. . . in the midst of winter, there is within me an invincible spring . . . (I can hear) the morning laughter of hummingbirds flitting among diamond dewdrops . . .
First came the pioneers, lean, fierce, dirty. They wrangle and battle with the elements. They gamble on crops, chills, ague, rheumatism. They fight wars and put a nation on the map. They battle with blizzards, lice, wolves. They go on a fighting trail to break sod for unnumbered millions to come. (Paraphrased from Carl Sandberg)
It is cold this morning, and as I gaze resentfully out the window over my morning coffee, I am reminded again of my Granny Smith, who came over from “the old country” around 1740, and about whom I have written here before, she being the one who died at age 100, when “a snake crawled in the house and bit her.” I have advantages and luxuries undreamed of to her, the greatest of which I’m sure is leisure time.
And I sit here in my warm insulated house enjoying a cup of coffee and whining to myself about 10 degree temperatures. What a wimp I am. What a spirit our ancestors must have had, to be and do and create what they did.
10 degrees would likely have been the least of what she had to concern her on a bright but frigid March day. Even my overly active imagination fails me when I try to enter into the experience of what her life must have been like, what all our forebears’ lives must have been like.
Without her, I would not be here today. And while I long for her courage, and endurance, and creativity, it is given to me to live my life. Right now, in this moment, not hers. She rose to the incredible challenge of her time, probably without even having the time to reflect upon it.
And I pray for the same kind of indomitable spirit out of which to make the choices that are given to me. To rise to the fullness of what my Path is.