Lost and Found

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 28^th 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 28^th 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.