Margaret Smith

I only met Margaret once, at a community fundraiser. She was running the bake sale table and we got to talking. She told me about her life, her family, her love of books. By the end of our conversation, I felt like I'd known her for years. She had that gift. I bought three pies that day and every one was delicious.

Grandma taught me how to garden. We spent so many summer afternoons in her backyard, hands in the dirt, talking about everything and nothing. She knew the name of every plant, every bird. When I bought my first house, she gave me cuttings from her garden. Those plants are still growing in my yard today.

Mrs. Smith was my neighbor for thirty years. When my wife passed away, Margaret showed up at my door with a casserole and didn't ask any questions. She just sat with me. For months after, she'd check in on me, invite me over for dinner. She never made me feel like a burden. That's the kind of person she was.

Margaret and I worked together at the library for almost twenty years. She had this way of making everyone feel welcome, especially the kids. She started the summer reading program that's still running today. I remember her spending her own money on prizes for the children because she wanted every kid to love books as much as she did.

Mom had this tradition every Sunday morning - she'd wake up before everyone else and make her famous cinnamon rolls. The smell would fill the whole house and we'd all come stumbling down to the kitchen, still half asleep. She'd have the coffee ready and we'd all sit around the kitchen table together. Those Sunday mornings were the best part of my childhood.