Chapter 2: Myrtle and Rose
A new mystery
THE MYSTERY:
My peculiar mother hid things in boxes, secreted under an 18th-century house in the woods, with a stream running through its basement. I opened a box with my grandpa, Elwood Lincoln Baxter, before he passed away at age 95. In it, we found three small porcelain creamer pitchers, a pair of candleholders, and a silver lidded urn.
The porcelain was hand-painted, dating to the 1930s (or so we thought). “This was my mother’s,” Elwood said, marveling to see it again. “My mother painted this.”
Elwood’s mother was named Myrtle. Born in 1884 into a family of 11, Myrtle was one of several sisters named after trees. In the Celtic tradition, trees have their own astrology. Like the stars, they are powerful beings that connect this world to the next, their qualities pulling at us and us through life’s currents.
Myrtle is a holy tree, revered across cultures - it is universally connected to love.
It is called Hadassah in the Torah; it bloomed to announce Aphrodite’s birth, it belongs to Venus, and was carried in every British monarch’s bridal bouquet, including Meghan Markle’s.
The most well-known dictionary of flower meanings is Kay Greenaway’s. In The Language of Flowers,
Greenaway introduces the concept of botanical cryptography—a key to flower codes used for secret communication. Greenaway’s work follows three earlier books that described this ancient, coded language for everyone. The meanings were thought to originate from Turkey, dating back to the fourth century C.E. So, just as the Ottoman Empire was ending in the late 19th century, their (likely, very misinterpreted - I see you , Lady Montague) flower language experienced a revival, helping bashful Victorians express themselves.
Myrtle’s definition is simple and consistent with ancient lore: Love.
My great-grandmother, Myrtle, was more complicated. She left home when Elwood was a baby during the Great Depression to go to the city and earn money to support the family. Her husband, Harry, who came from a Traveler background and lacked an education and proper identification, had stopped trying to find work. Myrtle was my (peculiar) mother’s favorite relative. Ma spoke of her “Grandma Mimi” with uncharacteristic longing.
As a child, I sensed something else when people talked about Myrtle. A gut feeling. Something icy—I’d pushed it away.
The paintings dancing around the small porcelain pitcher were delicate, colorful, and highly varied. I marveled at how her style and color palette changed significantly with each piece. I turned one over and found a signature.
It wasn’t from the 1930’s.
And, it wasn’t Myrtle’s.
I turned another pitcher and discovered it had been hand-painted in China. I heard a rustle within it. I removed the lid and found
A moth.
Its wings shed dust as they beat against the cups’ ring.
None of the pieces bore her signature.
Myrtle hadn’t left home to become a porcelain painter.
“Um, Grandpa?” I said…
I rubbed at the tarnish on the silver urn to find it was engraved with yet another name.
Who was Arena?
What was Myrtle up to?
I went into research mode.
Myrtle
“My mother was in her late forties when I was born,” my grandpa remembered. “I’d see her every now and then. My sisters never recovered from her leaving,” Elwood said.
Records of Elwood’s childhood are sparse. His mom left. He ran wild in the streets. Every now and then, a neighbor would pull him inside, give him a meal, and a bath. He met my grandma at age 15, lied and told the Navy he was 18, and fought in WWII. From there, his life spins wild and fascinating (more on that, soon!)
Myrtle appears in the census. In 1930, she is listed as “Head of Household.” This is unusual at a time when women could not buy a house, get a credit card, or open a bank account without a man.
Stranger still, Myrtle moved to a different house in a nearby big city. She’s initially listed as the sole resident. Then, my grandpa appears as a baby (Elwood, age 0).
Soon afterward, Elwood returned to living and traveling with his father.
Once his name disappears, others are listed as living in Myrtle’s household in the census.
All women, and none are her daughters.
Who were these women?
And what was happening in that house?
more soon…
Next week: We solve the Myrtle mystery.
Enid Baxter Ryce is the author of the books Plant Magic at Home, Ancient Spells and Incantations, The Borderlands Tarot, Field Guide to Fort Ord, and the forthcoming Grace Flows Through You. Her artwork has been exhibited at the National Gallery of Art, the Getty, and the Library of Congress. She’s a professor at CSU Monterey Bay, a fellow of the Sephardic Stories Initiative, and makes her art supplies from plants in her garden. Subscribe for weekly posts on ancestral wisdom, lost histories, and natural art practices.
