Do you want to know about Village? My girl, this is a village: Jenny and your grandma were roommates in college. Grandma married your Grandpa and wound up in Arizona and Jenny married a farmer and they live in Minnesota with their eleven children. In middle school and up through high school I wrote letters back and forth with Jenny's oldest daughter, Rebecca, and her sister, Katy. We talked about our choirs, our homeschooling endeavors, our dreams for when we'd grow up. Rebecca and Katy would write about the lambs they were raising, the kittens that had been born most recently. Grandma and Jenny laughed that we were a town mouse and country mouse, learning of each other's wildly different lives. Though we stopped the letters eventually - only catching up with a card here, an email there - our mothers have remained firm friends over the years. Today we received a package in the mail from Jenny and her family - inside, a beautiful quilt with squares of pale pink and green, handmade for you by Katy. Sprigs of flowers dot the fabric. A note brimming with kindness was folded up in a piece of yellow paper. I unfolded the quilt with more than a few tears in my eyes. This, my love, this is a village. When you woke from your nap I presented it to you proudly and you instantly began a game of peek-a-boo, blissfully unaware of the love that is showered upon you from thousands of miles away, of a legacy of friendship that spans the decades and generations and can be summed up in squares of flower-sprigged fabric, rows of stitches soldiering steadfastly on.
- May 12, 2015