Planting my own Mother's Tree

And I still know how to cross stitch

My mom is a wonderfully creative person. She keeps an inspiring garden at my parents’ city home as well as their cottage; she used to make us handmade nightgowns and stuffed animals when we were kids; and now she bakes (and drops off!) allergy-friendly snacks for my kids when she knows her own daughter is strapped for time.

My mom and me ~ 1978

I always wonder how my kids will remember my creative outlets when they’re older. Will they remember how I carried my camera everywhere, documenting our life? Will they have a fondness for those watercolour paintings they find tucked into notebooks? What will they do with the pressed leaves and ferns that fall out of the coffee table books they eventually put in their own homes?

My grandma with her daughter, my mom ~ 1974

I can recall vivid scenes of my mom sitting with her task light working on another elaborate cross stitch project that would eventually adorn a wall in our house. She taught all three of her girls this skill, setting us up for a lifetime of creative pursuits.

One of those cross stitch projects was a ‘Mother’s Tree’ — a type of family tree that focused on the mothers, going back four or five generations. It still hangs in my parents’ hallway and I see it every time we visit. While the tree stops after me and my sisters, it’s a tidy gathering of many women who are bound together my one mother after another.

Sisters with our mom and grandma ~ 1986

This past weekend, on Mother’s Day, I was thinking about what my own version of the Mother’s Tree will be. My best guess is a mix of my archival tendencies combined with a commitment to documenting my life as a mother and a daughter. I suppose I have knit together a photographic version of that tree that, while not as tightly bound as the one my mom made, still exists in a meandering way that feels more attuned to the way I operate. Photos in boxes, in albums, in well-organized folders. Stories jotted down in notebooks. Stories still sitting with my mom waiting for me to ask about them.

Becoming a mother and building my own roots of the Mother's Tree

I envision my tree roots continuing to grow; compiling the photos and the stories of my family mothers along the way, expanding on an embroidered example of their names to celebrate the little verses of these special women in my past.

Roots growing. Fast.