F
Transplants are tender.
Need nourishment,
Wilt in the heat of the day,
Perk up in the cool of the evening.
Crave life giving water.
The older they are the greater the risk,
Some may not make the transition
From the familiar,
To the new surprising garden.
Many with extra care
Put down new roots and flourish.
They once again bear fruit.
Cerita M. Hewett
June 3, 2015
Revised July 6, 2015
I was reminded again today,
How important it is to weed
My own garden and
How difficult and even dangerous it is,
To try to weed,
Someone else’s ground.
Not knowing what is planted in that soil,
It is easy to pull a flower in its beginnings,
Mistaking it for a weed.
Leaving a gaping wound whose
Healing takes such time
And effort that one tires into exhaustion.
In the heat of the moment,
One is served best by
Searching out and extracting,
Personal weeds as carefully as possible,
Leaving the care of another’s plot,
Safely in the owner’s loving hands.
Cerita M. Hewett
July 2009
Revised November 2014
A river of people flowed in and out
Along the art fest stalls displaying
Sculpture, painting, pottery, glass works,
With people floating in and out,
Seeking the medium that pleased them most,
Slipping by the booths that didn’t interest them.
We melted in among the swirl,
Swimming smoothly stopping and starting,
Soaking up the art, yet keeping Roger’s head in sight,
As he moved effortlessly, gliding quickly through the flood,
We paused longer at displays,
Talked briefly with some artists.
It seemed a thoughtful overflow of young and old,
Couples, singles, babies in strollers, teens,
Somehow calmed and gentled in the stream,
Amazed that in three hours of drifting,
We were jostled or bumped only once or twice,
And then received profuse apologies!
The sun, the breeze, the early Spring,
The coming back to life,
The art and its creators,
Came together for one delightful day,
Which flowed and ebbed into
A lovely memory.
Cerita M. Hewett
April 12, 2015
Revised May 18, 2015
There was a time when I was
Satisfied with my life,
But that was before I had
All this time to wonder.
Would this or that have
Been better for our family,
For Roger, for me, Somehow—
Could I have seen more clearly?
Yes, there was a time when
I was satisfied with life,
But that was before
I had this time to wonder.
Cerita M. Hewett
July 20, 2015
My knees have personalities,
I know it’s strange but true,
My Left Knee complains on biking hills,
My Right just pumps like new.
But when I sit and rest awhile,
My Left is loose and fine,
While Right Knee tightens up a bit,
And wants to be reclined.
I really like my knees,
In spite of personalities,
Because they still can ride a bike,
Drive a car and take hike!
Cerita M. Hewett
July 27, 2014
How elusive is this thing
Called “The Present,”
For it is relentlessly
Becoming The Past,
While The Future takes over
The Present.
We are counseled to live
In The Present,
We even counsel others to,
“Be present” in The Present.
Yet Today always becomes
Yesterday remembered,
And Tomorrow
Is already Today.
And Someday,
In Eternity,
Will be—will be a
Perfect memory!
Cerita M. Hewett
January 10, 2015
Pioneer Mother
(1904-1989)
LaVon Lyons Moore
She lived, she really lived!
At six she ran to school from her Alberta home,
Bundled up against the freezing wind,
Arriving at the school chilled to the bone.
Standing by the warm wood stove,
She thawed too quickly and fainted,
But she lived.
When ten she walked from the Canadian plains
Beside a covered wagon,
Eight hundred miles to the Boise Valley,
Feared the distant mountains they must pass,
Comforted by her father’s counsel of unseen roads,
She continued walking, and walking,
Laid on her back in the Mts. under berry bushes,
Picked her first fresh fruit,
Ate until her stomach was full.
Then walked on.
Another day she rode her bother Ivan’s
Horse all day long,
Became violently ill in the night,
Terrific pain in the abdomen,
Yet she lived, persisted, and walked on.
In the icy winter weather,
At Nampa her family boarded a train,
Rode two-hundred miles to Burley, Idaho
Having left on June 10, 1914 and arrived Thanksgiving Day
To live in a tent until something better could be made.
LaVon grew and matured.
Contracted Typhoid Fever
Lost much of her hair,
Lived isolated in a bedroom with her father
For a month or more,
With his tender care she
Endured and recovered.
During the Depression LaVon,
Dropped out of high school to help the family,
Worked in town as a secretary because she could type,
Served as a fountain waitress because they needed her,
Came to like cherry coke a lot,
Read books and kept learning,
Walked to her work each day.
Eloped in December at nineteen years of age
With handsome Billy Moore,
Nine years older than she,
Held her hands over his ears to keep them warm,
As they drove the two hundred miles in an unheated
Ford to the Boise valley and his parents’ home,
Began being a homemaker.
Their first child died at birth,
She was close to death herself,
Never saw the baby,
Was not present at his funeral,
Rallied back to life,
Always remembering him,
She walked on.
