I’m a few days late in writing My Sunday Best post, but I was looking for something. That’s not why I’m late, but that’s what I was doing on Sunday and my computer was 500 miles away.
For over two years, every time I go back to the family farm in Tennessee, I look between the cracks of the floor in the outdoor kitchen. I look in the morning and throughout the day. I even took a flashlight at night and peered down through the cracks hoping to catch a glimmer of gold. My husband Mickey looked too, as well as my stepmom, my sister-in-law, and my sister.
We’ve all heard Mickey tell the story of how one chilly winter morning he shook his hands and his wedding ring slipped off his slender finger. He heard it hit the wooden floor and roll. When he turned to pick it up, it was nowhere to be found.
So, this past weekend as we all gathered together, we resumed the search once again. We got the flashlights out and peered into the darkness underneath the floorboards. Earlier that morning, my sister-in-law and I had discussed tearing out a small wooden walkway that led from the kitchen to the outdoor shower. So, while everyone was sitting around the table laughing and reminiscing, I decided it was a good time to begin prying up the rotting boards. Mickey and my sister-in-law also got up to join in the fun and it wasn’t but a few minutes later that Mickey yelled at the top of his lungs “Hey,” and held his hand up with the found ring on his finger.
I think we all knew it would eventually show up again. Of course, it was possible a possum or raccoon could have carried it off. Or it could have rolled out of the kitchen into the grass and unknowingly swallowed by a hungry horse, or cow, or by Mandy or Molly, one of the curious and sometimes mischievous donkeys. But none of those outcomes seemed very likely.
When Mickey found the ring it was as if we all had come together to experience and celebrate this moment of joy and victory with one another. As I looked at the ring I remembered the jeweler/artist/musician/friend who made it for us. I had drawn the design out on a piece of paper — waves of water, symbolizing a continuous flow of love in a circle of life. I initially wanted the rings made out of silver, but he convinced me that white gold was a better choice. As an artist, he added his own creative touch, inlaying eight tiny diamonds within the waves. I lost one of the diamonds in my ring years ago, and on a recent visit to Colorado, he replaced the diamond and polished the ring to look new again.
I think I lost it, let me know if you come across it, let me know if I let it fall along a back road somewhere. Money can’t replace it, no memory can’t erase it, and I know I’ll never find another one to compare. — Lucinda Williams
Through the years I’ve lost keys, tools, and jewelry pieces including pendants and dozens of earrings. I’m sure many of these pieces of tiny art have found their way to the place that mismatched earrings go, maybe the Island of Misfit Toys. Even though I never will find some of the things I have lost, I still remember the stories, the who, what, when, where, and why, such as the beautiful copper and silver earring made by Sealy in Nashville, or the wildflower pendant Mickey bought for my birthday in Grand Lake, Colorado — things I’ve left behind.
I love looking for lost treasures. Even more, I love the mysteries and stories I uncover along the way. They fill me with gratitude for the gifts each person gives the world in their unique and short existence. I especially enjoy looking for arrowheads. Many times, when I find one, it is sitting right on top of the ground, like it was purposely placed there just for me. ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa it’s magic’ I sing to myself as I pick up the treasure, hold it in my hands, and run my fingers over the meticulously carved indentations on the smooth face and the still sharp edges. Then I carefully place it deep in my pocket. As I continue walking, I think about who carved it, and if it hit the intended object. Or if it missed and went sailing off into the forest never to be found again which happens every time I try my hand at shooting a bow and arrow. I’m pretty sure I’m not the first person that has ever lost an arrow.
The well-known phrase “leave no trace” is a fallacy. We make our mark on the world whether we intend to or not, we not only leave a trace we leave well-worn highways paved with proof that we were here — apple trees, daffodils, books, songs, finely crafted jewelry, stone carvings, paintings, recipes, artifacts, and… the road goes on forever. Each one of these things tells its own story of hope, love, survival, and connection. It reminds me that I’m not alone, someone else was here before, breathing, walking, creating useful and beautiful things, planting seeds, and living life on this amazing planet one day at a time, just like I am.
❤️ we love you Trish and Mickey