This Was 28 – Birthday Reflections

It was the first year I noticed how enchanting it was when spring shifted into summer. There was this charming haze that seemed to hover just above all the yellowed grass. Life was flying in the air, the dandelions (and some of them huge!) were a quiet parade along the roadside, and, of course, there would be our garden rolling out of bed from its first waking in the spring.

I think if I could explain my 28th year of life it would be in that gorgeous, gentle, almost imperceptible shifting haze from May into June.

My 28th year was filled to the brim with life and while I published my second poetry book (!!), the whole of this year was a quiet year of rooting down and settling into my life as a mother and my life, in general. There wasn’t a lot of pomp and circumstance, but it was also spilling continuously with good gifts.

From the abundant butterflies to the bustling of bees, from box cakes bursting with flowers and sprinkles to a daughter’s first birthday and an 8th wedding anniversary, it was celebratory, quiet, and large with life. It was May into June.

This year I was not addicted to Instagram, I honed my voice and tone as a poet, published another book, gaped at giant sunflowers, cut zinnias for people and cake, marveled at roses, watched a butterfly on the baby swing and felt the miracle of it, shared my garden often with friends, watched my daughter pick flowers with delight, saw my son master balance and become brave on the “big kid” swing.

And a “big kid” swing? The poetry of life just keeps coming. That baby swing in the garden’s breeze was beautiful enough to last me decades, but to hang another swing? A bigger one? To watch my kids grow? To see how life multiplies and we just keep flying with it! Marvelous. May into June.

*this moment in late 2023 was so enchanting. it was hard to capture. but I felt every bit of magic and tried to capture some of it.*

I think if I hadn’t been paying attention, I’d have missed it totally. That hazy, enchanting shift from youthful spring into older, bursting summer is easy to miss, after all. But I did pay attention. I did soak it up. And it was rewarding.

I wrote many poems last year, but if I could chose just one of those poems to describe 28, it would probably be Fairytale as Told by Mouse. Sharing below.

Little does he know how wild I was,

up trees and down them, bare feet and care-free, in the rain standing drenched in mesquite and jumping cross caverns called bluffs in the desert and hours of outside with mud cakes in old pans, fishing in swamp and blue dress flying, swinging to stories of a mouse on a mountain by a sister who loved to tell them.

But I’m just in the kitchen, at the sink doing something always so endlessly and he calls from the living room about a cartoon saying, “He loves flowers like you, Mom! Flowers like you!”

Because that’s what he knows about me.

I’m Mom in the garden, taking pictures of flowers, gushing over what’s in bloom, sitting in a worn chair by warm garden stones, and coming back in with sunflowers in hand.

So what you’re saying is

wild roots of desert child became wild bloom of flower Mom and the magic of it is I’m still the girl in bare feet, still making cake and pie, traded the fishing swamp for a kitchen, (good times there but good riddance) and still jumping far and wide, but over the moon in lullabies.

And should I ever run into that mouse up on the mountain, I’ll invite him to our happy house, the one on a hillside where I’m the flower Mom doing the dishes again, plot twists at the kitchen sink. Sit and stay awhile, Mouse,

it’s an epic if you dare.

I’ll tell you how it happened, this wild tale of a tale. I’ll wash, you dry. Kids will be up soon and I know they’ll want to meet you. -S.V.F

Certainly not everything about this year was beautiful. I floundered, got discouraged, struggled, fell flat. This was part of 28, too. Most notably, I found my spirit deflated in mid-summer. Still the peace of God overcame and my soul was turned toward heaven. I was refreshed.

So in this year-long brightness, this May into June, this daily quiet, all the persistent tangles and knots, my 28th year of life unearthed how I want to grow forward, where I want to put my time and energy, how I want to bloom, and what I must change in order to do so.

If 28 was gentle life in a beautiful haze while also a pushing down of roots, I think 29 will be the discomfort of breaking the surface but in it experiencing the height of a garden’s summer vibrancy. It will be a mess and overgrown weeds and blistering heat, but it will also be daily watering, bright blooms, and warmth of life.

*Maybe the best “selfie” photo to sum up my 28th year!*

Of course, I can’t know what 29 will be, but I’m going into it with hands ready to work, to let go, to plant, to weed out, to fill with blooms. I’m preparing for good things. And that’s a big deal. Especially when I have struggled so often with morbidity and fear and wrestled so often with joy. Thankfully my story isn’t only made up of me. God’s presence changes everything…

Thank you, God, for 28. For those short days of May into June that you made last a whole year long, for my harvest and my beginning. You know what 29 holds and I’m held by you. You keep me grounded, thank you, and I’ll just keep tending to the flowers from Your hand. What a treat!

A Happy Birthday, indeed.