Jenni and I met in April, 2024, over a Facebook Marketplace althea, an old-fashioned bush more commonly referred to as Rose of Sharon. She was selling these little shrub sprouts; well, not so little. I guess they were about two feet tall, and when they would bloom, they’d have white flowers with red centers.
I’d been thinking of my dad when I saw the post. Dad loved the Rose of Sharon. He planted at least a dozen in The Compound. Two of them he planted on the front corners of the vegetable garden and trained them into trees. In bloom they showed out with round tops of blush pink flowers.
He planted a lavender one outside his office window, and it graced me after I took over his study. There are purple varieties, I don’t know where he got all these bushes unless he brought sprouts from the farm when he and Mom moved in with us in Nashville.
So I decided to buy at least one from Jenni. The trip to her house was way out in West Nashville, in the country. It took me a few trips up and down her road to find the house. On one of those forays, I wound up in what seemed to me to be a large compound of people who were somewhat unwelcoming. (Turns out it was right across the road and down a hill from Jenni’s but they’d never heard of her.) Gun signs were everywhere. I wasted no time getting out of there. I did not raise my phone to take a lasting memory.
I stopped on the side of the road and called Jenni. She directed me. I don’t think she understood where I’d been. She said something about the neighbor letting her ride her horse on their property next to the road.
The flowers in her yard were gorgeous, especially the perennial coral gladiolas. I wish I’d snapped some photos because I don’t remember much else about the landscaping.
We visited for almost half an hour, talking about mamas, plants, horses, and chickens. She was flying to Minnesota once a month, I think, to help care for her mother. I shared stories about caring for mom. I asked her if she had eggs for sale and bought two dozen. Jenni said she felt like we were friends. I asked if she’d like to be friends on Facebook in case we wanted to talk more about plants, and we instantly added each other to our lists. When I left her house, she asked if she could hug me.
I don’t remember the price of that first Rose of Sharon (it didn’t cost much), but I brought it home and planted it in front of the steps to the deck. It bloomed this year, a delight!
I must have taken home two of the little bushes, because there is one growing in a bed in the side yard.
Somewhere, probably on Marketplace, I found pink Rose of Sharon! I bought two small ones. I can’t remember where I stuck mine in the ground, but I potted one for Jenni and sat it under a holly tree facing the sun.
I took it to Jenni, in between her trips to her Mom’s and my busy-ness at home. When I arrived, we hugged and talked some more. Her mom was doing well, but the siblings wanted to give her some good attention, one of the siblings or Jenni made the trip once a week. Her mom was in her nineties! I told her there was no charge for the pink flowers, and she reciprocated by giving me a couple dozen eggs. She said we should plan getting together again. I told her she could come to my house for lunch. She was anxious to see my gardens.
“Let’s be in touch,” I said when I opened the van door to leave. “I know where I can get us some purple ones!”
*
November, 2024. I was sick and depressed with the results of the national election. January, 2024, Jenni posted how happy she was that her candidate won.
I drew back from the casual friendship. We were two poles at opposite ends of the field. I couldn’t do it. I still appreciated Jenni, but I could not, to save my soul, chat with her on FB. I couldn’t even check her FB wall.
Time went by. I found purple althea. The purple Rose of Sharon in a nursery pot lost its leaves for two fall seasons, but it still sat in front of the holly tree.
I knew I’d see her again, because I still had that promised bush. In the pot. I’d figure out a way to take it to her.
My feed came up in May of 2026 to say that Jenni’s mother had passed. She was in her mid-90s. I posted my condolences in a long list of other replies to her post. My mind went to my own mother’s last days and her death on June 24, 2022. I promised myself I’d get out to see Jenni and take her the plant.
I rehearsed a statement in case she asked why it had been so long since we talked.
“Jenni,” I would say, “as happy you were about Trump’s win of the White House, that’s how sad I was to see it.” Then we’d talk about something else…
Jenni came to lunch at my house in late August. Actually, we set the date for August 18th, my great Grandma Ada’s birthday. It’s also my great niece Everly’s birthday, this year her 17th.
We met at the front door. I hoped there would be no need for me to make my statement.
As we munched and lunched on chicken salad, pasta salad, and black cherry Jello salad, we shared our experiences with religion and churches. She left the Catholic church and is now something of a fundamentalist. I left the Lutheran Church and became an unchurched Universalist. We both hate church politics. We talked about caregiving…and horses.
She told me about the death of her mother and I shared some more about Mama’s passing. We shared our inability to pay attention. She said she couldn’t get anything done. I told her that I couldn’t, either, but I keep trying.
I mentioned, “You’re still in the first few months of grief. Be easy on yourself.”
Then she said, “It’s worse now. We had to put Chloe down on Thursday.”
Chloe was, I think, fifteen. Jenni and her husband wanted her to be at home for her ending, so they called for someone to come to the house to give her the injection.
“I haven’t posted anything on Facebook. I’m not ready.”
“You have to allow yourself some time, Jenni. Give yourself some grace.”
After we walked to the fishpond and sat for a few minutes, Jenni left for home. “Oh yeah,” she said, ” I better not forget my bush.”
I explained that I had no idea where we’d planted that purple Rose of Sharon, but that it was here somewhere, and I’d eventually run into it. Told her I’d dig it up and bring it to her, hopefully in the fall.
She bent double laughing and so did I.
So, there was no talk of politics, just two women, one in her late 70’s and the other in her late 50’s, sharing personal hopes and wishes, not separated by the condition of the world and the state of our country.
One afternoon while I was outside with Dixie Dog, I found the purple bush. It was in a big pot right in front of the house along with a green and burgundy coleus. When I messaged Jenni, we both shared a laugh. She said it was okay, because it would be a reason for us to get together again.
I can’t push aside the need for all of us to be active in our communities and to vote our conscience, but finding something in common just might change the world. Then we’d be able to talk to each other.
Jenni and I seem to need this relationship. It may feel like something of a chance, but it also feels like we might already know each other. Someday, we might even talk about democracy and share our wishes for our country.
We want this.
Everybody wants this.
***
On the Ravine 