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The sun is bright, brassy and hot,
Higher in the mid morning sky than the chicken-hawks
Circling, and gliding effortlessly overhead.
Here she comes down old 2 lane Route 8
Eye piercing glare reflecting a splash of light
Off of the chrome trim on her black 1940s Mercury.
Aunt Annie stretched TALL and GRAND against the horizon
She moved like a Macy's day parade cartoon character
Sailing along, floating high above us little people.
Aunt Annie, who was 96 yrs old and loving life,
Had just stopped by the old country log house
Taking a break from her door to door Mary K cosmetics sales.
The log house, owned by my grandparents,
Was already 200 yrs old and a historical landmark of
Old Middlesex Township, not far from Glade Run dam
There she stood, like a sapling, all 6 foot of her;
Ramrod straight and skinny as a pole.
I loved her poofy soft hat with brim and daisy flower.
Aunt Annie wore a black dress with
White polka dots all over and a white lace collar,
Accompanied by black calf stockings and deck shoes.
I could not detect any make up other than a little circle
Of dark maroon/purple lipstick, and a black beauty mark,
Or was that just a large mole?
Then it happened, just like before, here came that giant smile.
The tree bent down low and kissed my cheeks.
Ouch, Aunt Annie's kisses were like
Smooching with a hair brush,
As I encountered the black whiskers on
The lower part of her perpetually happy loving face.
Aunt Annie had arrived, survived and triumphed over a tragic past
Her faith in God and man undiminished.
She was here embracing life in the singing countryside
Still driving and working every weekday.
Aunt Annie's closest relative and dear friend Lovey
Had died of consumption (T.B.) when they were young teens.
As a young woman, Aunt Annie, with her friends and cousins
Had all gotten together and played the forbidden Ouija board.
She and her fiance' were informed in one session that he would die soon.
Aunt Annie's intended was killed a few weeks later in a car accident.
The Ouija board was quickly disposed of in hastily built fire.
She stood there like a great dandy Sunflower,
Bringing her goodness to us all, changing the faces
Of Adults, elders and children alike
With the radiating energy of her joy.
The mockingbird called,
And the pussy-willows swayed above the swamp grass -
Behind the log house just below the hill topped by woods.
The wasps and bees kept to their business of flowers,
And nests in the eaves and trees.
The ground was black with richness and moisture,
Topped with knee high thick wild flax, wheat, oats, and barley
Mixed up in grass, milkweed, goldenrod, mustard plant and weeds.
Dogs barked off in the distance and
A howl came from somewhere far off in the woods.
Up atop the grassy field beyond the garage
To the right, as one looked down from the road,
I could hear my cousins voices coming from the pool behind their home.
My sister and I thought their mom, and our aunt, Theresa
Might be a witch and so we were mostly afraid to go there.
Aunt Theresa was married to my uncle Joe the artist and photographer.
Uncle Joe had seen his share of struggles with polio as a teenager,
And with the bouts of disappointment that came with it,
As well as the struggles to become a professional,
To be able to earn a living in the mysterious world of art.
The one time I did go to their house, aunt Theresa made us kids
Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with milk
But, she didn't seem all that happy about it, so I kept an eye on her.
A little ways further up the road as it curled to the right and crested,
Teenage boys worked on a tractor-trailer truck engine.
You could hear their voices as well.
It was amazing the way sound traveled in the country.
Grandmother, whom we called Mimi,
Said that a recent paving of the road had ruined the well water.
I couldn't tell as it always tasted strange to me and one never knew
What might come out of the faucet;
Last time it was a big black spider that scurried away under the sink.
While out exploring the side of the garage, I found a few dead cats.
I ran to tell my grandmother about it.
Mimi, I asked, what happened?
Dogs got em. she responded.
Why? I asked once again. W
ell I guess that's just what they do.
They get a cat and shake them by the neck until they're dead.
Mimi didn't talk much, and certainly not to children.
