The Ggma Chronicles, Part 13: Miracle of Love
Explosion and Roses
The following was written by my maternal grandmother, Alice Green-Kollenborn (1911-2005). The explosion referred to occurred in 1959. You can read more about it here, here, and here.
We had traveled far that day, my son, two daughters, and our English Pointer, Peggy. It was August 7th with a temperature of 110 humid degrees.
Having left old friends and loved ones behind, we were all feeling a little unhappy and sad to be leaving the place we had called home for ten years. We turned on the car radio to break the monotony and perhaps hear some cheerful music; what we heard was the news of a terrible explosion that had torn Roseburg apart. This small Southern Oregon town had suffered many casualties and was still counting as they dug victims from the ruins. To say the least, this did nothing to boost our morale. To add to our woes, our old Chrysler, overburdened with a bulging overloaded U-Haul trailer, was protesting by huffing, shaking, and wheezing.
We pulled into the first filling station we came to, which was a humble little country roadside junction where we could fill up with gas, give the disgruntled motor a chance to cool off and catch her breath before going farther.
Sprawled on a grayed trellis behind a weathered picket fence, bloomed the most brilliant red roses I ever saw. Inside this small enclosure seated on a worn wooden bench was a tiny fair-haired child, possibly four years old. She smiled up at a frail snowy-haired old gentleman seated beside her.
Tossing her golden curls away from her delicate face,s she slid from the bench and carefully picked four red roses. With blue eyes aglow, she skipped eagerly to the edge of the fence and shyly, without a word, made her offering—one red rose to each.
Tripping happily back to the bench, she lovingly clasped the old man’s withered hands tightly in her tiny palms.
Suddenly the humid air felt cooler and the world seemed much brighter as I pressed the fragrant soft petals against my wind-burnt face.
As we pulled away from that humble little station on that unforgettable day, we all turned to wave to the beaming child and kindly old gentleman. Everyone was smiling. A small child had performed a miracle that day—with one red rose!