On the last Sunday of October, Gramp and I start down the trail behind his house to go for our usual walk. We've been doing this every Sunday since I was 13, we start the walking ritual when it warms up, and stop when it cools down so much that he needs three layers, a hat, and mittens. He never complains about the temperature though, as each Sunday in the fall comes, and we get ready to head out, he just puts on an extra layer. But smelling the air today, I know this will be our last walk of the year.
Today, there isn't a cloud in the sky, just the sun shining brightly down on us, without the cool fall breeze, it would have been much warmer. Every time the breeze picked up, it would throw around the colorful leaves that have fallen off the trees.
The old beaten trail, has been walked for eight years, that I’ve been apart of. What grass that is left on the trail, is laid down, with spots of bare ground peaking through. The bushes that line most of the trail are blueberry, blackberry, and raspberry bushes that make for a good snack when they’re ripe. When they are ripe, Gramp will bring a paper cup with him, fill it to the brim with blueberries, and then excitedly hand it to Gram when we get back. Each time she gets the cup of berries upon our return, she appears to get a little more excited and smile a little brighter. Soon after being handed the paper cup, she eagerly walks into the kitchen to bake fresh blueberry muffins.
As we come to the part of the trail that traces the edge of a big open field along the way, its me that first sees a big doe, and two baby fawns under one of the many apple trees that grow in the field. I choose to not interrupt my Grandfather who is telling me about the latest ‘blonde’ thing my Grandmother has done, since he speaks so softly that he couldn’t scare them away even if he tried. He motions to sit down on the two big rocks that act as a bench, overlooking the field. He suddenly stops what he’s talking about, leans in close, brings up his right hand and points to the little family of deer feasting on the fallen apples. I decided to let him think he spotted them first when a smile comes across his face, and says, “See, there’s nothing wrong with my old eyes. I don’t know what your Grandmother is talking about.”
We decide to sit for a little while to enjoy “one of God’s blessings”, as Gramp says. The two baby fawns dance around, jumping in front of each other to get a reaction from the other deer, but then immediately jump back. When they run, they’re still a bit wobbly, making it easy to be able to tell just how young they are.
The wind picks up for a strong breeze, rustling the trees around us, making the three deer look over in our direction. They stared for about thirty seconds, with Gramp staring back at them, still with a smile. Soon after, the deer go back to their own business, acting as if were not even there. After a few minutes the baby fawns lay down under the apple tree, nestled into one another, probably for warmth.
We finish up our walk at the big, tall oak tree that’s about ¼ of a mile away from where we’re sitting. As we reach it, Gramp places his love-filled, gentle hand in the same spot he does every Sunday, dragging it around the tree as we walk around it to head home for the last time this year.
A piece like this, a vignette, is all about what you decide to put in, what you decide to leave out. It's a delicate production.
ReplyDeleteI mean all it really amounts to is: 'One fall day, my grandfather and I saw a family of deer.'
And that really is plenty, certainly strong enough to hang all the stuff you add about your family, your love, your life, the seasons, aging.
But, as I say, it has to be delicate or else the basic structure is overwhelmed by what's hung on it. So, towards the end, I started rooting for the writer, that you could carry the whole thing off.
I kept saying, 'That's it, Carol, that's the way." But I know the very end is a danger zone. The writer is always tempted to add an extra egg to the recipe. For me, that egg, that one misstep, the one place you were not delicate enough and included unnecessary stuff was in the very last sentence. Two words: love-filled & gentle--they could go without losing anything because all the good material you have already given us make those adjectives implicit.
Apart from that, feel free to pat yourself on the back.