.295 | to Nana, from Michael
Terra, in Portuguese, means earth, making it the most apt of maiden names for my maternal grandmother, Ana (who to me has always been, and always will be, Nana).
Deeply devoted to planting and gardening — all things terra — Nana has taken her life from a childhood in a remote village in northern Portugal to raising seven children in Hartford, Connecticut, and now, quietly nestled in a retirement village in coastal Florida. Given her green thumb and the fact that I was her only grandchild for several years before a raft of cousins came along, it's no wonder my earliest memories of spending time at Nana's home are flooded with the scents, the sensations, the flavors made possible by her love and her dedication to terra.
The perfume of lilacs and hydrangeas lining her driveway, gently welcoming me before I even arrived at her front door.
The cool shade underneath the rows upon rows of trellised grape vines in her yard, prized real estate on hazy summer afternoons as much for the sweet fruit I plucked from their ranks as for the protection from the sun they offered my pale skin.
The verdant vegetable gardens that thrived under her and my grandfather's care, feeding dozens of family members with abundant produce for more than two decades of summers.
The lemons she would slice for our afternoon tea, the bounty of trees she nursed from a handful of seeds.
Everything Nana cares for flourishes — plants, children, cats, and, for forty-two years and counting, me.
Her life — a narrative of devastating childhood tragedy, authoritarian oppression, transatlantic immigration, and decades spent tending to family, Queen Ana the respected matriarch — showed me that to live is to surrender yourself to a boundless journey. And knowing how many hardships and sorrows life presents to us, why not make that journey one of fulfilling beauty and grace?
The constant curiosity she instilled in me as a child fueled a yearning to discover how beautiful that adventure could be. From blossoming gardenias to fresh Portuguese Easter bread, from Bach suites to Picasso's Blue Period paintings, she introduced me to the nature, art, and music that showed me the power of aesthetics to transform how we experience of life.
For more than a year, I've been at home and tending to my own plants, savoring freshly baked bread, and listening to a lot of Bach. I've created a verdant oasis, a place of solace and intimate beauty, where nature and artistic beauty reign supreme. And through every one of those actions — each plant watering, each allemande and sarabande gracefully danced across a cello's strings — I've discovered new dimensions to my gratitude for my Nana.
For her modeling a life composed of tender care, considered thought, quiet grace, and natural beauty. And for her showing me that growth and renewal are two of life's constants — both in and out of the garden.
Thank you, Nana. Amo você.