Storytelling

Envy Attack

I am usually not much troubled by envy. Still, I was savagely attacked a few days ago in the checkout line at the garden center. I was behind a mother/daughter duo with three large wheeled carts of plants, everything from cyclamens to ornamental trees. Don’t get me wrong. I buy my fair share of plants but nothing like this bonanza. I hadn’t been incapacitated by envy at this point. I was busy rubbernecking, admiring their choices and wondering how long it would take to get this garden in the ground.

As I eavesdropped in the checkout line, envy nearly dropped me to my knees. The daughter of the pair, a woman in her thirties told the cashier, “It’s my birthday. Mom’s buying me all this for my birthday.”

Then Mom chimed in. “Now all we have to do is get out in your yard!”

”That’ll be $967.” replied the checker. “What a wonderful gift!”

At that moment, I wished that young woman had a feather up her butt and I had her plants so we’d both be tickled to death!

Andrew and Molly Part 7

img_1779Master Reeve’s bondsman gestured for Andrew and Molly to follow while he bundled their order. He wrapped cord around the linsey-woolsey so it could be packed more easily.  The rest of the items went into a neat paper-wrapped bundle of a weight Molly could manage, talking to the all the while.  “I am Jeffers and bound for six more years.    Wharton seems a hard but fair man.  I hope to see you in town sometimes, or on Sunday when our time is our own.  I wish you Godspeed.”  With that, he hoisted and settled the heavy bundle of yard goods on Andrew’s back and loaded Molly’s arms with her parcels.

The two labored under their burdens as they made their way along the rutted track.  The morning sun was already hot, the air muggy.  Andrew hadn’t gone far before the weight of the pack ate into his shoulders.  He rested his weary back by leaning against a tree a time or two, knowing he’d never get the pack back on if he took it off.  Molly shifted her bundles frequently as she fatigued.  

After a half a mile, they rounded a curve to see the Wharton farm in a stump-filled clearing.  A hearty stand of tobacco took up most of the cleared ground, a patch of corn and a kitchen garden the rest. Clearly, tobacco was the major crop.  Early on, the colony had nearly perished when farmers opted to plant all their ground in tobacco, the lucrative option, rather than food crops. A law was passed requiring each farm to provide a portion of corn to the community storehouse, enabling them to feed themselves, rather than rely on England to import food.

The cabin was strictly utilitarian, a modest one-story dwelling of rough timber, a well in the dooryard.  The garden plots crowded up to the house, no cleared ground wasted.  A rough outbuilding stood to the rear of the house.  The stumps attested to farmland wrenched from the forest.  Andrew got a glimpse of his future beholding the forest eager to reclaim the cleared ground.  Master Wharton would be granted an additional fifty acres each for paying the transport his servant’s passage to the colony, a good deal indeed.  The colony was desperate for cheap labor to work the farms, relying on the indentured and enslaved.  Sadly, only about forty percent of the indentured lived to work out the terms of their service.

Master Wharton was waiting as they walked up.  A gray-haired woman and an emaciated man in his fifties stood with him.  “This is my bondsman, Bartle and his wife Aggie.  They are about to work out their time.  He will be teaching you smithing and your woman will work under Aggie.”  If he knew their names, he didn’t bother using them.  “They will show you to your quarters and get you started after supping.”

Survival of the Fittest: Easter Egg Hunt Stories

Easter egg hunts with my cousins were a lot more like cage boxing than gentle competitions.  I had more than forty first cousins, mostly wild animals and heathens. By the time their parents herded them to the scene of the festivities, their hellions had exhausted them so just opened the car doors and all Hell broke loose.  Exhausted from defending themselves and their babies on the ride over, it was every man for himself.  God help anybody in the way,

The monstrous kids ripped through the house under the guise of needing the bathroom and a drink of water, destruction in their wake, before being cast out into the yard like demons into swine.  Actually, they were cast out onto the other cousins.  We’d get a baseball or football team going, all the big kids on one team, so the little ones never got a chance to bat, or got mowed down in football.  They’d go squalling in to their daddies who’d come out long enough to straighten us out a vague semblance of fairness, often lingering to play a while.

Once the egg hunt started, it was chaos.  It was survival of the meanest. The horrendous kids showed no favoritism between their sibligs and cousins shoving all the smaller kids down, stomping the hands of little ones reaching for eggs. The event was a melee of squalling, battered young ones, and sometimes even a few bloody noses. More than a few times they hurled eggs. My antisocial cousin, Crazy Larry, kept trying to pee on us while we were distracted by the madness.

