In the book Ava's Man, Rick Bragg describes his own mother's birth this way:
She cost Charlie a quart of whiskey, and was born in the season of dogwoods.
I, too, was born in the Season of Dogwoods. If you have ever been
in our neck of the woods, you know what a beautiful time
of year that is. These pictures were taken during the peak
of the season, and after I got home,
I realized that not one of them captures a dogwood.
It started with an orthodontist appointment on about as perfect a day
as there can be. Wishing that I had packed a picnic to eat afterwards,
I decided to improvise.
My grandmother would have had fried chicken, biscuits, potato salad and cake.
I thought about that.
Then I realized that she would not have been at work the day before.
(I also now realize she would have gotten a picture of a dogwood!)
I decided she would forgive me and drove to Lindsey's
Julia is the foremost connoisseur of chicken salad.
On her scale of 1-5 clucks, Lindsey's definitely gets a 5.
We ate our deli lunch at the State of Georgia Botanical Gardens
to celebrated day 1 of my birthday week -
(yes, it's true: day 1 of birthday week. If you want to convince everyone you are
21, you have to act like it! No kidding. I love birthdays, especially mine, and I
intend to "do it up"!)
Julia couldn't wait and gave me the most beautiful bracelet for my birthday present.
Perfect day, perfect present, perfect chicken salad, perfect season.
The Season of Dogwoods.
Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father
of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.