Today the girls and I made our annual pilgrimage to Frog Rock Lavender Farm . The tradition began two years ago with our neighbors, who weren’t able to join us this summer for our third visit.
To get to Frog Rock Lavender Farm, we drive an idyllic route, three miles north on the island, following the hand-painted signs, past a u-pick flower farm with snapdragons and dahlias, past an elementary school with playground, and a tiny white steepled church, until we turn east onto a gravel road. The first time we saw the lovely lavender fields, the tranquil pond, colorful farm garden, and the painted Frog Rock, we were enchanted and addicted.
My neighbor and I, each of us, each year, have taken pictures of our children in the lavender fields, one little boy and two girls surrounded in purple haze. We exchange photos with each other and display them in our homes. We cut bunches of lavender and the dried bouquets remind us of our summer tradition. We cherish the pictures and the memories.
This year though it was far from fantasy. Abigail my oldest refused to sit by the lavender, fearing the bees. Michaela had cut her lip the other day so she wasn’t smiling well. Baby Elisabeth, my most compliant child, when posed between lavender bushes for a photo, began eating bits of plant and dirt. Instead the girls wanted to pet the dog and sit on shady Frog Rock, who is metamorphosing into Rock, shedding its skin of paint. In our summer heat wave, the pond had thinned and tanned to a deep brown color. One of my contacts popped out of my eye and I nearly lost it among the gravel and straw on the ground. Perhaps I got one picture with all three in the lavender looking at me. Oh well.
I brought home two bunches of lavender and a vial of “locally grown” (alas, it seems it is grown in Sequim, not at the island farm) lavender essential oil. Drying in the closet, the lavender will scent our winter coats while I consider what crafts I will make from it, probably Christmas presents.
When the cold comes, I will take my jacket from the closet and smell the scent. By winter, Michaela’s lip will have healed, Baby Elisabeth may be walking, and Abigail may have forgotten the bees. Perhaps I won’t have a picture but I will remember the lavender and the summer. I will remember these moments of motherhood.
2 responses so far ↓
1 Katherine // Jul 25, 2003 at 7:34 am
I remember you sent us gifts from a previous visit – thank you for this evocative reminder. I am almost there with you. Thank you for the encouragement to enjoy each moment, whatever “unplanned” details cling to it!
2 Patricia A. Taylor // Jul 25, 2003 at 1:30 pm
Oh, Julie, how I love lavender. It reminds me of Provence and the many happy days I spent there when we lived in Geneva. I have some in my garden here, but fields of it are rare.
Thank you, from one mother to another