It was a summer of pitching hundreds, thousands! of BIG! melons
around wilson county
sweaty, muscle-soring, tiring work
with black folk Bobby Ray Williams and Charlie Brown
work- and life-experienced but very playful …
and so much fun!
we slammed our fists into many of the perfectly-ripe
red-meated berries
and partook of the delicious aroma, taste,
and juices and sustaining fruit
of their hearts
the real heaven of it all
was in the evenings and nights and mornings
in grandma martin’s, ms. eva’s tiny home
and wonderful peace
which i rarely had in a crowded household of eight
back off 173 near devine town
no cow to milk
animals to feed …
to load for market
pigs to castrate
screwwormed wounds to doctor
garden to tend
careless weeds to pull
fence, waterlines, and sheds to build
dad’s work lists with which to deal
brothers to fight …
mornings and evenings and weekends …
before going out into the world
just peace … peace … peace
lovely peace
and thoughts superficial and deep
solely within self
or between grandma and i
soft sounds and soft light of night
i could gently focus and be attentive to …
the wind
the songs of cicadas and crickets
sauntering steps taken down the street outside
quiet conversations
a dog barking
some chickens disturbed
in the little village of stockdale, texas
cool air settling over me
in the soft comforting bed
at a window in the little room
which was now mine and mine alone
taking in the amazing smell
a clean earthy smell
on sundays especially
i ate the moist morsels
of grandma martin’s quickly-made cakes
from scratch
wheat flour, baking powder, salt, sugar
eggs, milk, oil and vanilla
never exactly measured
just delightfully thrown together
baked
and then iced …
with a lovely simple mixture
of sugar, vanilla, butter, lemon, and a bit of cream
this special grandmother-dessert
went well with her iced tea
topped with sprigs of peppermint
freshly plucked from a vigorous plant of hierbabuena
always growing at the base of her faucet
just outside her back door
the early part of the evenings
were filled with very blunt but colorful
eye-opening and mind-expanding stories …
of my blue-eyed paul newman of a dad,
the wonderfully wild hard-drinking and heavy-smoking
great aunt fannie lou
grandma’s sister
who lived nearby in a trailer home
aunts estelle and lora
uncle pee wee, cuz george junior,
and my namesake
clark gable look-alike, uncle bain–
killed in germany in 1945,
not far from mom louise kneuper’s roots
near the koblenz rhine
……………
“mix in some beer and song and pretty girls
and your dad alton
later a marine at peleliu
was hell on wheels
but bain
who tried to dodge being drafted during ww II
was more likely to start crying in his drink
he a great horseman
your dad would prefer to walk
different
but they were loving, tight brothers those two
in peace or in a fight
and they frequently communicated via mail
across the oceans
even in the terrible War
in the years just before you were born!”
…………………..
sweet memories of smells and sounds and visions,
and life-enduring, life-enhancing stories,
and of peace,
and of a real home seventy miles from home
for a summer
with ms. eva, grandma
in 1959.
pbm
( 7 S’s / VV->^^ )
*Another grandma poem from a brother:
