Highest Aim

When I was little, one of my favorite ways to spend a Sunday evening in the summer was at my Great Grandma Padalino’s home in East Detroit. We wouldn’t go inside- but straight back to the yard where she was invariably doing something in the garden. She would lead all of the kids into her cobwebby garage, walls lined with jars of seeds from gardens past and crusty tools whose wooden handles were soft from decades of use. Above the workbench was strung the most marvelous collection of sun bonnets I have ever come across. There were bonnets with ribbons, bonnets with flashy artificial flowers stuck to the brim, scratchy bonnets made of straw. She would let us each choose one, and then we would all head to the garden to water and pick and play and explore. I admired these bonnets, and the time I spent in them. When I sat down to think about my ‘highest aim’, the bonnets were the first thing that came to mind. And then the jars of seed. And the soft-handled tools. And the long summer evenings in the garden with the people I loved. The essence of these evenings is my highest aim. 

It’s not really an impressive bonnet collection that I want. It’s not a collection of seeds and tools (although I wouldn’t say no!). To me, the bonnets represent a lifetime of colorful experiences, a tangible reflection of a lifetime of living, and the ability to share that life experience with others. The seeds represent a direct connection to the past and the future, that exist perfectly contented and patient in the present moment. And the tools with the soft handles represent work. Hard work, a relentless struggle to begin, to grow, to survive. And when the time comes, to rust with acceptance, knowing that I used myself up. 

Those long evenings, sitting with my family under the open garage door in lawn chairs, that was love. Listening to the crickets chirp the night in as the sun sunk lower and oranger into the horizon, that was love. Perfect, contented love. And that is my highest aim.