Sometimes a rhyming poem just isn't substance enough to tell the story completely. I have taken liberty to write a few short stories to add to my poetry blog from time to time.
A Point of Contention
Sitting in the middle of a 19-acre property was a small white farmhouse surrounded by fenced pastures where cattle grazed. Framing the house was a set of mature mimosa trees strategically placed on either side of the walkway. When they bloomed, they were beautiful with pink, fluffy pom-pom-like flowers. These mimosa trees were a point of contention between my maternal grandfather and grandmother. My grandmother did not choose these trees and despised their existence while my grandfather enjoyed their beauty. The trees weren’t that close to the house but placed in-between the flower beds surrounding the porch and the flower beds lining the edge of the yard. These flower beds were my grandmother’s pride and joy. She worked on keeping them watered and weed-free, and often cut bouquets for everyone she knew. Her hatred for the mimosa trees were somewhat valid, after all they are regarded as invasive and create a lot of debris from their blooms and seed pods. They produce considerable amounts of unwanted seedlings that pop up all over the nearby grounds. I’m sure they were constantly springing up in my grandmother’s flower beds. She wanted to cut the mimosa trees down, but my grandfather said absolutely not! As a child I remember my grandmother grumbling about those trees and her distaste for them. She couldn’t, however, win the battle of opinions.
These trees were great for climbing, and as youngsters we frequently
climbed up into their branches. The
branches were low to the ground, easily within our reach and sturdy enough to
hold us. One summer afternoon, while my
grandmother was busy going about her daily chores, my cousin and I climbed up
and found a bird’s nest tucked into the crook of the tree. We immediately ran
to our grandmother and told her that we needed a box. She was not too pleased with our request but
handed over an old Saltine cracker box to us.
She never questioned why we needed it.
We returned to the nest and removed it with a single baby bird that was
resting there and placed it in our box.
As we carried the box around, offering the baby bird different forms of
food we thought it would like, grandmother noticed our activity. She asked us what was in the box. When we showed her, she was not amused. “Children”, she exclaimed, “what have you
done? No. no. no. You can’t remove a baby bird’s nest! It needs its mother.” She marched us back to the tree where we
found it. She got up in that tree
herself and replaced the nest where we showed her it had been. She dusted her hands off on her apron and
looked at us with a loving sternness. “You
children need to find something else to do!”
Well, when I turned 20 years old in 1980, my grandfather
died suddenly of a heart attack. He was
only 74 years old, and my grandparents had been married over 50 years. One of the first things my grandmother did as
a new widow was to have the mimosa trees in the front yard cut down. It stands out
in my mind so vividly. She respected his decision reluctantly while he was head
of the household, but as soon as it was her decision to make, she took matters
into her own hands! She was determined to have her way. She lived on for 27 more years after his death. She died in 2007, just shy of her 98th
Birthday.
Tammy Harvey
Written: 11/21/2022
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