Portrait of a Woman

The last time I saw Ida Mae she was in her mid-90s. Ida Mae was a renaissance woman. She was brilliant on her ranch, in her beloved garden, in the kitchen, with her children, and in her job as the County Clerk for her county in rural Colorado. She was an environmentalist, donating a chunk of her ranch to the county for a park and conservation easement. She was a historian, researching local and family history. She was the bedrock of her community. When we stopped in to see her that day her quilting club was gathered at her tiny house. Every horizontal surface was covered with cloth and pins. Twelve women, ranging in age from the 30s to the 90s, were working together to make quilts for children in the hospital. She was laughing, cheerful as always, teasing my husband about being the only rooster in the hen house. The group stopped working around noon, and assembled for lunch in the kitchen. Someone brought enough quiche to feed 24, and Ida Mae made a giant salad with vegetables and greens grown in the raised garden her son built for her. Ida Mae was the ring master, checking in with everyone to make sure that they were comfortable and well fed, and expertly stoking the conversation. There was a palpable feeling of close camaraderie that I’ve rarely experienced in my own life. That day with Ida Mae resurfaces in my memory regularly.