Talking about having a cup of tea with Auntie Gladys brought me back to my childhood. I grew up in Freetown on a winding main road that connected New Bedford to Lakeville. As the youngest of four girls, I was an only child during school hours. Every weekday morning my sisters boarded the school buses, and I watched through the window. After their departure, I sought company in listening to my mother’s records, and I sought company in neighbors. One such neighbor was Miss Barnes who lived across the street.

Miss Barnes was a retired school teacher, and since I was only 5-6 years old, she seemed to be the oldest person I had ever visited, including my grandparents. In hindsight, she was probably in her mid 60’s to early 70’s during the years I visited with her. And of course, I am old enough now to realize just how young that is!

Miss Barnes used to show me around her gardens every spring. She had hydrangeas, azaleas, and rhododendrons. There was also mint growing wildly out of control around her yard, and along the driveway. She picked leaves for me to chew on, and every year she made a slew of mint jelly. Every year I would get two jars from her: one mint, and one mint-apple.

I visited Miss Barnes often, and for a while, nearly every week day. She made Red Rose tea with sugar and milk, and with it, served me two butter cookies. She told me stories of her days as a teacher, and showed me her newest trinkets decorating her very old house. We would sometimes move from the kitchen table to the rocking chair by the window to watch the birds. She knew each species that visited, and we watched as they ate from her feeder.

We may have seemed an odd couple, but we were really very well-matched. She was tall and lanky (at least in my eyes), and she knew so much about the world, especially nature. I was a petite five year old filled with curiosity, and love for the outdoors. Our cups of tea were laced with conversations about our pets and school, flowers and trees, the blueberries growing wild down the pipeline that paraded past both our houses. I knew she was wise. I knew she was lonely. I wanted to learn everything I could from her, and I wanted company. But mostly, I didn’t like seeing her all alone.

The words of our conversations have faded in my memory, but the feeling of companionship that I felt from our visits is still very vivid in my heart. To this day, I notice subtle changes in the trees. I notice when the buds in the trees begin to appear, first crimson red, then seemingly overnight, they burst on to the scene in little bundles of glistening light green. I notice when the bees arrive, and the birds awake at dawn. I have always found so much joy in spring because everything comes back to life. And I think I notice all those little details because Miss Barnes took the time to point them all out to me. Funny I never made that connection until just now. Funny that now, as an adult some 45 years later, I find that I most enjoy a spring morning outside under my flowering weeping cherry with a cup of Red Rose tea.

Though they may seem casually insignificant, our day-to-day encounters often have the greatest impact on our lives.