Yellow

 When my granddaughter was 1 and just learning to associate the sounds we make with our mouths with items and concepts; she recognized all colors as yellow. When she picked up a blue  crayon, it was yellow. When she pointed at her purple shirt it was yellow. When she fed you a plastic strawberry from her toy kitchen, it was yellow. One of my favorite memories of her is the day she applied Crayola Marker “lipstick” to her face, in lovely pink and black. Afterward, she looked in the mirror and happily repeated “yeh-yow”, the pride in her accomplishment twinkling in her eyes. She saw yellow as a theme. It was pretty, it was dynamic and it was everywhere. As I think about it now, I understand why yellow would be her word for color, as to me it evokes a connection with so many different feelings. If my vocabulary was just beginning, it could be a great descriptive tool, like a Swiss Army knife of the spectrum.

 

In the early 2000s, I was in my early 30s. It was particularly challenging time for David and I as we raised our 6 amazing sons who at that time ranged from 3-12. We had moved to Southern California. Away from everyone we considered family and from our “home” Colorado. My husbands job was 90 miles from our house and we had 1 car which kept me home bound.  I had suffered from depression for many years, but this was a time of lows. As I showered one day, i experienced a true inspiration. I know that sounds strange, but as I held the lemon colored bar of Dial in my hand, I suddenly wanted to be surrounded by it. The color of that piece of soap gave me the sense of hope. The bright, cheerful hue reminded me of Spring time, with its baby chicks and daffodils. It was a fresh lemon growing on the tree. It was the warmth of a May dawn, as the sun cut through the darkness of the previous night. It was freshness. It was light and it was hope. I wanted to recreate the shade and paint my kitchen in it. I longed to create nourishing and delicious meals for the family that I adored in the midst of the faithfulness and comfort and joy that this God-given color placed upon my heart. I bought that same version of Dial soap for years to come, long after body wash began to replace bar soap as the lather vehicle of choice.

 

20 years later, I still find hope in yellow. Walking around the park the other day, I could not help but take inventory of the beauty around me. Mid October is a time of transition. One where Summer, gives way to Autumn, gives way to Winter. When Vibrancy and predominant indicators of life, give way to hibernation and scarcity. Everywhere I looked, I found yellow. Yellow in the brown-eyed Susan’s, a thriving reminder of the life that Spring and Summer brought. Yellow in the wildflowers growing amid the drying reeds and grasses near the edge of the pond, a half step between Summer and Fall. I found it in the rays of the sun as they reached through the autumn clouds,  and in the golden leaves abundantly lining my path, which evoked in me the need to toss them in the air and laugh, as a child would. I did this by the way on the sidewalk next to a busy street filled with commuters. I am kind of proud that I was unencumbered enough to give in to that childlike instinct, and be oblivious to how silly I must have looked. 

 

Those leaves are powerful. They are an illustration that life begets death, and death begets life.   Some clinging to the branches of the trees with futility, gaining the last of the nutrients provided by their host before they fall to the ground. Others already shed by the trees in preparation for the harshness of the coming Winter. The trees positioning themselves for survival by conservation. Hibernating, just as a bear does during those same cold months. It reminds me that yellow is a consistent part of the life cycle. A reminder that no matter what season we find ourselves in, there is hope, and encouragement. Even as the leaves yellow and fall, their is beauty in their death, and the knowledge that come Spring, the trees will blossom with yellows and pinks and greens as they show us that they are still here with us, adapting and changing in the ways that they need to, in order to become what they are destined to be. There is a fresh start coming,  lingering in the near future. We have only to hunker down, keeping warm by the golden yellow flames of a Winter fireplace for a few months.  There is a time for every purpose- I think my brilliant granddaughter was on to something. It can always be found in the “yeh-yow” if you look at with the right eye.