She was always kind and nice to us,
But there was a sadness about her.
She had been a woman of high society in her day.
Mimi had traveled to New York as a girl to hear Caruso sing,
And traveled by ship as a teenager to London, Paris and Italy.
Mimi had started her own cosmetics manufacturing company
Selling creams that cost .25 -.50 to make, but sold for $25. -$50.
I asked her why they were so expensive and she responded
Calmly that when she had tried to sell them at lower prices,
They didn't sell. People seemed to think that low priced cosmetics
Could not be of a very good quality or of any real value.
Mimi had shot a bear while hunting with her father at age 14.
The bear's head and coat lay beneath a Steinway baby grand
In the living room of the log house.
I would lay down next to the bear and
Make a fearful study of his fierce eyes and teeth,
Or alternately pet his fur and talk to him like a pet.
There were glass cabinets filled with red French crystal,
Limoges dishes and chests topped with decorative plates from Vienna
Filled with silverware, next to a grandfather clock and
Man size floor lamps of velvet and plaster from Venice
Situated on either side of the rarely used fireplace.
Antique furniture from Italy filled the house
Old dark paintings, and pictures lined the walls.
Like in the story books, the old log house seemed
Much bigger on the inside then it looked from on the outside,
Also, the air seemed fresh and cool inside, instead of musty and dusty.
Mimi warned me
don't get your fingers near the mouse traps,
But I didn't listen, in my search for lost treasure
I would find my little hands in trouble when reaching behind things.
Don't go into the woods, she told me, there are wolves in there.
I couldn't get myself to quite believe that,
But perhaps I believed just enough, because I stayed out of the woods.
Mimi never came out or went anywhere without looking sharp
She always wore a beautiful print dress of modest color.
Mimi carried a matching handbag and formal shoes.
She had fox and ermine stoles, dazzling jewelry,
And the most fabulous hats with peacock, ostrich and pheasant feathers
Made almost exclusively in various parts of Europe
And yes, she often wore an apron as well.
Across the road lay Mr. and Mrs Boyle's acres.
Mr. and Mrs. Boyle had been good friends of
Mimi and Baba's (grandfather's) for many, many years.
Mr. Boyle took my hand and led me through seas of green clover,
Shin deep for as far as the eye could see; nothing but beautiful clover.
Mr. Boyle would reach down and pick up a sprig of clover.
As we walked on, he'd do it again, one after another, and so on.
He showed them to me and explained that every day
He would find some of the rare four leafed clover.
Sure enough, when I looked
All of the clover he had picked had four leaves.
Mr. Boyle how'd you do it? I asked.
Well, they say four leaf clover are good luck,
So I guess it's just good luck, and good eyesight,
He said, as he glanced down at me with his
Red cheeks and round nose, boyish face,
Combed back white hair, and thick black-rimmed coke bottle glasses.
I loved his white short sleeved button down shirt.
Mr. Boyle wore black suspenders, dark gray pants and shiny black shoes.
He always seemed dressed up,
As if the clover field was a place of worship,
And he was there to pray and sing songs to his maker.
Were these farmer's clothes I wondered?
There was a mysterious little white house on Mr. Boyle's acres,
Like something out of a fairy tale, big enough for 2 people.
He showed me inside and I was surprised to be greeted by
Dark cool air, Mr. Boyle pulled on an unseen string
And voilà, in a blink of an eye, there was light.
As I looked down I saw in front of us a little white picket fence.
Looking past it, I was surprised to find a pool of deep clear water.
This is our well. He said. It's where we get our drinking water.
Then Mr. Boyle reached out and retrieved a large metal ladle
That was hanging from the ceiling and with his other hand
He pushed down on a large metal lever and
Pumped some water from a boy sized spout
Shaped like an upside down J into it's cup.
The spout and lever were attached to a metal post
That came out of the ground next to the well.
Taking it from him I drank it down.
Boy, this was way better than my grandparents well water.
