Little Brook Sisters

Meet the three Myers sisters:

Monterey is my oldest sister. She is responsible, earnest, and has the unique capacity to completely tune out of the rest of the universe when she is reading. She is the type of person who consistently dices potatoes perfectly.

Adelaide is the middle sister. She wears funky, surprising clothing combinations regularly, is really good at relationships and communication, and quietly performs the unobtrusive yet necessary tasks that make a home run sanely.

And then me, Margaret, the youngest. I speak in a (maybe too) straightforward way, am often surprisingly reserved when I’m meeting new people or not in my element (dirt), and throw myself into projects with energy – and then crash.

Here we are at the beginning of our respective careers as humans:

We were picking chicory flowers, probably for some pressing project such as sprinkling the driveway with petals to make it look blue. That’s the sort of thing we did regularly. In practical, adult retrospection, it was all fairly pointless. But it did weave this beautiful tapestry. I see that childhood memory-fabric all over our farm: Every time I see Adelaide’s little dell, when I see the cardinals that Monterey loved. And what’s more, that tapestry is living in each of us girls, and it plays a part in today’s decisions and each of our reactions to life. Most of all, though, it is woven between us, holding us together. Blue driveways aren’t pointless.

We are the Little Brook sisters. No matter where we go in life, we will know how to make “onion paste,” and we will know that somewhere are two other women who know too.

Years passed, our “pointless” activities began to grow fewer, and we started to grow up.

Monterey had a heart for the Dominican Republic and worked hard to go there every summer. She got her own room and started working at a day-care center.

Adelaide, as she got into her teens, straightened her hair and wore lipstick. She was also very concerned about cooking chicken to the right temperature.

I started gardening, taking care of our chickens, and feeling like I was really a farmer-girl at heart. I deeply enjoyed country music.

Here we are, growing up and preserving peaches:

And so the tapestry continued.

Then, with stunning swiftness, our sisterhood changed.

Monterey fell in love. And eventually got engaged.

From the very first, when we debated the existence of white food coloring, Dave has added something new to our family.

Monterey was so happy and moody. Adelaide and I heard her face-timing Dave… frequently. We suddenly were faced with the prospect of Monterey moving (Dave lived in North Carolina). It was so new and different and it hit us that we were really grown up.

The bond between us had changed, but the tapestry was woven on a new, deeper level.

The years following Monterey’s wedding were chaotic, unexpected and full of changing.

And just when we were getting a little bit accustomed to our unfamiliar, long-distance sisterhood, a whole new element arrived:

Babies take sister relationships to the next level. Adelaide and I discovered how special it is to see a sister become a mama. And our little nephew is a charm! It’s suddenly adding a beautiful, fresh twist to our sister-storyline that fits perfectly.

As our Little Brook boy is growing up, chicory petals are resuming their former significance. We’re starting to realize the “pointless” activities are, as we knew full well in childhood, not at all pointless. The memory-tapestry is getting woven over the farm once again. The apple trees that we remember planting have become our boy’s favorite fort. He is learning to walk around the holly leaves that we pricked our feet on, too.

And when we teach him to make “onion paste,” it won’t be full circle, back to where we started from. It will be growth and multiplication and newness, a bigger tapestry.

Monterey, perfectly dicing potatoes, the animal-lover, a beautiful mama.

Adelaide, patiently keeping our household sane, devoted auntie, a nursing student.

Margaret, periodically whirling into a new project, the reader-rabbit, an aspiring farmer.

And the tapestry continues.