A Yellow Pine Table
The Vermont landscape was blanketed in white. Seven degrees. Movers were scheduled to deliver a few pieces of furniture we have had in storage since 2016. MA to VT.
Our driveway, challenging. The moving truck made it just about three quarters of the way. Notable but not enough. The contents were heavy and unforgiving. Ramps began to slide and slam. Back support belts adorned each mover. To work they went…
My grandmother’s upright piano was unloaded. My husband’s grandfather’s roll top desk left unassembled in our new family room. Our large yellow pine table now occupied the available kitchen floor space. We purchased this family table when we lived in London. Our first Thanksgiving at this table was shared with our dear British friends. Yes, the irony of the day wasn’t lost on any of us. We laughed and enjoyed the moment. We loved this table then and we love it now. We have a beautiful kitchen table currently in our Vermont home. We just wanted to see how this hearty yellow pine table would look in our current and much smaller kitchen. “We would decide” on what I considered a foregone conclusion even before the table arrived…
I ran my small hand gently over the uneven golden wooden surface. Waves of wood. Well worn. Well loved. Faint stains lightly traced with my fingertips. Memories seemed to rise from deep within the planks of pine. Teenagers. The many teenagers. Thanksgiving. Christmas Eve. Family and Friends. My mother sitting at the far end of the table eating cheese and crackers after her chemo treatments. Just a mother and a daughter. Jingle Bell Run buffets for my running club. Kenyan elite runners sharing stories of a place I always dreamed of going. Homework done. Bills paid. Parental notices signed. Good meals. Failed efforts too. Laughter. So much laughter. Conversations of policy and politics. A simple recounting of a day. Painting cameos appearances. A yellow pine kitchen table…
“There are times when wisdom cannot be found in the chambers of parliament or the halls of academia but at the unpretentious setting of the kitchen table.” ― E.A. Bucchianeri
