SALOME MEANS PEACE

The boys scattered as I drove up the dirt path from the main road. I had spotted a hand painted sign with an arrow under the word baskets and made a quick turn.

The boys, intent on their summer fun, were in varying degrees of dishevelment. Their straw hats were broken and askew, their shirts untucked and knees dirty. One pointed to a shed when I asked about the baskets.

A woman in a long blue, cotton dress and white bonnet emerged from the back door of the house. She beckoned me on. We stepped inside a shed and she opened the curtains to let in some light. As my eyes adjusted, I saw shelf after shelf of perfectly woven baskets. There were multiple sizes and shapes with various banded colors. I’ve always loved baskets, so was immediately plagued with indecision.

She sat down at her small table and said, “Take your time.”

Conversation came easily. I learned she and her husband make the baskets together, each bringing a particular skill. She had a stroke nine years ago and he picked up a couple of the more intricate steps. She’s doing great now, fully recovered and grateful.

They raised seven daughters and three sons on their plot of land. She remembers a time when they sold 100 quarts of strawberries in an afternoon from their roadside stand.

Their children are all married and scattered, some to Amish communities in New York. One son lives in the main house, runs the farm and raises his family on the same hill and plot of land where he grew up. She and her husband have a small home next door.

Toward the end of my visit, while I was digging in my purse for enough cash, I learned they have 88 grandchildren. She looked too young. Her unlined face, her bright eyes and her unhurried presence gave her a certain peaceful, youthful countenance.

I looked her in the eyes and asked her name. “Salome,” she said.

“I’m Rita,” I replied.

I was barely a mile away when I wanted to turn back, to absorb more, listen more, take my time more.

In fact, the next day I did return but could never find the right turn off the main road. It wouldn’t have felt the same anyway and more questions would have become too intrusive. I think I wanted her to tell me how it’s all going to turn out, but I knew in my heart that the time we had was just enough time to take.