A reflection of my lineage

A forgotten post from a meandering mind, left in draft state from 5/31/09:

Tonight I arrived home to a reflection of myself in the mirror, a shapely woman in cycling spandex with curves, and mentally thanked my mom for her genes. As I have transformed from a pubescent girl to a youthful teenager, and now onto a young adult, my vision of who I am more closely aligns with the memories of who my parents are and have been, and will become as they age.

I am a product of my parents. More than a mere reflection, I have inherited their physical traits, their emotional responses, and personality characteristics, and many of their ideals.

Driving through farmland this weekend in central Washington, seeing spring wheat all green and tall and thick, noting the curls and light blossoms in the fields of alfalfa, and breathing in the aroma of fresh air and the scent of sagebrush, I was mentally rushed to the home where my heart is. I momentarily longed to sit in some piece of farm machinery, to spend my day plodding through a field on a mountainside with nothing but my thoughts and the radio to keep me company on a hot day. I saw a man throw the long yellow straps over his load of baled hay, rushing to strap down the cargo and cover it with tarps to protect it from the coming rain. And in my mind I saw my father, teaching me to do the same actions.

For dinner tonight I wanted melon, and as I rested against the edge of my kitchen countertop and proceeded to cut the cantaloupe into vertical slices, and then width-wise into small pieces, and then held those slices and pieces in my palm as I cut them away from the rind, I thought this is the only way I've ever seen a cantaloupe cut. A friend once said, while watching me peel and cut fruit in the palm of my hand, that I must come from a long line of women that preserve food-- nobody else can get away with dicing fruit like that without a cut or scar for proof. That statement reminded me tonight that the things I do are from my mother, and I am confident that the way my mom cuts her fruit came from her mother, Afton. And before grandma Afton, my great-grandmother Lena most likely cut the fruit from her orchard the very same way. A long line of tradition has shaped the woman I am now, and that is powerful to me.


  1. mmm. i miss these kind of posts.

    you write so beautifully.


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