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A coincidence — three friends having birthdays in the same month — has grown into an annual get-together, 20 years running, that has helped affirm and deepen their friendship.
An annual tradition took place last week.
It was Lois’ turn to host. She and Anita and I met at the city park in Halsey and settled ourselves on comfortable lawn chairs. Lois set a large Igloo cooler on the ground and covered it with a colorful piece of quilting fabric. Then she served us little bowls of a healthy trail mix and glasses of an icy, refreshing infused water with crushed mint leaves, lemon slices and a hint of sugar.
The three of us have been celebrating our birthdays for almost twenty years, getting together to catch up, sip tea, exchange gifts and talk. Lois and I are sisters-in-law and the same age. Anita is a neighbor and relative, and 11 years older. All of our birthdays fall in the last week of June.
It began as a typically impulsive idea of mine one summer soon after we moved into our house, next door to Anita’s. Why not invite Anita and Lois for an afternoon tea to celebrate our birthdays? We had a delightful visit and decided we should do it again the following year. We could take turns hosting.
A tradition was born.
We carve out time in the middle of harvest, setting aside a bushel of responsibilities to rest, reflect, nibble and sip. We have had to consider farm schedules, weather, travel and emergencies, but every year, we made it work.
When it’s her turn, Anita lays an elegant spread on her dining room table, complete with fine china, lace, flowers and a pretty home-baked cake on a stand. She often includes home-grown raspberries and hazelnuts.
We are all good at talking. Our record, set two years ago on my porch, is seven hours.
I set a table on our porch and aim for a casual but welcoming look, with a vintage tablecloth, a bouquet of daisies and hydrangeas scavenged from my flower beds, a pot of hot Kenyan tea, little sandwiches and buttery cookies.
And Lois sets her glass carafe of iced tea on a cloth-covered cooler in a park, preferring thoughtful offerings with a minimum of fuss.
While our personalities range from blunt and practical to sentimental and refined, we have much in common, such as relatives, farm life, grown children, our Christian faith and an unusually welcoming view of growing older. Anita, especially, embraces the years and who she is becoming. Lois and I try to follow her example, with gratitude for what the years have taught us and honesty about how much less we care, compared to our younger selves, what other people might think of us.
We are all good at talking. Our record, set two years ago on my porch, is seven hours.
This time, we discussed our children, a bit of politics, farming, books and Lois’ recipe for a simple ramen noodle dish that makes a hearty dinner for the family. We shared news of people we know, but didn’t descend into gossip, most of the time.
I exclaimed that Anita’s purse looks just like the black handbag that Queen Elizabeth always carried, and we laughed. Then we laughed even more when we took a group selfie. Lois and I insisted that Anita, with her large hat, looked remarkably like the queen. Anita was dubious.
As always, Lois brought a bag of secondhand books for gifts, mostly classic novels. I chose one by Jan Karon. I gave the others birthday cards full of words about how much they each mean to me.
When it was time to go, we gathered lawn chairs, purses and the Igloo cooler. “Next year it’s my turn,” I said, and we left, nourished by empathy, tea and conversation.
“You’re so lucky to have a tradition like this and friends like that,” people have told me. I recognize the gifts of geography and time and resources that make it possible, not to mention living in the same place for many years. But I also know that friendship can come out of tradition, rather than the other way around.
You don’t need fine china or a front porch to begin a birthday tradition, I tell the envious onlookers. A kitchen table will do, covered in a tablecloth or maybe a scarf from Goodwill. So will a cooler, draped with cotton fabric, in a shady park. It’s the extra effort that makes it special. Hot water, mugs and tea bags from WinCo, if you wish, or icy water on a hot day. A few people with birthdays close to your own, even those who might not seem like friend material at first glance. Birthday cards with nice notes inside.
Get together, sip and talk about what the last year has taught you. Wander down rabbit trails of conversation, affirming everyone’s experiences and laughing a lot. Lose track of time.
Look at your watches and exclaim how fast the afternoon has passed. Finish a story as you gather your bag and tuck the cards inside.
Most importantly, decide to do this again next year.
Before you know it, you’ll have a longstanding tradition that you wouldn’t miss for the world.