Farmed with her husband on rented land,
Made it in the hard years.
Made clothes,
Made bread,
Made soap,
Made do,
And bore children.
In one twelve month period
Their nine year old son Wayne died of leukemia,
Her Mother died of cancer,
And she gave birth to a baby girl.
Trusting in the Lord,
Not giving in she walked on.
Started farming their own place the winter of forty-one,
In June of forty-two Bill died,
Leaving her with six children,
Crops to irrigate, cows to milk,
Chickens to feed,
And a baby on the way,
Her neighbors helped her through
That season and all survived.
That November she bore her ninth child,
A beautiful baby boy,
When friends suggested that it was sad
To have a baby in such circumstances,
She replied, “Who knows but what he will
Bring me great happiness.”
She found in him great joy.
Sold the farm she could not keep,
Because a woman could not carry the mortgage,
So she moved her children to an acreage,
Grew gardens, milked cows, sold eggs,
Kept the books and worked at the welfare storehouse,
Cooked in the school lunch program,
Believing things would work out,
Sustained her family.
Now she took her children to church,
Understood the spirit of the gospel,
Taught them as she read the Book of Mormon,
Made suppertime an occasion
By her excellent cooking,
And lively conversation,
Maintained a loving, happy home.
Her children grew up and one by one
Left her home for college,
For Missions,
For the military,
For jobs,
For their own homes,
For their own lives,
Alone she wrote letters and walked on.
Fell down the basement stairs,
Broke her leg but crawled up
To phone for help,
Persevered and healed,
In the safety of the mall walked on.
Grandchildren came to visit,
She loved them, listened to them,
Encouraged them, laughed with them,
Read to them favorite stories,
Learned to knit and made them sweaters.
Believed always in their goodness.
Grew weaker in a frail body,
Couldn’t live alone anymore,
Lived with her children,
Then lived in a nursing home,
Still smiled with visitors,
Encouraged her care givers,
Made the best of every situation,
With a walker she walked on.
LaVon Lyons Moore truly experienced mortal life.
She could smile and her eyes would twinkle,
Found joy in the small things of life,
Ripe peaches, canning grape juice,
Planted crops, clean faces and combed hair,
Scriptures, Sunday, good books, poetry,
Children’s play and accomplishments.
She walked in faith to the last moment.
Walking on before us she smoothed the way,
She loved deeply, sacrificed, and pioneered,
Beyond this mortal life,
She lives and watches for her posterity,
Expecting us to walk on!
(for Alisha)
Her favorite hour of the YEAR?
Daylight Savings’ Fall Back Morning.
Nothing is planned,
No one can demand it,
Because this mythical hour,
Actually doesn’t exist,
Truly a FREE hour,
She can really sleep in.
Thank you Woodrow Wilson.
You probably didn’t think of
This unintended consequence
Of your World War I policy!
Cerita M. Hewett
October 30, 2015
In talking with my sister Sharon one recent afternoon, she used a phrase, ‘perfection paralyses’. Later in a conversation with our son Edward, I listened to him explain how people should start shipping what they have and not wait until everything is aligned and all the ducks are in a perfect row. Those conversations caused me to think, and wake up this morning, before it was light, to write.
I could not quietly find a sharp pencil in Raechel’s house where we were spending the night, so I wrote with several dull pencils on a sketch book pad that belonged to Sophie. I’ll need to get her a new one now. Acting imperfectly I scribbled out what you are reading now, actually producing something. Since no English Professor will be critiquing this I plan to blog it with few revisions.
Another example of this idea is my college life 1956-1960. I went to BYU unprepared, worked, attended classes, and finished. I certainly was not at the top of my class but I stayed the course. The result of that effort has been multiplied many times and like ‘bread upon the water’ come back a hundred fold to bless me personally, my family, and others. The Lord enlarged and ‘perfected’ the little bit that I began at seventeen.
Because we cannot do something perfectly we often do not act. Yet, if we did begin and do what we could, we and others would benefit. The Book of Mormon, a powerful life changing book, was translated in about sixty days and published as a running text. Later it was divided into chapters, verses, with an index and footnotes added. In its original form it began changing lives for the good and it continues to do so today in its more perfect form. Now it has been translated into many languages and is read throughout most of the world. But it began simply when Joseph Smith put it on paper, with the blessing and help of the Lord, and published it.
So it is with many poems, stories, pieces of art, acts of kindness, helpful ideas, and even our lives. We need to act as we can and go forward, remembering that Christ is the finisher of our faith (good actions). We begin doing what we can and He will through inspiration, grace, and the help of other people perfect our efforts.
This blog too, is an effort of thought and words not all perfectly formed or executed. It is my hope that someone, somewhere, will encounter these ideas and be encouraged or validated. Remember, if we cannot give a shiny apple to our teacher, a clean, washed potato will do!