The rhubarb that we transplanted last summer from my mom’s long row in the garden back in Hancock, has produced amazing plants at our home in Madison. Over the past couple of weeks the plants have literally exploded with growth. Saturday night we picked some rhubarb, and James turned it late this morning, along with some strawberries, into one of his amazing pies. His pies are truly creations to make the mouth water. We called two dear friends that are of my mom’s generation who live at Kennedy Manor, and asked if they wanted to stroll across the Isthmus for a piece. They often wander over on a walk, and this time hoped they might do so again knowing what treat awaited them. After whipping up some cream for a topping, and pouring the tea, we all sat on our picnic table looking out on Lake Monona. Two neighbors, a musician and a political friend, walked by and joined us adding to the smiles and laughter.
There is naturally a place that is empty here on Mothers Day. However, there is a continued connection through things as simple, and yet as meaningful, as the rhubarb that my mom tended and cared for that bonds the past with the present. This might be the perfect new tradition for Mothers Day, and a way to make new memories from the old and dear ones.