Blossom and Time

Life and Death

Her name was Blossom and she was a cow. She thought she was a pet. Or maybe even human. There was something funny about her, to be sure. Something in her eyes. We visited her at least twice at a vineyard in Loudoun County during the Fall Colors Tour. One of the two times a year, way back then, that the Loudoun County wine country would open its doors most widely to visitors and picnickers and a general celebration of the beauty of new growth in spring and its culmination, harvest in autumn. The circle of life and death. This winery specialized in wine made from berries grown on the estate. You spoke with the winemaker. As long as you wanted. Not many were there in those days. We brought a feast onto their picnic tables a couple of years and we drank their elderberry and raspberry wine while eating the various breads and cheeses that at that time were abundant and still exotic from Trader Joe's, before they had to appeal to the average of humanity for what one would assume financial reasons. In the days of the availability of my Morbier cheese, for example, which my wife at that time frowned upon most heavily due to its robustness. An unwelcome guest in the refrigerator. Two layers of cheese separated by a layer of volcanic ash. The dark referee of the damned. The very young children at those picnic times would grab a bread or grab a cracker and dash off to a tire hanging from a tree on the property. Near a sun-bleached and nearly ruined barn. Gaping windows like a blind man bewildered by changing times. Middle girl even then would put her hands through the fence to the property next door to greet the goats. (Who were enthusiastic recipients of the affections of strangers.) Strange beasts. Her interests seemed to already be set. They were all characters in the most lively of dramas. Our family occasionally escaped the routine of their father's rigorous work schedule, and we organized ourselves to the seasons of time. The animals and other characters in this seasonality performed the play of life before our eyes. But we all loved Blossom most of all, who first appeared to us as a young lass, full of innocent youthful spirit, and then the next year as a young mother, heavy with calf. The cycle of life. My mother and father were there with us one year, and father immediately spoke the language of Blossom. I was surprised, knowing nothing of that side of him. Without question she knew his every word and he looked her square in the eye. These days it's all just a memory. Father is gone for good. Perhaps so is Blossom. Mother is also, in her own way. In some ways so is the boy, who generated all the energy. Even perhaps the girls. There will never again be the innocence of spare time to simply drink elderberry wine fresh from the vineyard, eat casually from the bounty, pet the acquiescent goats, and fall in love with beautiful and lovely Blossom, the cow. What seemed relatively inconsequential at the time, just a date that comes and goes - rises and falls - with the seasons, turns out to be one of a small handful of markers of life. There is a lesson for young families, but as with us they will not see the crystal clear message before them. But here it is: You must also eventually traverse this valley of tears after everything has passed...so go slow and drink it all in. Take your time. Fall in love with Blossom.