So(ul)journ!

We hadn’t thought of Hubba in quite some time, but there we were—thirty-five years later—walking the same paths, through Longwood Gardens. My mother in law decided to take advantage of the loan of a wheelchair for this trip, and I was more than a little surprised at how the familiar setting brought back memories of him. Isn’t it strange how memory works? How a simple act—like pushing a wheelchair—can open a door in the mind, and suddenly, you’re back in another time?

I could almost see him there again, Brittany on his lap, marveling at the lights as we traveled through the gardens. Even his name brings back fond memories.

For most of his grandparenting life, he was known as Gandad, but that changed after Brittany was born. He and my in-laws visited us while Jacki and I were stationed in England. Hubba had a playful streak—he’d grab the back of your ankle, yipe like a small dog, and laugh as you jumped away to avoid “being bitten” again. But what stuck was his habit of calling out to Brittany, “hubba, hubba, hubba!”

For the very young, that phrase may need some explaining. It’s an old-time expression, a sort of cat-call, often accompanied by hand gestures and goofy grins—words of wonder at a vision of astonishing beauty, like the first glimpse of a bride walking down a long wedding aisle. Hubba’s teasing “hubba, hubba” must have tickled Brittany’s young ears because from then on, Gandad became “Hubba,” a name that stuck.

Now, instead of a young child riding along, it was us—grown—navigating the same paths. This time, it was Jane pointing out flowers in the greenhouses. Hubba, the master gardener, and Jane, a lifelong member of her local gardening club, though decades apart from each experience share a love for plants and a knack for passing on their knowledge.

What struck me most about the gardens that day was the care taken to transform something already beautiful—nature—into something even more extraordinary. We all marvelled at ornate Christmas Trees suspended by cables making them appear to be floating in the air. A room

of flowering orchids not to mention suspended balls of orchids and other plants varieties throughout the exhibit.

An impressive new greenhouse that seemed to float on a reflecting pool which mirrored the curved lines of white metal supporting structure and glass.  Creative human engineering wrapped the trees in thousands of delicate lights, giving the out of doors garden an almost otherworldly glow.

It’s easy to forget, amid our busy lives, that beauty often requires work. Someone carefully planned where each light should go, how each branch might carry its share of twinkling weight. I suppose relationships, especially family, are the same. They require care, attention, and a little planning.

With the holidays approaching, I’m looking forward to time with my family. Still, I can’t help but think of my brothers and their families—we don’t see them as often as we can. We need to work on that. I’m grateful for how we’ve managed to maintain a close-knit family with Jacki’s side: her parents, siblings, and their families. I remember Christmases past, when we spent the holiday on the road visiting extended family on both Jacki’s and my sides. Now, like many extended families, we are just that—extended.

I kind of miss those former days. Maybe it’s the lights at Longwood Gardens that reminded me: to cultivate beauty and connection, we need to show up, to tend, and to care if we want our relationships to thrive.

I wish you well this season—however you choose to celebrate—and may the beauty of this time be found in the relationships you nurture.