One aunt in particular didn’t think her big kids ought to have to share at the end of the hunt, even though they’d hoarded a basketful and babies had none.

“They found ‘em!” my aunt asserted, sticking up for her devilish offspring.

It didn’t matter that she’d only brought a dozen eggs to the hunt. She resented the host confiscating her evil progeny’s bounty and redistributing them so every kid got a few, and converting most to the Easter Delight of deviled eggs.

Ah, family.  Better get busy.  I have company coming.  But not Crazy Larry.  He’s in the witness protection program.

Mother’s Garden

Mother is ninety-seven and recently moved to an independent living facility. She has happily transformed her patio into a garden, already. She is at the garden center grabbing plants every time she can finagle a ride. My sister ,Connie and her husband, Tim, built this beautiful garden box and filled it with luscious flowers. They are currently her favorite family.

She is nurturing these beauties along a trellis adjacent to her patio. Mother had a lush garden at her little cottage before she moved here but I do believe she’s gone over the edge now.

Sadly for my budget, I inherited her obsession. I am on my way out now to put out hydrangeas and petunias.

Andrew and Molly Part 5

JAMESTOWN. Female convicts transported from English prisons arriving in Jamestown, Virginia as indentured servants, although often becoming wives in mass weddings with the male settlers: colored engraving, 19th century.

JAMESTOWN.
Female convicts transported from English prisons arriving in Jamestown, Virginia as indentured servants, although often becoming wives in mass weddings with the male settlers: colored engraving, 19th century.

Immediately upon disembarking, Andrew and Molly along with others not already engaged were escorted to warehouse lodgings and given beer and a heartening stew of squash, beans, corn, yams, and meat, their first meat in seven weeks.  

The men and women were separated and instructed to choose clothing from a pile of castoffs before bathing and delousing with some herbal concoction whose noxious odor was helpful in warding off mosquitoes. When the men were led off to be locked away for the night, Molly wept and clung to Andrew, fearing she’d never see him again.  She had no faith in the agent’s assurance that they’d be placed together.  Despite her grief, she slept hard in the deep hay that served as bedding for the exhausted women.  For the first night in months, she didn’t fear assault.

The next morning, the colonists gathered just after daybreak to choose among servants.  Molly, along with the other women, ate a hearty breakfast of beer and bread, made a hasty toilet, and prepared for selection, praying Providence would be kind. As the men turned out, Andrew hurried to Molly’s side.  

As the selection began, the agent presented the bonded, praising their health, intelligence, and skills, real or concocted on the spot.  Some were labeled distillers, others as cabinet makers, or boat-builders.  True to his word, he proclaimed Andrew and Molly must go to the same master.  To their surprise, they heard the agent confide to Master Wharton that Andrew was a skilled blacksmith and that Molly could weave and spin.  

The colonists were legally forbidden to forge their own tools and ironwork, so this would have to be a clandestine operation.  Like most forbidden practices, smithing was made more attractive.

img_1745

Encouraged to think he was engaging a blacksmith and a woman who could weave and spin, Master Wharton spoke directly to Andrew.  “You look right, enough.  My blacksmith will soon work free, but might have long enough to teach you some. Do you think you can pick it up fast?  I’ll not tolerate a slacker.  If you give me your pledge, I’ll take you and your wife.  Should you fail, I’ll sell your bond.”

“I’ll not fail if you take us both, that I swear.” Andrew asserted, looking him in the eye. “I’m no smith and my wife never learned weaving nor spinning.  I’d not have you expect that.  I know farming and she tended dairy and is skilled at butter and cheese-making, nothing more.”

“I have no need of a weaver, just a housekeeper.  I’ll bond you.  You’ll get lodging, food, and a new suit of clothes now and once a year.  You will work dawn to dusk every day with Sunday for worship and rest. Give me value and we’ll have no trouble.”  Their new master strode off to tend his business, leaving them to wait together.

images downloaded from internet

Andrew and Molly Part 4

img_1742The site of Jamestown Colony was nothing like the home they’d left. They’d felt pride in their natal farm though they’d belonged to it, not the other way around.  Born to its manicured meadows, neat hedgerows, and trim outbuildings, its upkeep had been a part of every day.  Born to thatched stone cottages in the shadow of the imposing barns and carriage house, they’d attended the chapel attached to the mossy, old manor house.  They felt pride of place by virtue of family tradition; it was their work and the work of their fathers before them that stretched behnd them.

They were often in need and sometimes Ill-treated, but they had a tie to the land.  Had not fate intervened, their children would have worked and lived as they had.

