March 3 – The morning dawned bright and clear, and surprisingly warmer. Drops fell from the roof of the house outside the kitchen window throughout the day. I encouraged Sarah to take a short walk outside, but she soon tired, and I tucked her back into her rocking chair by the fire with her sewing in her lap. I, however, could not be confined any longer and spent the afternoon walking thought the fields planning my summer crops. The snow would surely prove to be a rich source of moisture for the ground. I felt an itching to begin planting right away, to be out in the sunshine, to feel the invigoration of a hard day’s work. It wouldn’t be long now.
Somehow my wandering drew me back to the west field. I hadn’t really been avoiding it, but still I wasn’t quite sure I was ready for the surging of emotion I might possibly feel. I found myself at the foot of the oak tree. I don’t think I would ever envision this small corner as wasted space again. I touched a branch of the tree and felt all at once the love my Savior engulfing me. His words came to mind. “Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, that he may exalt you in due time: Casting all your care upon him, for he careth for you.” Humble yourself…certainly the oak tree, no, the Humble tree, would be a reminder ever after…
November 8, 1995
The sun was sitting just on the horizon, the sky splashed with pink and purple hues, when I felt the coolness of evening bring me out of my reverie. A slight breeze whispered across my wrinkled cheeks chilling the tears. I lifted my hand off the branch where it rested and brushed it across my face. The last time I had read the journals of Grandpa Jamison, I remembered thinking that this experience with Maggie and the Humble tree, as it was known ever after, was the beginning of change for him—the beginning of a legacy. I suppose I felt such a connection to this bit of history since, in the generations to follow, there were few daughters blessing the Clark family. In my early years, I think it was my name that instilled in me such a kinship to my great grandfather and his family—I was christened Maggie Jamison Clark—quite a source of pride for me, though the last name of Shell had been added decades ago. But as I grew in the challenges of life, even so far as losing my own daughter, it was the Humble tree experience and 1 Peter that had perpetuated the legacy and silently guided my life.
