In 1982 after a tough winter in La Honda - a winter of wild storms, landslides, road closures, endless rain, power outages, a tree crushing my neighbor's house - at last the rain stopped, the wind stopped, the roads opened, the power came back, the trillium bloomed, and my third child was born.
The trillium. I'd never noticed them before. Suddenly they were everywhere in the forest around us, exquisitely scented, deeply sensual, lovely. And 3 days after the trillium arrived, Barb went into labor. It was a home birth, but not at our home. The pregnancy had been complicated; we lived too far out in the boondocks; so when she went into labor we gathered at another house that was just a few minutes from Stanford Hospital should the need arise.
Fortunately, the birth went smoothly. Our two kids watched while Doctor Don, our hippie obstetrician, did his job. That's Doctor Don in front:
After the long winter, the difficult pregnancy, a healthy boy:
The two older kids - and you can never be sure this will happen - welcomed him to the house:
In my mind, every year when the trillium arrive, I think of birth.