On an Afternoon Walk - Wrinkled Lovelies

 

Pittosporum tenuifolium ‘Silver Queen’

 Leaves more lovely as they fade

Precious homosapien ‘Grandparents’

 Faces more cherished as they age.

“Even with all my wrinkles! I am beautiful!.”

~ Sarah Louise Delany, educator

Something Small

Something Small

“Unless I’ve learned something new everyday, I don’t count it as a good day. Might be something so small that no one else notices it.” Grandfather and grandson were in the garden clearing it up for winter. 

~~~~~

“My grandfather was about to give me more of his wisdom of his ninety years. I really never minded it. When I was a teenager, I sometimes got annoyed with hearing the same old stories, but as I got older, I just loved hearing them.”

 “Kind of like when I watch TV reruns and know what the character’s going to say?” Richard and his grandson, Joey, were working on the garden he planted every year. “That’s right, son.” He raked over where they had pulled out all the spent potato plants. “Your grandmother’s going to be happy with all the potatoes we've found.”

“Grandfather! I found another one. It’s really tiny but is that what your grandfather meant?” He held up a tiny purple potato no bigger than the end of the old man's thumb. “Sure is. And if he found one like that, he’d get down on his knees and dig into the dirt to see if there were more. Sometime there wasn’t anything, but sometimes he find one or two more.” Then he’d say  “Alway pay attention to the little guy, Richard. He’s got friends that are just waiting to be noticed, to be looked after.”

“What happened to the potatoes he’d find?” Richard was ready to throw the little potato away. “Why, he’d gather up what he had, take them in the house and your great-grandmother would make a potato salad. And if there were a lot of little ones, she’d cook them up for supper.” 

~~~~~

Quiet settled on the back yard. Only the late summer sun, a junco chirped, and a breeze rustled the drying leaves. The two gardeners picked up their rakes and hoe and put them away in the shed. A spider web was draped across one corner of the fence by the shed. Richard stopped and watched the spider at rest in the middle of the web. In the past he would have ripped it off, paying no attention to the spider. He felt different. “Grandfather, what do you know about spiders?”

“I think it’s important to find the little things 

in everyday life that make you happy.”

~ Paula Cole

Across the Lake

Across the Lake

“You see that big hill across the lake, Tim? That’s where your grandmother and I would take your father when he was quite a bit bigger than you.” Ben Harper and his grandson were on a walk around the lake. They would soon be home and having a hot mug of cocoa with as many marshmallows on top as Tim wanted. “Tomorrow, we’ll get in the car and drive way up there……see those vans at the top.” Ben chuckled. “You’re too young and I’m too old to slide down there,  but you’ll be able to see the city and the prairies from the top. We can walk around there today. The path goes around in front of the bottom of the hill.”  

Tim listened to his grandfather. He didn’t really know what it was, but he knew his grandfather felt something like sadness. Even if he was smiling and tried to act happy. But Tim knew his grandfather was happy. He just shook his head - he had confused himself. “I’m getting cold, grandfather. Let’s go get that hot cocoa. We can come back to the hill tomorrow, and bring grandmother with us.”

“The past is a candle at great distance: too close to 

let you quit, too far to comfort you.”

~ Amy Bloom, Away

Chapter One, Episode 56 - Bees n' Apple Trees - Situationally Theirs

July 01, 2020

Review, Edit and Update:

Bees n' Apple Trees is Dez's first inkling of the challenges she would face in establishing her 'big idea'. She's still excited, but has yet to dig just a little deeper. 

The only change I made was an addition of the description of Dez trying to imitate Samuel's voice when talking to Emmie.

Bees n' Apple Trees

Something that had seemed so simple had turned into a really big job. But Dez couldn’t get the beautiful image Samuel had painted out of her mind. When she spoke with Emmie the afternoon before, it was only to ask if she would approve of supplies for DIY beehive boxes. Dez had been in the orchard on her own before but had never really looked at the apple trees. The trees that would blossom and provide food for her beekeeping project. 

Dez had been a city girl for most of her life. Her grandparents lived on a farm in another part of the province. Dez and Emmie stayed with them each summer in the school holiday. It may have only been two or three summers, but to Dez it seemed like it had to have been each and every summer. Every year she looked forward to helping her grandmother pick peas or beans. She could never pick them as fast as her grandmother. Every year she looked forward to helping her grandfather on the tractor. He would sit her on his lap and let her hold the steering wheel and ‘drive’ the tractor. He rested one big calloused hand on the wheel ‘just to give my arm a rest, little Dez.’ As she got older she knew he was really keeping the tractor from going kitty-corner across the field. Listening to Samuel talk from his storied memory welcomed back all those summer memories. Her city-ness fell from her shoulders and lay among the weeds and grasses growing among the trees. 

