The drought and dry windy heat burnt its leaves badly this summer too. I'd looked at it as I walked around the house looking for fall color on the maple trees; I kept looking for signs of berries but could find none.  I even took its picture a time or two, but only noticed what I thought was the red of the maple showing through. The holly has never produced many berries, maybe one or two here and there, but never enough to proclaim it a truly beautiful berry producing holly tree. Even the birds never seemed to notice it.

"Jus'open your eyes, chile, and look a little closer.  That ain't the maple tree showin' through yore holly."

Today I looked closer.  I had been so wrong.

It was Aunt Bett who opened my mind to the magic that plants hold; food, medicine, nutrition. She gave me the interest and enough curiosity to always look beneath the surface of things.

But it was Ninna who opened my eyes to the sometimes hidden beauty that grows around us.

"Jus'open yore eyes, chile, jus'open yore eyes an' look a little closer."

Yeah!

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