Jamestown of 1643 was not a welcoming site.  The vessel had tied to a crude wooden wharf.  At the site of the rough timber fence surrounding the town, they didn’t have to be warned not to rush to disembark.  A rutted, muddy trail led into the fort of nondescript houses.  Blazing sun beat down as men in tattered rags, both black and white, gathered to await their turn unloading cargo from below.  Mosquitoes buzzed around their heads and bore down, appreciative of the new blood.  

The humid air was thick with the smell of newly-turned earth, smoke, and manure from the enclosed animals.Instead of fields of grain butting up to hedgerows, unfamiliar plots of large-leaf tobacco stood in large patches outside the high walls.  Lesser squares of corn , beans, and squash clustered around nearby cabins built close enough that occupants could easily reach the enclosed settlement as needed.  

Enormous forests of tall trees pushed up to the farms and fields.

img_1741As they surveyed all that lay before them, the forests were most impressive.  England’s  sparse woodlands could not compare. Though the settlement was raw and unfamiliar, they realized the intimidating forest held the future for those hardy enough to wrest it out.  All they had to do was serve out their next four years to claim their portion, not thinking those same forests were home to indigenous people who’d thrived there for millennia.

 

Images pulled from internet

 

 

 

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Garden

I think a man thought I was trying to pick him up in the garden center yesterday. Like me, he was perusing the bargain plants. When I noticed he’d snagged a magnificent hydrangea, my plant lust kicked in. I fear he thought I was after him, rather than his plants. I merely coveted his hydrangea,not his person. He fended me off by hastily telling me his wife had just loaded his buggy up. Scorned, I assured him I was only after his hydrangea, not him. Fortunately, I found one of my own, so his was safe. It was the fifth one , I’ve been lucky enough to get this spring, hydrangea, not man, I mean.

I have a voracious appetite for plants but must restrict my expenditures in the interest of staying married, I make frequent visits to the markdown area where my favorite garden center typically marks plants down fifty percent, an extreme temptation. This frequently includes overstocks., a true blessing. My landscape plans are directly influenced by these bonanzas. For example, I had envisioned a purple and fuchsia scenario for one front bed but realized I could be equally happy with the numerous showy pots of purple and gold Wave Petunias I greedily grabbed.

I must confess. Plants lead me into deception. I do my best to keep them out of Bud’s direct view till I get them in the ground. I unload them in the front yard so as not to assault his sensibilities as he pulls into the garage. I’m not always in the mood to discuss the landscaping imposes on our budget. I understand it’s perfectly obvious that I’ve bought plants once they’re in the ground but I still practice this pointless subterfuge.

Gardening also interferes with my writing. I can’t wait to get out and get my hands in the dirt in the morning. My mind totally clears as I dig, plant, and ponder where each plant will flourish. Should a plant look unhappy, I look till I find it a happier niche.

For me, gardening is the purest joy.

Freesia
My hidden plants
Hydrangea

Wave Petunia

When My Dog Stole Dentures: A Funny Guest Story

We had an edentulate guest for the last few days. I wouldn’t have otherwise noticed or mentioned this had my little dog not gotten involved. When my guest took her afternoon nap, she opted for comfort and modestly wrapped her dentures in a paper towel and tucked them in her slipper for safe-keeping. Izzy found this fascinating and investigated. He helped himself to the little packet and cuddled up with it in his bed where he hides all his treasures. When my guest awoke and found she’d been robbed, we instigated a search and his prize was confiscated.

How selfish of her!

The Delightful Mischief of a Toddler Next Door

We lived nextdoor to a charming toddler for a while. I believe she got the personality quotient intended for the entire family. Abby and her parents came over for coffee with us one morning. I opened my pot and pan cabinet and gave the tiny girl full access, much to her delight. Armed with a sippy cup of milk, a bowl of vanilla wafers, and a couple of wooden spoons, she set to, making a mess of the cookies and milk stirred into the pots. Her tidy mom was appalled at the mess but we hadn’t had a baby playing on our kitchen flooring a long time, so we enjoyed it.

Abby banged the pots and made a destroyed the snacks. When satisfied with her work, she took a long, hard look at the wooden spoons in her possession. With renewed purpose, she examined the larger spoon, toddled over to her mother and shook the spoon in Mom’s face.

Giving her mom a hard look, Abby gritted her teeth, shook the spoon at Mom, and pronounced sternly,” I’m SICK!” Immediately, she stepped up her aggression, “I meat it!” (I mean it!)

Her mother was mortified at Abby’s mimicry. We didn’t even try to explain away our laughing at the toddler’s behavior. We let her take the spoon home with her, figuring it might even the odds.