The year was1925 when her life took a drastic turn. No longer was she just someone's child, she was now a married woman with a child of her own on the way. Thus her family started and every 2 years another responsibility was added to her life. The exception was only a couple of times when she was able to go an extra year before becoming pregnant again, by breast feeding the latest child as long as possible. March of 1926, her first daughter was born. Children continued to come, until 11 had been conceived and 10 birthed..1 girl, 3 boys, 2 girls, 1 boy, 1 girl, 1 boy, 1 girl.
She was a hard worker that rose to the task of making sure her family was well fed and clothed. Her hands were never idle. They were either sewing or mending…planting or reaping…washing or ironing…nurturing or soothing…baking or cooking…cleaning or building. Her love of flowers, was what brought her peace in the midst of it all. She knew them all by their names and what sort of care they needed to survive, to flourish. Just as she knew what was needed to care for all her children and husband, that they might survive, that they might flourish.
How I wish I knew her better. I wish there had been moments of learning from her, from hearing her life's story. I don't know that anyone really does know. She wasn't one to burden others with her troubles, or even to visit for long periods of time. There was no time for such.
We were raised on a farm and most of us worked with Dad in the harvest fields, the log woods, the sawmill, the milk barn or hay fields. Only two of the girls stayed in the house to help with "women's work". I wasn't one of them. But I WAS one that received from her nurturing, especially at night when it was bed time and she made sure we were all warm and comfortable. Or when sitting at her table, filled with the goodness the earth had rendered, and her hands had labored over. Or when my head was spinning with fever, causing hallucinations that in turn filled me with terror. Or when my legs ached with "growing pains" and she lovingly massaged Cool A Ped over the surface, until I fell asleep.
These are the things I remember most about my mom. And her laugh. She had a beautiful laugh…so real, never forced. And the fact that she was always busy with important things, needed things. And that she was a true artist. Not many knew that about her. I did.
I was assigned a couple of essays in Science one year while in high school. One of my choices was the anatomy of flowers, their pollen, and what purpose they served. Another was the human skeletal system and it's function. She went to a special box that had been put away, pulled out her own thesis on both, and I was blown away. Never had she spoken of this talent. I will never forget the awe that swept over me as I gently flipped through page after page of intricate drawings, as if they were ancient articles that demanded care. Each drawing was labeled with the finest handwriting I'd ever seen.
This very short acknowledgment of Mom's journey on earth, is a result of an inspiration from a Christmas gift this year. A client brought me a book entitled 642 Things to Write About, by the San Francisco Writers' Grotto. As I flipped through the entries, my eyes landed and read over and over again, "Describe your mother." I wondered if I could. The words seemed to be emblazoned in my mind for the next two days.
Erna Amelia (Fawks) Prater began her life on July 1, 1907, in Columbia, Missouri, and was transferred to Heaven on March 19, 1980…the beautiful lady that gave life to so many.
Here, you'll always find me…in Mary's World