I thanked Mr. Boyle and we left the little house.
Mr. Boyle was what the grown ups in those days referred to
As an "Old Timer." If there was one thing those old timers
appreciated more than anything else, it was a pump
And a ladle full of cool fresh well water.
Everywhere one went, during the hot summer months,
Among friends and sometimes strangers,
One could expect to be offered a metal ladle brimming
With what one needed to quench a powerful thirst
On those blistery, humid summer days.
Back across the road I heard some squawking
I arrived to find that my Grandfather, whom we called Baba,
And my father were making efforts to prepare our dinner.
Off came his head with the help of a little hatchet.
I wondered out loud, how does it keep running around
Like that without a head?
My father made a joke and then explained that
It was just a last gasp of nervous system response,
Like a spasm or something and somehow I understood this.
Don't ask me how, I was only 6 or 7 at the time.
Baba would take me out in one of his vehicles,
One was black and the other one was red, twins
Big Chevys or Caddys? low to the ground
With 2 doors and big fins on the back
Capped with space age looking red lights,
And a slight bulge on the trunk lid where a spare tire was hidden.
It reminded me a little of a grown-up's tummy.
They seemed to hum when he drove them on
Over bumps, through the grass and up in the fields.
We stopped at what seemed to me a towering tractor
I was a little afraid of the thing, but it just stood there
Like a big green monolith frozen in time.
Baba poured some of what he called corn alcohol
Down into a hole that a rag had been stuffed in earlier.
It had a strong awful smell that I found hard to tolerate.
Would you like to ride? He asked. Sure I would, I said.
Baba helped me climb up to where I could,
Then he lifted me up further and onto the seat.
He had his overalls on with his work gloves, and boots.
Baba seemed to be the only person out here who dressed
Appropriately for the occasion of farm and land work.
Chug chug chug sputtered the engine, and we jolted forward,
Baba driving with his arm around me, making sure I didn't fall off.
What a pleasure to ride up so high on the rumbling behemoth,
Me surveying the world, waving at the cars and Baba grinning with delight
We could hear the swish as the tractor passed over the tall grass.
The tractor would occasionally stall and Baba would fiddle with the clutch.
We went passed an old blackened wood frame and I remembered
That Mimi had told me about how she and Baba had to have the fire department
Burn the chicken coop to the ground when it became infested with lice.
Baba liked to read his New York Times on the sun porch of the Log house
With a cup of coffee, a pack of Pall Malls and a flyswatter
Swoosh ssslap! 1 fly. Swoosh ssslap! 2 flies. Swoosh ssslap! 3 flies, and so on.
Little ones, green ones, red ones and big black ugly biting horseflies.
If the country had too much of anything dead or alive, it was flies.
Baba would look down at me with his knowing spectacled eyes
Then holding out two down turned fists he'd burst out with - Guess
He made sure that I always guessed right, turning over his fist
His hand would open up to display a quarter in his palm
Wow, I squealed, a quarter? For me? I gave him a big hug.
He smelled of tobacco and felt warm, loving and soft
His family had owned produce yards in the city by the river.
They also had a boiler furnace factory, first in the country steel works
And later downtown in the main city as well.
Both Mimi and Baba had gone to private schools.
As a young man Baba had gone off to, and later graduated from, Yale.
Baba came from a large family with many brothers,
All of whom had passed on before I had a chance to meet them.
Many, of Mimi and Baba's siblings never married.
Baba's youngest brother had died in a car accident
While out joyriding with all the siblings.
The car had somehow been forced off the road by another vehicle,
Baba was the driver, and it was said that he never was the same again.
Soon it was evening and as we sat around eating chicken and steak,
With baked potatoes, corn, beans, coleslaw, ice tea, and lemonade,
Dad told us all about how when he and mom were newlyweds
They had lived in an apartment above the garage,
Not far from the log house, and how he thought he had seen a space ship.
Dad was full of stories and he loved to entertain us with them.
