Memory Blossoms

I was raised in a garden - a forest actually - tended by Kathy and Sandy. Kathy’s mother lived to the young age of 100, and the whole way through, I knew that Gran really understood me, the artist of the family, even when others might not. My dad’s parents raised Christmas trees on a mountain and roses in their backyard and took me to find wildflowers by the stream at Racoon Ridge. Once my sweet sister Claire and I transitioned into raising gardens of our own, I found Sean, and we planted the seeds of Magnolia and Willa. Parenting has taught me that growth is fragile, fast, astonishing. It has taught me to listen, in hopes I might not forget the wisdom of the young God has entrusted us.

Often I spend my time with children–ages 4, 5, 6, 7–-and I love the way they are always just waiting for magic to happen, and when it does, bit in a firefly or a rainbow cast on the wall by a prism in the sunlight, the very young are ready with a poem or a song, as if it’s just another breath. It’s part of their humanity, absorbing wonder then exhaling it out again, artfully, humorously, usually with a unique flourish that causes curious adults to do a double take. In my past year of doing creative work with both the very young and those who are around the age of my own parents, milkweed has become a metaphor for our fleeting lives on this earth. It glows, it blows, it hovers, it offers us all a measure of wonder. If we would only pause and consider its beauty and fragility, what would we learn about the depths of life, the mystery of death, or the recesses of our own potential, as manifest in our respective imaginations?

As Dan [Camenga - IVCG Director] said on one of our excursions, “We get in our tunnel vision and go from point A to point B. But there’s a lot around us if we slow down just a moment and open our eyes. As we age, we have a natural curiosity to reconnect with the outdoor space and what’s around us, and to be more open to that.” As Laverne stated, “how beautiful it is to see the creation.” Yes. As Blossetta stated in our intro which you can find at the end of each video sequence: “You can laugh, you can cry. It’s there. It’s very beautiful. Because there’s nothing we can do when a person goes home to God. We know not the hour or the minute or the day when it comes.”

I have come to know so many wonderful people through this project. We were all like seeds planted: Hildergard in Alabama, Maryann in the Bronx, Frances, Martha and myself in North Carolina, Ruth, Lynn and Ed in CT, Millie on a farm in Queens, Blossetta in the rich soil of Jamaica. Our seeds were all blown this way, and we found ourselves in gardens of Connecticut, wondering at the beauty, re-remembering the magic of our childhoods.

Working across the spectrum of early childhood to extended or later childhood has offered a fundamental re-evaluation of the role of imagination in human thought and development. What does our imagination mean to the transformation of us from seeds in the ground to seeds flying from the milkweed pod, into the air, and leaving this place? This project invites us to wonder together. To listen, together. To sit and ponder these things, in community. Let us remember that we all come from the garden, and we will all go back to it. Thank you so much for inviting me into the garden with you all. It is so peaceful here, and I am learning how to sit still, and to listen.

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-Kristin Eno

 June 20, 2024