Our Grandmother’s Vases

Spring comes and with it the flowers,

snow drops, daffodils and forsythia,

through the snow and rain of early Spring days,

their blooms swaying in cool winds, they persevere.

And in between the weather,

we step onto blades of new grass and muddy soil,

to pick the blooms that are best,

and arrange them in our Grandmother’s vases.

Delicate bud vases or carnival glass,

vessels that were made long before us,

and treasured by those lovely ladies,

who were as hearty as crocus in snow.

We cut and care for the flowers,

in age old glass vases,

only used in Spring, or,

on very special occasions.

When guests catch a glimpse,

and say, “What a beautiful vase,”

we say, “It was my grandmother’s,”

with a pride and love,

that shines like a Baptist window.

And we know, as the flowers fade,

and the vase is (carefully!) washed and dried,

and put back in the curio, or other special place for keeping,

that we too, will eventually make our last arrangement,

in our Grandmother’s vase.

But also, we know that Spring comes again,

and that our children, or their children,

will one day cut the daffodils with care,

and put them in a place of honor in their home,

and when someone says, “what a beautiful vase,”

will proudly say, “It was my grandmother’s.”

— Tricia Bock, Brown County