Summer in the south usually means two things. Random,
glorious thunderstorms and humidity that hovers at the 100% mark. Growing up
summer was my favorite season. Multiple acre-gardens, asphalt that could melt
the skin off your feet, and swimming pools were my trifecta for a perfect
summer day.
And then there is Dot Dot, my 4’11” grandmother, who to most
people probably didn’t seem like much of a threat. However, to eight-year-old
Kari she was a force NOT to be reckoned with. She could wield a fly-swatter in one hand, to correct any
erroneous behavior that might occur anywhere in her household, and at the same
time create the most delicious dinner of home-grown vegetables.
I cherish all the time I was able to spend with Dot Dot
because looking back on those moments it’s where I found myself, uncovered my
roots, and learned about life.
Acre-gardens:
Dot Dot had a green thumb like no one I have ever known.
Anything that she wanted to grow she would. Simple as that. She seemed to
easily coerce the ground into yielding its fruit. I was amazed at the time and
effort that went into having a successful garden. The satisfaction: from seeing
it go from seed to plant and then to plate. I moved along-side her, row to row,
collecting what was ripe for picking. I loved to get lost between the rows of
corn, imagining myself Pocahontas, bare feet kicking up dirt as I hid from
imaginary people chasing after me. Sometimes I would stop and just watch her
work. The simplicity of her hands and fingers working together, to knowingly
choose those ready to leave the vine. It was my secret, my favorite thing to
do.
Dot Dot had a
distinct way of saying my name. Southern. When I would hear the calls of
“Kay-REE” echo between the rows I would gladly surrender myself, happy to be
found and headed home in the Bronco with our bounty.
Asphalt: To the mailbox and back
Asphalt can be a dangerous thing for kids and in the summer
this danger is at an all-time high. Knees, elbows, and dignity all take a hit.
From the inevitable stubbed toe to a bloody palm no part of the body is safe.
My daily job was to collect the mail. Each day after lunch and before Flipper I
would head out to get the mail. Even though I had shoes I refused to wear them
on principle. Summer and shoes don’t go together, not for an eight-year-old.
Walking out of the house and through the garage you meet the asphalt. Close to
the length and width of a basketball court this asphalt is dispersed with tiny
rocks that enter your feet like shards of glass. It pretty much equates to
walking on hot coals. There is a section of smooth concrete that slopes down
into these tiny torments. Now there is an alternate path that runs through the
grass, but what fun is that. The goal was to get to the mailbox and back as fast
as possible and with the least amount of damage to your feet. Sometimes the
goal is not always attainable. My feet found this to be true many times, too
many if I’m being honest. My knees and elbows still carry the scars of clumsy
feet from summers past. Always a reminder that it’s okay to take risks even
though you don’t know where your feet may fall. Just be prepared for
consequences.
Swimming Pools:
In the summer of 1972 my grandparents thought it a good idea
to put a concrete swimming pool in their backyard. Twenty-two years later I
found this to be a wonderful idea. There was a diving board that could send you
to the sun with the right bounce or a drain that could trap you to the bottom.
I don’t really remember a time where I couldn’t swim or
where the majority of my time during the summer wasn’t spent in this pool. Even
blisters couldn’t stop my cousins and I from swimming. We would just put on
socks and jump back in.
The pool is where Dot Dot got creative. Diving toys of all
shapes and sizes were popular and of course as a kid I wanted them all. There
were the plastic rings or diving sticks that were normal or you had the plastic
eggs that had baby alligators inside, those being a little less normal. I was
swimming laps one day when all of a sudden multiple splashes abound and there
was silverware sinking around me. Forks, spoons- both slotted and not- slowly
making their way to the pool’s bottom. Silverware, this was Dot Dot’s creative
solution to everyday pool toys.
It’s hard to believe that February 28th will mark
two years since I’ve said goodbye to Dot Dot. I still remember the last time I
spoke with her, the last time I was in the same room as her, and the very last
time I heard I love you. So much of the person that I’ve become is because of
her. I miss her and I don’t think that will ever change but I’m so fortunate to
carry her with me, from her voice that I hear in certain situations to the
example she left for me to follow. Two years ago on February 28th I
was lost. Lost in grief and hurting for my Gran Gran who was, for the first
time in 65 years, to live without such a precious piece of his life. Found. In
memories I find joy and solace of a full life lived.
