Willow’s Story

I mentioned earlier that I met a young woman named April, and in writing, also referred to a woman I met named Willow. I saw Willow today.  I see her on occasion because she works in the community. When I first noticed her name-tag, oh say, three years ago, I thought, “how unique!”  I notice names, and inevitably pry into why a person got his or her name, but didn’t ask Willow the first time I met her, nor the second, nor the third.  The name took time to settle into my psyche, and finally, today, when I saw her, I wanted to know the story behind her name, so I asked, “Why is your name ‘Willow?’

This is what she said:  “My parents were hippie types who lived in the Woodstock Valley.  Tree huggers that lived off of the land, a custom my dad still practices today, in the same place.  They did everything the natural way, when I was growing up; kept a large garden, split their own wood, and canned all the vegetables.”  Willow continued;  “When I was born my parents deferred to my grandmother for help in naming me.  Grandma was an Algonquin Indian born on a reservation, not full blooded herself, but married a full-blooded.  (Willow has blond hair and blue eyes so the story of the Native American background was a bit surprising.) When I was born grandmother said, ‘you shall name her “Willow” after the beautiful willow trees whose branches reach for water in the stream, and so “Willow” I was named.  Along came my other sisters, and they were also named with respect for Mother Nature.  One is “Rainy,” and other “Dawn.””

And so the story goes.  It’s almost a fairy tale.  I loved the story.  I hope you did too.

The End

By Tiffany Creek

April, in April

I met a girl, or a young woman, I should say, this April.  She checked me out at the grocery store, and as she did so, I noticed her name.  “April!”  I thought, I’ve never met anyone named “April” in April, before, and I told her so.  She said she was born on the 30th of April, and that’s how she got her name.  It happened again, a woman named “Willow” crossed my way, yesterday. She didn’t say how she got her name.

I happen to like names of people, for months, or flowers, or even trees.  There’s May, June, Julie for July, and Augusto, for August.  Not sure if I’ve met anyone named September, October, or November, December, January, or February, either.  And never March! Tuesday I’ve heard, and Summer, as well. Rose, Ivy, and Wishing Well.

Seems a Victorian custom, to me.  Then, the Industrial Revolution came.  You don’t come across anyone named Brick, Cement Mixer, or Hammer, or Nail, or Screw Driver, for that matter.  Now in the 21st century, you never meet anyone, named, Hard Drive, or Soft Ware.  What will the future bring?  Mother Nature still rules the Universe.