Flowers and Roots

These petunias are part of an enormous hanging basket that I bought from a greenhouse owned by a Mennonite family near St. Paul, Illinois. Yesterday, I spent four hours driving some rural roads of Fayette County. Most of these roads are paved (sort of). For example, the road from 51 through St. Peter onto Farina is Fayette County road #23, but it is most often called "St. Peter blacktop." The road goes through Augsburg which used to be a township but is now simply an intersection, church, and cemetery. There were some folks buried in the cemetery in 1918....born 1862, died 1918! Most of these were impossible even to read and pronounce due to my ignorance of things German or Dutch. One family name there was "Ludwig," and some others with "wig" or "wick" on the end. Clearly some of these families have had people buried there spanning three centuries. This kind of thing is incomprehensible to me, being a sojourner as I am. Think about it: the simple, plain clothed young lady who helped me with my flowers can probably tell me the names of her great-great-great grandparents who fist settled that land. She probably sat by the fire while some older saints in their community talked about their roots and how important it is to stay connected to God, family, and the earth. She will be encouraged to marry within that community and her skills at tending flowers and helping customers at the greenhouse will bring smiles to many faces as it did to mine. She may even still speak her ancestors native tongue. Her life is so much different than mine, but I do not pity her. If anything, I am a bit envious of deep roots like that. Perhaps, envious is not exactly the right word. It could be simply this longing that I have to be connected to something-Someone that is bigger and grander than little ol' me.