Dad said he was going over to the log house for breakfast or shower
Early one morning before sunup; and while in mid-stride,
Just about half way between the house and garage, he noticed it;
Something strange in the swamp behind the log house.
It was really more of a picturesque marsh than a swamp.
But that's what everybody called it; " the swamp."
Ducks, geese, grouse, deer, snakes, rabbits, frogs, salamanders
And little birds made their home there at different times of the year.
Dad said he had seen multi-colored lights swirling round and round.
He thought it must be a flying saucer that had landed in the swamp
Even my father, who was not afraid of anything,
Accept hunting and shooting an animal, and also,
By his report, attending College, was shaken up.
Dad had told us of his one and only hunting trip,
Where upon having a large buck lined up in his sites,
He had become shaky and could not pull the trigger.
He had also once told me that he never went to college,
Because he was afraid. Dad who had been through World War II,
And who I had seen catch a water moccasin by hand and cut off it's head,
Who had been bitten by a rattlesnake at the Grand Canyon
And did not even realize it until two days later
When he was at the doctors office with a swollen leg,
The man who stood next to bears and moose at Yellowstone and Glacier Park,
With me by his side, in order to take their picture,
Who never backed down from even the burliest of men,
Afraid? How could that be possible? I thought.
Dad's father had died when he was only a young teen.
His surrogate father, a friend of the family, was a medical doctor.
He had offered to pay my father's way through medical school.
Dad had declined, explaining that his friend and benefactor,
The Doctor had a remarkable photographic memory.
Once my father had asked him a question about something
And he reportedly told dad that he would find the answer to his query
On the 237th page, 2nd paragraph, in a book on the third shelf from the top,
To the left hand side of the bookshelf upstairs, titled encyclopedia etc.
To dad's amazement there it was, just as the Doctor had said.
Dad reported that he was very intimidated by this
And thought that in order to attend college
One must have to have a photographic memory.
So dad never did go to school but, to his credit,
He produced a myriad of publications in various venues;
Newspapers, magazines, research journals and papers,
Books, TV videos, artistic and scientific photography and films.
He had taught at many universities, and had given lectures and seminars
around the world, and had performed research for many companies
before his career had ended; all that with a high school education.
After thinking more about the swamp incident later that day,
Dad came up with an alternative explanation for what he had seen,
One that wouldn't make him sound crazy, or gullible:
swamp gas.
That's right, you heard it, the theory was that methane would bubble up
Through the water from decaying vegetation underneath its surface,
And rise up into the damp mist interacting with the nitrogen and oxygen
Present in the atmosphere to create a phosphorescent glow and swirl of colors.
I didn't understand all that, so I thought what any kid would;
Namely, that my dad had probably seen something.
I always tread softly around the swamp after hearing Dad's story,
Always gave it long hard looks, but never saw anything,
And most importantly, I never ever set foot into it, as I was convinced
That when I did, I would surely sink down into it and never be heard from again.
Well, soon mom and dad decided that it was time to head back to the city.
The activities of the day had caught up with me, now tired and heavy
I cried to see the day end, to leave the farm and country,
To have to say goodbye once again to Mimi and Baba,
Leaving meant going home and then having to go to bed.
Then we climbed into my parent's 1950s taxicab, once yellow
But now repainted green, it was a thoroughly novel family car.
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We all waved our
goodbyes out the windows and drove away into the distance.
As I listened to
the engine whine while the car flew along,
And watched the
broad-faced speedometer needle glow and climb,
In the black
warm darkness of leather seats and family,
I fell asleep
and dreamed of the day's excitement, our family,
The song of the
engine, the light of the dashboard, the silent road...
Then, I thought
I heard the crackle of the radio announcer's voice,
From somewhere
far across the darkened fields.
An ensemble of
sights and sounds
Playing a
soothing lullaby,
Soft the Rhythm,
Calming me..
Enraptured
Rhapsody
In the ...
night.
