The Lilac Bush Is Blooming

by Jan Surasky

  Mr. Andrews continued the presentations and it wasn’t long before Carrie’s name was called. “Caroline Ann Parker, winner of the best girl artist award, would you please come to the stage to receive your certificate?”

  Carrie rushed past all in her row to reach the aisle and change her gait to one of extreme decorum. Her posture as she climbed the few stairs to reach the stage was one of perfect alignment and her carriage oozed the grace of one who had practiced this many times over.

  “Caroline Ann, you have been voted best girl artist by your classmates. May you put your talent to good use in your future. Congratulations.”

  Carrie shook hands with Mr. Andrews with the most grace I had seen in her in a long time. I could see her hands shaking as she took the certificate and I could feel her pride as Mr. Andrews seated himself in the folding chair behind the lectern.

  Carrie stepped forward and adjusted the microphone.

  “To my classmates who voted me this honor, I thank you for your support and hope I will justify your belief in me. To our valued teachers, especially Mrs. Turner, my art teacher for three years, I would like to express my deepest gratitude for all your encouragement, patience, and the very best art supplies.

  “Most of all, I would like to thank my family for putting up with years of canvases and finger paints without complaint.

  “I would like to add my congratulations to my fellow graduates and wish them the best that the future holds. Thank you.”

  Carrie left the stage and reseated herself next to Will. Mr. Andrews introduced the remaining awards and scholarships and then turned the podium over to Ted Parsons, the most popular boy in school and president of his class for the last three years. His speech, though short and modest, was the most polished we had heard, and we were certain he was headed for a brilliant future.

  As Ted returned to his seat amidst an admiring round of applause, Mr. Andrews rose to announce the valedictorian. A hush took over and mutterings were heard through the large Monroe clan, complete with relatives who had traveled from mainline Philadelphia and the suburbs of Long Island.

  “Will Vanderwort has achieved the honor of class valedictorian with a grade point average of 96.5. Will, please come up and address your classmates.”

  Will strode to the stage, unruffled by the more audible foot shufflings and grumblings of the Monroe clan, and reached the lectern to shake hands with Mr. Andrews. He placed his neatly folded notes on its slanted top as Mr. Andrews reseated himself and began.

  “Parents, faculty, and fellow students, I thank you for this honor.

  “I know that I have achieved this by hard work, but no one achieves anything alone. I would like to thank my parents who have always been supportive of my endeavors. I would also like to thank Mr. John Turner, and the Parker family, who hired me on as a farm worker when I was new to the community and had no farm experience at all, teaching me not only about farm work but about humility and generosity. To my fellow students who reached out to me with friendship when I was a new arrival I extend my gratitude and would like you to know how much I value your friendship. And to Mr. Andrews, who helped me fit in when I arrived, and to the teachers of Baldwinsville who worked every day to teach me everything they know, I extend my earnest gratitude as well.

  “Everyone in this graduating class has a talent for something. I would urge my fellow classmates to guard those talents and to use them in some way to better the world. It seems to me the duty of anyone who has been given as much as we have.

  “I can’t forget the times we hung out together at the swimming holes or occasionally cut up in town and got into mischief. I hope we don’t forget those times as well, because it will help us to remember where we come from and the responsibilities we face as new graduates.

  “I again thank you all for this honor and wish the very best of luck and good fortune to my fellow classmates.

  “Thank you.”

  As Will finished, Mr. Andrews stepped up to the podium to hand Will his diploma, asking him to remain on the stage as he passed out the diplomas. Miss Ames, Baldwinsville’s office secretary since the opening of the school, stepped up as well, a stack of diplomas in hand, all alphabetized and ready to hand to Mr. Andrews as he called out the formal names of the graduates in a loud, clear voice, asking the audience to hold their applause until the last student had their diploma in their possession.

