Francis is an important saint for me.
The first church I chose and belonged to as an adult was St. Francis, College Station. The lessons we learned from Francis in that parish were many. We had a vegetable garden and a food pantry and an amazing intergenerational community.
In 1996 I was fortunate to be able to visit Italy, and a trip to Assisi was a hallmark for me.
And, I have two St. Francis statues in my yard.
This Francis lived in the back yard at my Gramma Beth and Aunt Etta Jane's house in Houston. It's at least 35 years old. I have no idea where they got it or what the story is. This Francis toppled over once and broke in half. Ken fixed it with epoxy. I see this statue out my bedroom window each day. I love how he is looking up.
This Francis was given to me by my friends the McLeans (who I knew at St. Francis Church). They were moving away and could not fit him in. This is the figure I'm more accustomed to seeing in other gardens. The shredded green stuff at his feet is what a squirrel makes out of a bois d'arc / bowdark / Osage orange fruit:
I like to think this is their offering to him. But, really, they are just making a mess.
Maybe.
