Comfort and Mirth

14. Seedlings

>14. Seedlings March 21, 1912 Dear Mother, I’ve finally finished putting in gardens in the back lawn. It doesn ’t look like much now, save the herb garden, which produces new delights daily, but in a couple of months I should have lots of roses, and by fall the beds should be filling in. Coral helped a great deal. She comes over every weekday around eight and stays until just after noon when her husband can come for her in his boss’s wagon. It would be so much easier for her to ride the trolley, but she refuses to succumb to the Jim Crow segregation arrangement, and I love her all the more for her obstinacy.Brooks would be livid if he ever found out, but I help her clean the house every day after the sun tops the roof so we can spend the cooler part of the morning planting the rose bushes and other assorted seedlings.You would love Coral. She has a rare wisdom of the ways and balances of nature. She’s had a hard life and lost her mother before she moved toTexas, but instead of becoming bitter, she has learned to nurture herself from the generous hand of Mother Nature—and for this, I also admire her. She’s about to become a mother herself this fall, and I have resolved in my own mind to support her in any way I can. I would miss her terribly if it prevented her from coming every day. I’m sure Providence will see us both through this. Andrew has grown into a healthy, round baby. He sits up stoutly and creeps everywhere. He propels himself across the floors so 106 much more quickly than I ever would have suspected possible. It’s getting harder and harder to stay a step ahead of him and keep him safe. I must keep careful watch to block the stairway at both ends; on the top I’ve set large boxes of Brooks’ discarded clothes and at the bottom I am constantly hauling the coffee table back and forth. He’ll soon learn to scramble over that, and I’ll have to find another roadblock. He’s cunning. For a six-month-old, it’s amazing how he’s already learned to play on my sympathies and devotions. He works me with those big blue eyes so well; I know what he wants before he starts fussing. He reminds me of Brooks more every day. Thank God, he still takes a short morning nap and a longer one after his lunch. Eveline often comes over for tea in the middle of the afternoon. Sometimes she brings freshly baked sweet potato scones or orange pecan muffins, and we sip my latest concoction of herbal tea, read and discuss poetry, and gossip a little. I savor these times.You would also like Eveline.She’s soft-spoken and quite refined.She’s taken a degree in literature from a women’s college in Boston and always knows what novels and poetry I’d like to read. She would never dream of rooting around in garden dirt the way we do, and I’m not at all sure what she thinks of me for it, but she does admire my gardens—especially the herb garden as it is in its full glory. She’s especially in awe of my herb drying racks in the extra bedroom on the southeastern corner of the house. I’ve already amassed enough bundles to fill the rafters with color and a rich floral scent. Sometimes we talk or she reads as I wind herb wreaths and garlands, but she won’t try her hand at it no matter how hard I coax. She does, however, help brew herbal vinegars and oils. She especially likes the tarragon–chive vinegar , fennel, and oregano oils. She always takes at least a couple of bottles home and obviously uses them according to my instructions on salads and meats she serves Thomas, for whenever I see him, he always has a word of thanks or praise about his last evening’s dinner . 107 Seedlings At any rate, on afternoons when Andrew is well rested and in relatively sweet spirits, we take the trolley into town to lunch at the Cactus Tea Room or the Driskill and shop for dresses or toddling clothes for Andrew. Last week we...