  Mr. Andrews shook every graduate’s hand as he handed them their diploma and as each one left the stage I felt a surge of pride even though I didn’t know most of the Mayberry students. Somehow, despite the fact that many of them felt superior to us farm folk, they were starting on a path that was not only unknown, a lot was expected of them. To me, soon to be a senior myself, it was all very frightening, and certainly very humbling.

  Mr. Andrews then gave a speech himself, again congratulating the class of 1954 and urging them to take what they have learned and make their mark in the world and on humanity. He also urged them to take risks and not be afraid to fail. Edison, he reminded them, completed hundreds of failed experiments before he found the one that invented the light bulb. He then invited everyone to a reception of punch and cookies, cakes and homemade candies to be held following the ceremony in the gymnasium newly decorated for the occasion by the Art Club.

  As Mr. Andrews announced a conclusion to the ceremony, screams of joy erupted from the graduates, and confetti and crepe paper streamers were everywhere. Plans were made for beer blasts and families searched for their graduate to congratulate them. I spotted Carrie, hugging her classmates for perhaps the very last time. Will searched for his parents, their beaming faces glowing in the crowd. As for me, I stood, overlooked by everybody, waiting for the crowd to disperse so we could follow the whitewashed halls to the gymnasium, its bland ropes and sports equipment pushed to the side in favor of gaily-colored balloons, many now disrupted by unthinking celebrants and rising to the rafters of the mile-high two-storied ceiling to be perhaps unnoticed forever.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Carrie’s graduation party was filled with relatives from as far away as Texas since it was our turn to host the biennial family reunion. Aunt Maybelle arrived with her clan to help Mama with the fixings and the trimmings and Uncle Elbert arrived to dig a pit in the backyard for barbecue and marshmallows.

  Mama baked her prize-winning cherry pie and Aunt Maybelle her strawberry rhubarb which had won a blue ribbon in the Ohio State Fair. Carrie and I made little tea sandwiches for days before the party and froze them. Georgie helped Uncle Elbert dig the backyard pit and clear the barn for square dancing.

  The day of the party brought the sunniest weather ever, driving some of the guests inside to seek relief from the many fans Mama had set up and to exchange the gossip they had kept since the last reunion in Ohio. As for the rest of us, we were kept busy refilling the plates of barbecued chicken and ribs and replenishing the salads and slaws that were so quickly disappearing. Children were set up in the back field with rented swings and slides and a pony our neighbor Jeb Taylor had lent us for the occasion. Georgie held sway over the pony rides and set up pails for berry picking as well.

  Kegs of beer laid low the fiddling contest which was held in the barn and which was a draw between Texas and New York. Square dancing soon replaced it, with Zack Turner taking a turn at calling and a slightly tipsy fiddler backing him up. The reds and the blues and the greens of swirling skirts made a colorful canvas against the old, brown, rotting timbers holding up the walls of the ancient barn.

  “Annie May, the potato salad bowls need filling and the popsicles need to be carted out to the back for the little ones. It’s getting to be nap time.”

  Mama’s firm, clear voice above the hubbub where she was holding sway in the kitchen brought me back to reality and into the kitchen to fetch the large pots of salads and find the red wagon which had been pressed into service for transportation from the deep freeze to the back fields where an exhausted Georgie watched over a passel of tired,
cranky toddlers.

  “Hey, Annie May, let me help you with those.” As I turned, Will had already snatched the large pot of potato salad from the fairly loose hold I had on it and into his sure and steady grip. I wasn’t about to let on that my arms were aching so I smiled a funny smile and mumbled the best few words of gratitude I could muster.

  “How about sneaking out to Strawberry Hill? We could take a spin in the barn and then out past the crowd.”

  “Okay. Let’s get this potato salad out before there’s mutiny in the kitchen.”

  As Will and I strolled toward the barn I realized a crowd this size must be overwhelming to someone who has no relatives in America. I hurried my step to keep up. We reached the barn just as Zack began calling a reel I had never heard of. We took our places and Will did a fine step for someone whose heritage was far from country.