That night, alone in her apartment, she opened her patio door. She needed to hear the sound of the wind in the trees and birds in the air as they settled for the night. Sweater on, she sat on her balcony, hunched over her laptop. Consistent through several websites were the basic needs for a healthy bee colony. A good supply of fresh water. A variety of food sources. Limited exposure to pesticides. Not always in that order, or in that wording but always the same. Yes. It would be a big job. A quick email to Emmie confirmed that they meet at the orchard again in the morning. 

~~~~~

“Emmie, I’m really excited about my ideas! We’ll get the trees pruned, and I’ll need a little tractor to cut down the grass, and then I’ll plant wild flowers in the back meadow. Oh, before I do that we have to make sure there’s a water supply near by and…….”

“Dez. Slow down. You’re always the one to tell me that when I have one of my big ideas. What are you talking about? I thought you were just going to get a couple of beehives and take care of bees.”

“Ok” Dez took a deep breath. She barely slept the night before. All her ideas and plans swirling through her head. First it was too much. Then it wasn’t any good because she didn’t have any money to put into it - but she had to check the bank. Then all she could see was apple blossoms, bees and honey. Delicious honey on Cook’s fresh homemade bread. Then it was no good because the bees would die………She finally fell asleep. Bizarre nightmares of giant bees stinging her right through purple beekeeping gear while Samuel was falling down laughing at her. Lopsided beehives buzzing all around her. 

“Emmie, it’s not as simple as all that. You may not want to go ahead with this project.”

“Why not? You get a few bees and a couple of beehives and they make honey. I really didn’t think it was all that complicated.”

“I did get caught up in the story of Samuel’s grandpappy building beehives. When you and I walked out to the orchard, we didn’t go very far inside. I’m grateful that you ok’d the DIY beehives. But, like I said, you may not want to keep going with this. When I went home last night, I looked up what a bee colony would need to be successful. After all, I wouldn’t want you to spend a bunch of money only to have the bees all die. So this is where it gets difficult. First bees need a supply of good fresh water.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. Samuel has talked about a stream at the back of the property. What’s the next thing.”

“The bees need a big variety of flowers. Not just one source. That’s where the wild flowers come in. It’s mostly weeds way at the back where the beehives are going to be. I don’t know if any of the weed flowers are ok. And one other thing - we have to keep pesticides away.”

“We can talk with a beekeeper - remember Matt? He’d know about all that, and Samuel might too. What else.”

“The apple trees. The ones at the front aren’t that old but the ones at the back are. Samuel says they haven’t produced apples for years. ‘Gone stagnant. Nobody takin’ care of them’." Dez dropped her voice low and gravelly. "When I looked that up, he is exactly right. So….and here’s the really expensive part - the trees need to be pruned and any diseased ones taken out.”

“So you need money, equipment and help to clear up the orchard for two beehives. Wow! What would the advantage be to the estate? I suppose a healthier supply of apples. And honey. We may even be able to expand the number of beehives.”

“Are you serious, Emmie? It will cost so much and take so much work!’

“Think about it Dez. What are you willing to do to make this work? Between the two of us, we can map this whole thing out. We’ll need to call in someone to help do it right. But you’d have to give up your job in the city and maybe even move out here.”

Dez was stunned. She was sure Emmie would turn the whole project down. “Emmie, I don’t have any money to help fund this thing.”

“But if you gave up your job and your apartment, moved out here, I would hire you on as…I don’t know….project manager. I wouldn’t be able to pay you much, but if we can make this a viable project....who knows what could come of it. What do you say……Project Manager?

Dez wanted to say yes to the whole thing right then and there. But this was important enough to take some time to think about it. “Emmie, right now I need to go home. Have some supper and sleep on it. I know, right now, what I want to say, but I need to paint right now….That sounded weird but I need to paint. I’ll call you in the morning and let you know.” Dez gave Emmie a quick hug. “I think I can hug you now. I’ll call you in the morning.” Dez turned away quickly. She was sure she was about to cry.

“You can’t make decisions based on fear 

and the possibility of what might happen.”

~ Michelle Obama

Painting Lessons

Painting Lessons

