this weekend we remembered our friend and neighbor beverly harrison. bev died back in december, but we waited for springtime to celebrate her life and love together. people came from every corner of the country. I was more than proud to be in the room with such greatness, these people who work tirelessly for justice and love just as courageously as bev did. and I was more than humbled to be asked to share a reflection at her memorial service. here's what I had to say:
when we moved to redbud springs, we really didn't know what we were getting into. we mentioned some of our new neighbors' names to a friend in asheville, and her jaw dropped. "beverly harrison?" she said in awe. "wow, you are so lucky." we agreed on the lucky part, even if our reasons for thinking so were a little different at the time.
my children loved to go to bev's house. we quickly learned to leave the door open, even if the heat was running, so bear and pom and buddy could come and go as they pleased. the kids also learned where the dog treats were kept, and with those treats pom became a little less wary of them. it was our job to bring whatever was blooming in bev's yard inside so she could enjoy it up close. we made haphazard bouquets of whatever was colorful and caught our eye: azaleas and lilac, mountain laurel and rhododendron, plum and cherry blossoms, columbine and phlox. once eric discovered the soil in bev's raised beds was rich and loamy, he asked for permission to plant tomoatoes and squash. he was sure to help bev make the trek out to the garden every few weeks so she could pick her own tomatoes. sometimes it took her quite a while to make the trip from front door to back yard, and she would talk and talk the whole time, as if her pace was set just so she could finish the story she was telling us.
we never left bev's house empty-handed. she bought fruit specifically for jamin and cora's visits, mostly citrus and strawberries. bev would drive by our house and honk from the driveway after a trip to the produce stand. would walk up while she drove home to meet at her place to help her unload groceries. we'd come home with a bag of corn or a jar of pickles she thought we'd like.
I always thought of bev as the queen bee, even before I knew much about the personalities at redbud springs. bev was the only one to live inside redbud circle; the rest of us sort of revolved around her. bev could have a conversation with absolutely anyone and manage to squeeze in all her ideals into that initial conversation. we invited bev to thanksgiving dinner the first year we lived her, only about two months after we moved in. I can remember looking around the table while bev held court. no one there knew her any better than I did, but everyone held her in that same high regard, that same queen bee status.
the week before bev died, jenn called in the middle of supper to ask for eric's help. bev couldn't make it up the stairs at meadowbrook and would eric be willing to come assist? of course he went and then went back at the end of the dinner party to help bev back to the car. he came home teary-eyed, overwhelmed that we are blessed enough to be a part of such a loving community. when he'd helped bev settle into the car, she kissed him on both cheeks and told him she loved him. he hugged sue and squeezed carter, shouted his goodbyes to jenn and gerrie and nancy, and sauntered home full of the goodness that comes from being surrounded by love. he says he is more grateful for that evening than any other moment he shared with bev.
we knew bev for less than three years. we knew her only in the end of her life, and mostly only as her neighbors. we really don't know much about her career or her writing, her lectures or her personal history. but we knew bev more than enough so that when we think of having her in our lives we think, "wow. we are so lucky."
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