I visited the Wright’s home place this week and am still refreshed each time I stroll through its unkept grounds. Going through each abandoned room, I find where critters have sought shelter. A bird’s nest is the kitchen on the canning shelf at the head of Grandma Wright’s afternoon napping bed. A cat jumping from the roof top happily full from mice that lived inside the old chest of drawers in the back bedroom.
The house seems to be leaning a little more toward the back each year I visit. The fabric covered bricks are still on the floor holding the interior doors open. The floral curtains in the front bedroom still hang offering a dark respite from the hot afternoon sun.
I stand in the spot where Granny’s recliner was and look out the window to watch for an approaching storm. I imagine much was discussed with the Lord in this one spot. My hands start to tingle and I think about how expressive Granny was with her hands. She would grab your knee or glide her hands in opposite directions to clap out an exclamation.
I also linger where Grandma Wright spent her afternoons napping in the kitchen after a big Sunday dinner. If I stay still long enough I can hear her singing a hymn as she drifts off to sleep. My teeth chatter and I remember how Grandma Wright was expressive through her words. I still have taped recordings of her prayers and hymns. What she spoke over her family in prayer still has had a lasting effect today in my life.
Old calendars still hang on the walls capturing the events of their particular year. I consider taking one but then don’t because it would lose its purpose someplace else. A grin washes over my face as I notice the thread spool door knob on a cabinet door. As a kid, I remember, pushing thread spools, my people, in shoes, my cars around the back bedroom. I also remember catching a ride on the big pedal under the old sewing machine.
I walk through the house once more, thinking of past Easters spent eating some dessert with coconut, smelling wild flowers and seeing the beautiful colors of azaleas in bloom. Jennifer and I leave the house the same way it was when we got there. The front porch door was ajar as if saying I’ll always be open to you. We circle around when leaving the house so we are able to get one last glimpse. Granny would always be standing at the door waving all visitors good bye. This time the beloved vegetation took her place whipping through the air by the wind waving their farewells of until next time.
This article reminded me so much of the coffee, pear tarts and conversations of my childhood afternoons spent on my grandparent’s front porch.
I have truly enjoyed reading your story 🙂
Bett, coffee and pear tarts sound divine. Thank you for sharing!