About Tonia

October 9, 1921-July 9, 1985

I watched Tonia work her way slowly through the rows
of vegetables as a soft mid-June breeze rustled the leaves of the
plants in the garden, and my mind wandered back to when she had
been a striking blonde with a slender build and the clearest blue
eyes I have every seen. Expressive eyes that took in everything all
at once,eyes that could question without uttering a word, eyes that
always searched for something that only she knew about. She wasn't
beautiful in a fashion sense, but she was attractive, a woman just
a few inches over five feet tall with smooth hands and limber
fingers that could bring a piano or organ to life.

Now, Tonia's blonde hair had been replaced with a curly auburn
wig out of necessity from having chemotherapy,and her slender
build had diminished to a frail, thin, almost emaciated body.
Her jeans and blouse hung loosely on her body, her hands had lost
their smoothness, and her skin was now thin and paper-like in
appearance with veins prominent just under the surface of the skin.
The once limber fingers were now painful for her to use with
knuckles enlarged from arthritis. Tonia was so fragile from her
illness that my heart ached as I watched her work up and down the
rows of vegetables and we exchanged small talk about children,
animals,and how her plants were flourishing under her tender care.

She stopped her work and walked over to me, leaned her hoe against
the tree I sat under and as she reached up to adjust her wig said,
"Either my head is shrinking or this wig is on steroids, and if
something doesn't stop pretty soon I'm gonna have to get myself a
seeing eye dog." I thought about what she said for a moment and
then answered "You could always cut it shorter so that it
doesn't hang into your eyes", and we both laughed.
Then she looked around her lush garden, did a sweeping
motion with her hand and sasked, "You think it's big enough
this year?" And before I could answer, she added, "If it
were any bigger I could feed a small third world country."

Since my earliest recollection, Tonia had always had a garden.
First the gardens were out of necessity during hard times, but
as the years went by her garden became her labor of love and her
solace. With her loving hands she planned, created, and cared for
her gardens and would reap the harvest not ony for herself but to
share with others as well.

It would be in the middle of a Michigan winter when she
would put a pot of coffee on to brew, gather her seed catalogs
together and get out her favorite thread bare afghan. With a fresh
cup of steaming black coffee setting on her coffee table she would
curl up on the sofa, cover herself with her afghan, and start the
process of going through each catalog, page by page, to decide what
seeds she would need for the coming year. She would look for good
bargains in the different brands and varities that were offered
and this process would last all evening with her only stopping
her quest from time to time to refill her coffee cup. When
someone would ask her why she ordered her seeds so early
she would reply, "Peas need to be planted by Good Friday
amd I need all of the seeds before then so I can figure out
how much ground I will need to have turned over and fertilized
before I start planting."

On the arranged day that the ground was to be plowed, Tonia would
be out in the yard anxiously waiting for the man with the tractor
to arrive, all the while checking on the area she had painstakingly
chosen for her new garden for the coming year. At times the weather
would still be so cold that as she watched the tractor turn the earth
over she would cup her hands together and hold them up to her mouth
as she blew warm air on them to try to keep the aching cold away.

When the plowing was finished the next thing on her agenda was
fertilization of the newly plowed soil and Tonia insisted on horse
manure, "Not that bagged stuff they call fertilizer that's full of
chemicals." After the fertilizer was mixed into the newly plowed
ground it was allowed to rest and it was during this time that
she could be seen walking slowly through what was to be her garden.
The smell of fresh earth mixed with the fertilization of horse manure
would be in the air as she inspected the ground and she would
occasionally stop, bend down and pick up a handful of soil, feel it
in her hand and then gently let it crumble between her fingers as
she watched it fall back to the ground. Every year Tonia would do
this and every year she would say, "This is good earth." And come
rain, hail,or snow she would be out in her garden every
year on Good Friday planting her peas.

So I sat and watched this frail woman as she worked her way
through the rows of vegetables and these thoughts about her
ran through my head and I knew in my heart I would miss her
very much when she was no longer of this earth.
She seemed to sense that I was deep in thought because she
stopped her work once more, looked at me and said,
"This will be my last garden", and although I professed that
she would be here for many more gardens, I silently
agreed with her statement.
And so it came to pass, it was her last earthly garden.

I miss you mom.

The music is 'Phases of Love' by Dreamsharer,
Tom Williams III