Not often does stop-the-press news cross my desk, but when it comes but once in a hundred years, I think it should so well be noted. It came tucked inside a belated arriving Christmas card. I knew from whom it came as I recognized the long familiar friendly handwriting on the envelope.
The first one of these handwritten notes came to me well over 30 years ago. It was the very first fan mail that I received just a few weeks after I started writing for the Wellington Advertiser. Several have faithfully followed each and every year since then.
Though it was a three page, fully complimentary letter, let me quote in part, as explanation, why I feel it is so important and well worth mention. It goes exactly like this. “Barrie I don’t see or write too well at 99. Just maybe I’ll get better when Jan. 22 I’ll be 100, God willing – we will always remember buttercup flowers. Isabel reads all your columns to me.”
Let me explain just a little further, Isabel is her few years younger sister who lives in the Acton area, within the realm of the Advertiser delivery.
Gladys the writer lives in Cambridge, far beyond delivery reach. Each live apart but visits are definitely not uncommon. The buttercup mention is not without reason, for with it she and I have kindred hearts. She wrote a poem titled The Buttercup, which I included in an article way back in the issue of Nov. 18, 1991. Bear with me for a moment or two while I indulge in that poem once again.
The Buttercup
A buttercup grew by the roadside,
In the grass it blossomed there.
But no one saw its beauty,
And no-one seemed to care.
But a stranger walked the roadside,
His load seemed heavy to bear.
Till he came unaware to the blossom.
The buttercup yellow and fair.
He plucked a grass blade beside him,
And his gaze wandered here and there,
Until at last the buttercup,
To his gaze was a beauty rare.
The fair winds tossed the flower.
The buttercup graceful and small.
It seemed to resemble her likeness,
And the teardrops started to fall.
He quick plucked the dear little flower,
Ere the likeness was faded and gone.
The buttercup told you a story,
Of the roadside the stranger passed on.
* * *
You are absolutely right, Gladys, I will forever think of you and your sister Isabel each and every time that I see a field of shining buttercups. Longtime friends are not forgotten.
May happiness greet you on your 100th birthday and may Mother Nature bring you blue skies, white clouds and sunshine.
My thoughts will definitely be with you on that 100th-year day.
Take care, ‘cause we care.
barrie@barriehopkins.ca
519-986-4105