Sunday, April 15, 2001
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Sunday, April 15, 2001 |
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Sometimes you have to let people know how you feel By MARY JANE HOLT
She was bending over the sidewalk hacking away with a vengeance. There had been an intermittent light mist since sunrise, but if the rains continued and she ignored the creeping zoysia tentacles, then she knew the grass would take over the path. She stopped chopping though when I pulled into her drive and turned off my ignition. For a little while she laid down her tools. Laid them down just long enough to give me a leisurely walking tour of her yard and garden. Three years it's been now. Seems like only yesterday at times. At other times it's like I've been a Meriwether County resident forever. Of course I know I'll probably never really fit in since I have this tendency to be a bit of a hermit. Shucks, I lived in Fayette County for 28 years and it was about 1990 or so before I began to feel like I could ever really belong. Then we up and left. Wanted more peace and quiet. Had this undeniable urge to get back to nature. To live simpler. To become more at one with the earth. To slow down. So what happened? Three years and I had not stopped. I had loved her yard from day one. Enjoy driving by it several times a week. It has one of the most unique fences I've ever seen. An antique, she told me and pointed to spots where it's starting to rust. She's planning to have it sand blasted and is worried about what the procedure will do to her plants. Ah, those plants. Green names I'd never heard of, would have trouble pronouncing now, and wouldn't dare try to spell, rolled off her tongue like silk. And the biggest titre tree I'd ever seen. She said its fragrance embraces the whole neighborhood some days. The TLC that abounded in every corner of her yard actually reached out to embrace me as we walked. I could feel it strong. I was glad I'd stopped. She invited me back. Mentioned her homemade biscuits and told me about a fellow who dropped by one morning like I did and how he came on in and stayed a while and she served him hot biscuits and butter. I'll be going back. Plus she offered to share plant cuttings with me. Anything I wanted, she said. Can you believe it? The South still lives. I just want to talk to her again. Two days later I was driving west on 54 from Jonesboro back through Fayetteville and I saw the sign again: "birdhouses for sale." It was another yard that had always intrigued me. I turned in. Fay Sharp's husband answered the door. "Who's responsible for all the nurturing this yard has had for the past 20 years or so?" I asked. That would be my wife, he responded. And Fay came to greet me. Once more I got a tour. Wish I knew how to describe to you all I saw. She has little villages all over the place, and bird houses tucked here and there, and a memory garden, and stepping stones on display (works of art, I am talking about here). The lady is a gifted artist! Her dad taught her to lay stone when she was just a young girl. For decades she has used the talent to turn her yard into a little fantasy land. I could only imagine how my grandchildren would react to all the little nooks and crannies. I figured she must have worked in that yard from sunup to sundown forever. But no, she actually had retired from the U.S. Postal Service just a few months back where she had worked full time for more than 25 years. The yard was just a hobby. It and the bird houses and her baskets and serving trays that she paints. And the quilts she sews. And the homemade salad dressing she keeps made up for folks like me who stop by. Oh, yeah, the South still lives. ... I had actually driven past Miss Irene Mathew's house again that morning telling myself once more that I would stop "next time." But next time isn't setting well with me lately. So I had touched my breaks, pulled into the entrance to the quail hunting preserve just outside Gay and turned around. Didn't know her name. Had no idea if she would even welcome me. I just knew I had to thank her for that yard. Just like I had to thank Fay Sharp for the unique and loving touch she has given the landscape she shares with passersby. Folks like Irene and Fay deserve to be thanked. I hope they know how much I meant it.
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