Grasshopper Lane

eight

The tiny country church, white clapboard with stained glass on all sides and complete with a bell tower and steeple stood in a field of Black-Eyed Susan’s.  It was a simple structure, framed by an indigo sky and a few puffs of clouds giving off the regal air of a bride who had been standing there many years.  Looking at it from the gravel road, she smiled to herself for she could hear the long ago Sunday school class playing silly finger games while reciting…..”Here is the church, here is the steeple, open it up and there’s all the people.”   She longed for those simple days where her only responsibilities were teaching little people silly rhymes and leading them through a round of Jesus Loves Me.  Those littles, she was quite sure, had littles of their own by now.   As she parked the old truck, she could see Evvie Lou waving from the old concrete steps.  Taking a deep breathe, she started across the parking lot trying not to let nerves get the best of her.   The anxiety of new places, new people and a fear of what once was almost gave her pause but as she reached the stoop, Evvie Lou looped an arm through hers and proceeded to chatter about who’s who in the little congregation giving her anxiety no chance to take hold.  As they walked through the old church door, she pulled away from her friend and paused to take it all in.  It was like stepping back into another time.  Old oak doors stood to each side of a tiny vestibule.  Tables on each side of the doors held old fashioned blue mason jars filled with fresh daisies, Susan’s and lavender.  Bright sun light from that almost cloudless sky streaming across hand sawn pine floors that had been polished to a glass finish as had the beautiful hand carved benches on either side of the aisle.  If her mind, she could see weddings of the past complete with the pearl buttons, tatted lace and crowns of wildflowers.   Just on the other side of the doors a little gray haired man, bent low from age, welcomed them with a hearty hand shake and passed them a bulletin that caused her to pause.  Taking a deep breath and smiling, yes, the smell alone assured her of times past and the old mimeograph machine.  She again felt at home. 

 

Her first memories of church were much like this one.  It has been the Baptist church around the corner from the house, right next to the park where her brother would twirl her round and round on the merry go round.  She had attended Vacation Bible School there that summer, barely bigger than a toddler, dressed in red and black plaid, long pigtails streaming down her back and very much scared of her own shadow.  Memories beyond being in that place were vague but she did remember the pastor’s wife, a gentle, soft spoken lady, leading her to the kitchen for a snack, making sure she got on the church van to go home and giving her a piece of bubble gum for being such a brave, brave girl.  She had driven past not too long ago.  Even though the brand new addition almost out shadowed the original structure, it still held such warm memories.  She wished all of her church memories had been as positive as that day.  Pushing aside those memories she focused on the present.  Evvie-Lou was chatting with the couple in the pew in front of us, clearly ignoring the handsome young man standing at the end of the row.  When he called her name, she held up her hand, index finger pointed upward, indicating that he would have to wait until she was finished.  He blushed red.  She felt sorry for him but had to grin at the situation.  About that time the music started to play and folks shuffled quickly to their seats.  Since clearly not being invited to join them, the young man had moved on to find another place to sit.  She elbowed her friend in search of a story but before Evvie Lou could answer, the music director moved to the pulpit and asked them to take out their hymnals and turn to page 42.  She could recite the words to that hymn and most others in that same book and if pressed could probably still peck them out on the keyboard.  She shrugged her shoulders at the quizzical look her received from her friend.  Some stories were best left in the past.

Seven

(7)

She heard a thump and then a crash behind her.  Turning quickly to see what had caused the ruckus, she noticed the tin bucket of soapy water she had been using to wash the wall’s down had been turned over.  There, just beyond a soapy sponge sat what appeared to be a cat. Pointy ears and a long tail could almost confirm that identity but the rest of its matted, wet body left a bit of doubt.  It gave her a long green-eyed scowl as if to say this was all her fault then proceeded to wash the bubbles off the top of its head, quick licks to its paw with a bright pink tongue after each pass.  She laughed out loud, she couldn’t help herself.  Another scowl…she had clearly offended the furry mess.  “Well, hello kitty….” Stepping a little closer and kneeling down.  The cat, clearly unimpressed by her attempt to communicate, turned its back to her and went about its bath.  “Ahh…poor baby…” she continued as she eased herself a bit closer.  It gave her a glance over its shoulder and leaned towards her just slightly and gave her a sniff or two, stood up and moved further across the path.  She smiled, “Ok kitty….let me know when you’re ready to visit…” 