  As we left, the sun began to lower in the sky and the cloying heat of noontime was cooling. The little ones would be put in for a nap by now and the beer drinkers would be safely in their tents or RV’s for a nap as well. Relative quiet would be descending and the women would be catching up on gossip as they wiped and dried and set out platters for the evening meal.

  The summer air, though heavy and humid, carried the odor of fertilizer and the scent of soil giving birth to the corn and the beans and the pea pods Uncle John and Will and Georgie had planted in the spring. The orchards had sprouted their blossoms and the cherry trees had already borne fruit.

  Will was scanning the fields. “Crops look great. I’ll miss harvest this year.”

  “Oh, you’ll be so busy hitting the books you won’t even notice.”

  “I’ll notice, Annie May. Farming’s in my genes, even though I don’t come from a long line of farmers like you do. But, I want to contribute in a different way. I’ll be learning all the new advances and all the research that promises a better future for farming. And, if I can get into vet school I can help in a different way.”

  “And, then, you’ll be able to help all those strays you keep taking in.”

  “Well that will be part of it. I hope I can help to get rid of some of those diseases that wipe out farmers.”

  As for me, I just wanted to hang on to this moment. As we walked through the meadows rife with the tall summer grasses both golden and green and the wild flowers interspersed among them, the pale soft hue of the bluebells, the brilliant orange of the lilies, and the always lovely yellows and whites of the daisies, I breathed deeply of the mellow and lovely scented summer air.

  As we reached the bottom of Strawberry Hill, Will paused. “I’ve climbed this hill hundreds of times in all kinds of weather, but somehow this time just seems so special.”

  “Oh, for gosh sakes, Will Vanderwort, you’re not leaving forever. You’ll be back on vacations and I know you’ll have your hand in tending the crops over the summer no matter how busy you are. This farm couldn’t get along without you.”

  “I’d like to think that, Annie May. But, your Uncle John is a fine farmer and can get along with just about any hired hand.”

  “He’ll miss you, Will. I know he will. But, he is so proud of you. Especially since you’ve chosen to study agriculture. He almost feels like he had a hand in that.”

  “He might have had. I always wanted to contribute to the world. What better way is there than to help feed it? Especially to help men as devoted as your Uncle John.”

  “C’mon, I’ll race you to the top.”

  Will’s long bounds could take me, but he let me win. A parting gift and a nod to his growing maturity. I stood atop the rise in triumph.

  As we stood we surveyed the bumper crop of wild, plump berries. Beautiful nestled in the greenery of the saw-toothed stark foliage. We plopped ourselves down, out of breath, on the very top.

  Will pulled a small package out of his pocket. “I have made this for you, Annie May.”

  I opened the carefully wrapped box and pulled out what looked to be a wild boar with a golden mane. I was mystified, but also speechless. Will took over.

  “It’s a likeness of Gullinbursti, the favored steed of the Norse god Freyr. Gullinbursti is said to travel faster than a horse or bird. His golden mane and bristles can light the skies more brightly than the sun.

  “He is said to have been created by two dwarf brothers who were told they could not outdo the gifts that had already been presented to Odin, the chief Norse god. Despite setbacks and attempts to sabotage their efforts, they fired up their forge and created a wild boar with golden mane and bristles that Odin prized above all other gifts.

  “Gullinbursti has helped farmers since he was created. His tusks can plow the entire Earth. He has the knowledge to make plants sprout and flourish. His golden bristles light up the skies when they are grey.

  “My Dutch ancestors put a lot of faith in Gullinbursti when the going got rough. I want you to keep him for me. He will watch over the farm when I am gone. And, I know you will be doing that too. I know Georgie will depend on you now and the rest of your family as well even though they won’t let on that that’s what they’re doing.

  “It has meant a lot for me to know you and your family, Annie May. They took me in on faith when I first arrived and never questioned me since.”