Rising in the morning, I went into my studio. As I stood looking at the old painting, tears streamed down my face and memories flooded from my heart. It was not a particularly good painting because I was only ten and hadn’t been painting long. All the tools an artist needs had been given me by my grandfather. He had painted the original portrait of my mother that I had tried to paint as a child. My grandfather had taught me so very much about life and about painting. We would paint together, our easels side by side. If I wanted a certain colour, grandfather would teach me how to mix up colours to find the shade I wanted. He showed me how to create light, texture and distance. It was always a joy to be with him in his studio overlooking the water. Grandmother brought us lunch and we would sit outside on the patio. There were times when my parents wondered whose house I really lived in. The tears streaming down my face were not only tears of sadness. They were tears of sadness sparkled with the gold of these wonderful memories. Just before lunch, my twelve year old grand daughter would be here. I had her easel set up beside mine and we would be overlooking the sparkling blue water. Her grandpa told me he would have a lunch of tomato sandwiches, lemonade and watermelon for us before we started painting our own memories.

“All you need to paint is a few tools, 

a little instruction, and a vision in your mind.”

~ Bob Ross

A Very Creative Plan

    A Very Creative Plan

Joel sat on the front step of Grandfather’s porch exactly two days after Christmas. He was wondering. What was he wondering about? He was wondering about his new friends and how he could bring them back all the way across the country just in his new red backpack, with his new sketch pad and his new brightly coloured pencils and his pyjamas and ….and…. and…his forehead wrinkled. He turned his cap to the back and then to the front, hunched his jacket up close. 

If he asked his mother she would say - "Now Joel, you know that’s impossible.” Then she would go back to washing the dishes and sweeping the floor. 

If he asked his father, he would say - “Well, buddy, you just remember them but you can’t bring them with you.” Then he would go back to reading the morning newspaper. 

If he told his Grandfather, he didn’t really know sure for what he would say. He knew that his Grandfather would sit back in his rocking chair, pull out his pipe and after puffing on it two times - exactly two times, his grandfather would probably say “We’ll have to think about that.” But what his grandfather did say was “Well, have you thought about putting them in that new sketch pad of yours?”

“But, Grandfather, I only sketch stuff I see all the time like my silver bike or the blue birdhouse by the mailbox.”

“Well, Joel,”  his Grandfather said after exactly two puffs on his pipe “You could ask each of them to lie down on a page and you could sketch around him or her to get their shapes.”

“Oh. …But, Grandfather, Mr. Little is a giant and he is way bigger than a little piece of paper.”

After exactly two puffs on his pipe, Grandfather said - “Didn’t you tell me all your new friends are magic?”

Joel nodded exactly two times.

“Well then, ask Mr. Little to if he can make himself just as big as the page just long enough for you sketch him in his favourite colour. Then draw in his eyes and nose and all his clothes after he gets up. If that works for Mr. Little, you can try the same with Vanessa and with the faeries.”

“Hmm” said Joel after tapping the end of his nose exactly two times. “But then, I’ll just take pictures back, not my friends.”

And so Grandfather took exactly two more puffs on his pipe, rocked forward in his rocking chair and said. “Joel, my dear boy, when they lie down on the pages of your sketch book, they will leave some of their magic behind for you. Your sketches will be their shapes and their colours and with their magic you’ll have your friends with you at home”.

Joel jumped up from the step, turned his cap to the front, and gave his grandfather exactly two great big hugs. He ran into his grandfather’s house for his sketch pad and his brightly coloured pencils. Joel’s friends, Mr. Little the Giant and Vanessa, the Purple Dragon had listened as Grandfather explained their very creative plan to young Joel. Mr. Little was in his rocking chair as tall as Grandfather’s house. Vanessa, the Purple Dragon rested quietly in the gigantic pine tree in front of the house, her leathery wings folded gently behind her. The faeries had a hard time staying still. They wanted to fly around, chittering with the winter robins and lovely brown wrens. They finally settled themselves on Mr. Little’s broad shoulders dusted with snow and on Vanessa’s wide forehead, her eyelashes glittering with frost. Grandfather took exactly two puffs on his pipe and said to his guests  - “Please be careful with Joel's new things” looking pointedly at the faeries. “You have decided which of you will be first? It is a lovely day isn’t it when you can be with the people that love you.” Grandfather smiled, knocked the ashes out of his pipe exactly two times, leaned back and rocked himself to sleep, his Christmas quilt pulled up to his chin.

“A friend is a gift you give yourself.”

~ Robert Louis Stevenson

Silver and Gold

Knowledge is a big word 

heavily loaded with books and data and research findings

until, 

like the pile of books brought home

from high school with homework 

for work at home it becomes too heavy to carry.

But knowledge does not just come from books 

but from what our eyes see and 

our ears hear, 

our senses sense 

as truth or dare

from grandma’s kitchen or grandfather’s knee

from dad’s workbench, or mom’s sewing room

until we know, we just know, 

what is right without looking it up 

on Google or 

in a dictionary or 

