The Southern Magnolia trees are blooming, even though New Jersey is the least southern place I’ve ever lived. They seem smaller here and with fewer blooms than I remember seeing in the South.
I was in my early twenties the first time I remember ever seeing a Southern Magnolia tree. My husband was in the U.S. Army and stationed at Ft. Gordon in Georgia. We had found off-base housing in a small privately owned trailer park. The landlord had placed about a half dozen furnished trailers on a little plot of land in a charming little village named Grovetown. All our neighbors were soldiers assigned to Ft. Gordon. We were there only long enough for my husband to get trained and attend his Military Occupational Specialty (MOS). At the time, he was low on the rank totem pole, so we weren’t eligible for base housing.
Our neighbor across the dusty red clay driveway, Gary, introduced me to magnolia trees. Our front yard had a huge Georgia Pine and looking over to Gary’s and Helen’s was something I’d never seen before. This huge towering tree full of branches with a silhouette like a giant Spruce tree. But instead of needles, it had leaves; big and long and waxy looking dark green leaves.
Gary was a native of the South. He had grown up in Mobile, Alabama. Gary and I had one of those distinct relationships I’ve had with a handful of men. We would trash talk and tease one another in public. In private, we were kind and good friends, we could confide in and trust to have each other’s backs. The type of friend we call, (if we had a phone) when we need help. I asked him if he knew what kind of tree that was. I never heard the end of it. From then on, I was the ignorant Yankee who didn’t know about magnolia trees! But, he also shared his dear childhood memories of the sweet fragrance and elegant beauty of the magnolias as the backdrop.
They would become my backdrop to my early motherhood and all things southern. Not only did we not have a phone, with a large deposit and long waiting list there was no point, we also didn’t have mail delivery. We had a post office box at the post office about a half mile away in town. Taking a daily walk with my toddler was a great way to make her sleepy for her nap. That’s where our being together on walks began. Town is more of a euphemism, I don’t think there was even one traffic light. There were some sidewalks. Mostly, our walk was rural and we walked on the shoulder of the mostly empty roads.
There were trees, lots of trees; many of them magnolias that I could now identify.
I loved that time with my little daughter, Dani. She was one of the happiest people on the planet. Smiling and giggling, inquisitive and talkative, she was a delight to have as a walking companion. Our next assignment would be Berlin and for three years the walks would be to the U-Bahns [subways] or to the bus stops. Other times we would take long walks through the many beautiful woods there. Years later in Cincinnati, she as a Girl Scout and me as the troop leader, we would strike out on nature trails. Finally, even more years later, separated by lifestyles and miles and nonsense, our walks would be together by telephone. Happy to say, we each had one. Dani enjoyed living anywhere the main transportation was walking. The last few years of her life, she would take a daily morning walk to a nearby corner store to buy a caffeinated drink. She would often call me and we would “walk” together. Still talkative, maybe more guarded. Still giggly, at least on the outside.
After Cincinnati, we lived many years in Florida. Dani was busy growing up and as a teen didn’t take walks with me as much. She did like to buy me gifts. One Mother’s Day gift was a porcelain figurine of a magnolia. She bought it from the Avon lady. Remember them? The Avon decorative bottles and figurines were common back in the day. They did not increase in value, or even hold their value. But, mine is priceless. She bought it for me because she knew how much I loved magnolias. In Florida, our walks were replaced by drives. I would carpool and later she would learn to drive. We knew where all the Magnolia trees lived in Tampa and would drive by to see them, like old friends, when they bloomed. A couple of years ago she bought a porcelain one exactly like mine, at a garage sale. One more way to twin, to bond. She sent me pictures. When I cleared her apartment, after her death, it wasn’t there.
It wasn’t there.
But mine stays forever on my dresser and usually unnoticed as I go about my day to day.
Photo credit: Rachel Stein
Today, I took a walk at the Arboretum especially to see the magnolias and to take pictures. A while back my other daughter and I had walked there and I told her the story of my magnolia memories. Last week my son was visiting from miles away and we met him and my adult grandson there. My grandson was interested in the magnolia’s waxy leaves and the fragrant blooms. I didn’t mention anything. My daughter and I shared glances. On that walk we found other trees and made different memories that will become their own stories with pictures.
Photo credit: Rachel Stein
I remember reading years ago, there are three paths to immortality.
Plant a tree.
Have children.
Write a book.
I will live forever.
(the end)
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