  ““Well, you know you’ve repaid them. Georgie adores you, and Mama would spoil you almost as much as Georgie if anyone would let her.”

  “What are your plans, Annie May? What will you do when we’re all in college?”

  “I want to be a teacher. I want to teach children about all the books we have in that library over in town and open up a whole new world to them. Those books were my salvation when the going got rough here.”

  “I know you’ll make it, Annie May. You’re smart and you’ve got grit.”

  “Thanks, Will. I know I can beat any boy in rounding up the livestock or stray horses or pigs.

  “I guess we should get back. Mama’s going to wonder where I am. She needs all the help she can get to feed this crowd.”

  Will and I walked back, the sun lowering in the sky behind us. We walked in silence, the only sound the birds chattering in the nearby orchards. When we returned, Will put himself to work with Georgie and Uncle Elbert to finish off the backyard pit and find appropriate spits for the marshmallow roast. The square dancing had ended, Zack was begging food in the kitchen, and the fiddler was asleep in the corner of the barn beneath the hayloft.

  The night was beautiful under the stars. As we sang beneath the darkened sky, and roasted piles of marshmallows, our faces were lit by the flames of the open pit. Suddenly we were one. Our voices carried to the hills beyond and the chirping of crickets filled the silence between the old, familiar tunes. I searched for the outlines of the distant peaks, barely visible in the moonlight, and basked in the cooling breeze coming in to cast a slight chill over the warmth of a musky summer evening.

  Chapter Sixteen

  As the sun streamed into the kitchen with its shadows behind it getting ready to set with the reds of an evening sky Georgie picked at his food and Mama and I discussed the latest autumn fashions. Setting three places at supper only made it clearer that Carrie was at Wells.

  “Hey, Georgie,” I said, “how about us making a leather bag for Carrie to carry her books in?”

  “Could we make one for Will too?”

  “Of course. Two bags are better than one because that way we’ll get really good at it.”

  “Could we make something for Jester too? Will said I should look in on him and make sure he’s okay while he’s away.”

  “Well, I think Jester will be happy if we make him some treats. We can bake him some beef bones with the leftover pot roast Mama’s so good at making.”

  Georgie’s eating picked up and Mama and I decided that the plaids that were in this year were perfect for the sweaters she had knitted last year. After much discussion, she decided on a cable knit for Carrie which was much the new fashion at Hank Peterson’s dry goods store and a pair of argyle socks for
Georgie to bring his Sunday suit in line with the latest New York fashions according to the fall Sears catalog which Mama believed was gospel.

  “Okay, Georgie, last one up with their plate washes.”

  “Now, Anabel May, we don’t need any broken crockery to sweep up. Besides, you know it’s your turn to wash.”

  “Okay, Georgie wins. And, if you get a head start on your homework I’ll leave the dishes to drain and we can both put them up in the cupboard together.”

  “Do you promise, Annie May? Mr. Thompson gave us so much math homework and it’s hard this year.”

  “You work on it while I wash the dishes and I’ll go over it with you after you’re done.”

  “Thanks, Annie May. I hope I get it right.”

  “You get it as right as you can and then we’ll figure it out together.”

  Georgie headed upstairs and Mama to the alcove off the dining room that held her faithful sewing machine that had been in her family before her. Although there were newer models on the market, Mama swore by that old treadle which she had named Bessie, alternately encouraging it and fussing at it depending on whether it needed a squirt of oil, a bobbin changed, or was just plain running out of steam.

  Helping Georgie with his math homework was more than difficult. It was downright near impossible. Georgie had no interest in figuring anything, whether it was the area of an octagon or whether a group of girl scouts would beat a group of boy scouts to the finish line based on how fast each one was paddling a canoe.

  But, Georgie did try. He wanted to make Mama proud, especially to fill the void that Carrie’s departure had left. We all missed Carrie, but Georgie especially had been her favorite.