in a history book 

to make certain our knowledge is correct.

Knowledge has a silver lining of kindness and understanding

and within it’s centre a soft golden nugget of truth.

“Any fool can know. The point is to understand.”

~ Albert Einstein

As A Child

Potomac River, Maryland, U.S.A.

As a child ~
Political climate was not a curiousity.
But where Grandmother and Granddad lived?
Road trip to Maryland, U.S.A.
Celebration with cousins, aunts and uncles warm memories
Ancestry is the curiosity.

“All that children need is love, a grown-up to take 

responsibility for them, and a soft place to land.”

~ Deborah Harkness, A Discovery of Witches

Desmond the Dragon

This is a story that began from 'There was a legend about the well in the garden' gleaned from the website:  
writing exercises.co.uk

Desmond the Dragon

There was a legend about the well in the garden. Sally sat quietly as her grandfather told her the story. She loved hearing his deep rumbly voice spinning the tale she knew could not possibly be true. The story was that, long ago, two identical wells had been built. No one else in the small town had two wells. Just her great-great grandfather. For people just riding through, it looked as though her ancestor was rich and powerful in the small dusty town. But the real story was that after the first well was completed and the bucket went down in the well for the first time, what was drawn from the well was not water. It was a small dragon’s egg. A great gasp went up when, just as Sally’s great-great grandfather was about to throw the egg back down the well, it began to rock back and forth.  Then cracks began forming on the shell. Tiny squawks could be heard growing louder as the egg shell fell away. The well in the garden became Desmond the dragon’s home. Sally’s great-great grandmother lined the bucket with soft wool and feathers. The little dragon was placed back in the bucket and lowered down just below the edge of the grey stony walls. Desmond grew strong, beautiful and grand. His home, the wooden bucket, became too small breaking apart as he grew. Desmond became part of Sally’s great-great grandparents family, and was welcomed each day in the town square. Children were given rides on Desmond’s broad green back, high in the sky. One day, Desmond had gone for a solitary flight but did not return. He had become painfully aware of how different he was in his family and town. If he stayed with those he loved and that loved him, he would be separate forever. There was no other dragon for him to mate with, to begin a family with, like the human families he had grown to love. And so the legend about the well in the garden and Desmond the dragon lived on in the family lore. Sally also grew beautiful, strong and grand in her own right. She would tell her children and her grandchildren the magical story. The well in the garden remained, with the beautiful wooden sign, Desmond’s name, carved deep just as it is carved in the family memory.

“Legends are best left as legends and attempts 

to make them real are rarely successful”

~ Michael Moorcock, Eric of Melniboné

Behind Closed Doors ~ 1

Behind Closed Doors

An ordinary looking brown box, forgotten in a dusty corner, had been found in a last sweep. The attic had been cleared of a lifetime of treasures. How could this box have been a treasure? The brother and sister looked at each other, sharing the same thought - ‘one more item for the trash’. When they brushed fine attic dust away, curiousity got the best of them. Doors. A tiny brass key hole. The doors opened more easily than expected.

A flood of forgotten stories from their grandfather’s knee poured from within. Sunday..November...30.  The day and date posted across the top, with hidden knobs that turned to the next day and date. The white slate on the inside of one door - “Grandfather wrote lists and notes on there!”  “And look! There’s a drawer at the bottom!” Crisscrossed ribbons inside the other door where a dried rosebud had been tucked. Their grandmother’s picture, a young bride, had been in the little frame above the rose bud. Brother and sister talked so fast their words tripped over each other. Soon they fell silent with their memories and the remembered feelings of waves as their grandfather rocked them in his old chair and spun yarns of his youth.

The siblings had been at loggerheads over the last many years. Coming together over this old seaman’s writing desk had crumbled the footings of their irritations and angers. The walls, while not tumbling down, were definitely unstable. Behind the closed doors of the old box, there had opened an invisible, shimmering picture of their childhood friendships. No key for the little wooden doors, lost in some crevice or crack years before, brother and sister each held a key to their own lives. Could they accept each other, live their own lives, and renew their friendship?

The old writing desk did not go to the trash. Each year, at Thanksgiving, brother and sister’s families met. The ordinary looking brown box was brought out. Stories and yarns spilled from the little desk drawer, the upright slots for letters, the doors, and, of course, every one wondered what happened on Sunday, November 30 long, long ago.

“All stories are true. But some of them never happened.”

~ James A. Owen, The Search for the Red Dragon