Turning back to the task at hand, she busied herself with reading the concrete building for the first of many amenities she intended to offer the guests here at the campground.  This one would probably benefit her the most.  After the barbeque yesterday, she had stopped by a second hand store and purchased a washer and dryer.  Oh, the luxury of doing laundry at home rather than packing it up and driving into town.  While she appreciated the charm that the Wash-o-matic offered, there was something to be said about not airing your dirties in public.  The gentleman at the store had offered to run them out for her and help her set them when she was ready so today was purge, fluff and renew. Most of what had been left behind had been newspapers, magazines….trash.  But, while rummaging around, she had managed to unearth a few old wooden advertising signs.  She could tell where they had once hung, the paint faded around their spots leaving a shadow of their shapes.  It would be fun to get them scrubbed up and restored to their rightful places.  Wishing she had thought to pack a few from her previous collection, but space had been limited and she had had to let some things go including her favorite.  The giant sheep had hung on the front of the old garage for as long as she could remember it.  Its nickname had been Baaa.  Maybe someday she would go back for it but for now she might need to make a trip into antique store in town for a few more.

Dragging the last of the boxes to the old truck, she glanced around for her little guest.  It had weeded out a little spot under the old pine tree.  Seeing her watching, it stood up, flipped its front paws back and forth to fluff the needles, turned around and settled back down.  Stretching its front paws, one tucked over the other, towards her, it buried its little nose between them, just far enough tucked that it could still watch her with one eye. She dusted her hands off on the pockets of her jeans and moved towards the edge of the driveway.  She sat down leaning her back against the sun warmed concrete wall.  Fur baby had the right idea.  A break was in order.  As she watched kitty’s back rise and fall, she wandered back in time.  Growing up there had been a pine tree, much like this one, growing to the side of their house.  Given the size of it, she imaged that it had been there long before the little subdivision had been settled.  It was her special place.  A place to go when it grew too noisy in the house.  A place to get lost in her stories.  A place to hide from her big brother.  He always knew where she was but by mutual agreement, this was her spot and she should be left alone.  One of her favorite memories was the afternoon, close to time for her parents to return home, he had wanted to run across the backyard to the neighbor’s house.  Not wanting to drag her with him, partially because she had chosen to hide for the afternoon but mostly because it wasn’t cool to have your much younger sister tagging (or tattling) along with the boys.  He made her promise that she would stay in her little pine cave until he came back for her.  Because he was notorious for promising and forgetting (top of the refrigerator, basement, closet, you get the idea) she made him pinky promise that he really, really, really would return for her.  Winking, he promised and started off, not noticing that his prized G.I. Joe Caravan with accessories had joined her homemade, shoebox, Barbie house.  That had been pilfered payment for all of the other orneriness.  She’d heard her dad wandering the front yard, calling for her in for dinner, pretending he didn’t know where she was hiding later on.  Her brother, well, he was somewhere in the neighborhood.  She couldn’t remember what she had exacted for payment that time but she seemed to remember a few 45’s that turned up in her little red record player.  Think Hotel California playing over and over and over again.  It was funny how things triggered those long ago memories.

Using the wall to help her, she pushed herself back into standing position.  She thought about how much she had accomplished, on her own, in the short time she had been here at the little campground, just a little over two weeks.  She was incredibly proud of herself.  Once upon a time she would have waited for others to help or tell her what she should do.  It had been almost impossible to go anywhere on her own and she was consistently treated like a youth. While venturing into town alone still gave her a bit of anxiety, she was determined to overcome her past.  Some would say that age makes you wiser and less caring about what others think or say.  Maybe there was some truth to that.  Yesterday she had gone in to town for barbeque at Evvie Lou’s.  Just a few folks had attended and all had made her feel very welcome.  They had been very curious about how she had landed in their little town.  She had answered the questions politely but held back, not ready to put herself out there for public display yet.  All in all it had been a good afternoon.  Evvie-Lou had “put on the dog” as she put it.  Pulled pork, slow cooked all night in a brown sugar spice rub, stone ground wheat rolls fresh out of the oven, coleslaw with a bit of red onion and minced sweet pickle, and all the fixings.  It. Was. Amazing.  Evvie-Lou really had a talent for not just baking but cooking in general.  After a lot of prodding from Evvie-Lou, she had brought her Skillet Apple Pie, a favorite back home and homemade vanilla bean ice cream.  Several folks had commented that the two of them should go into business together.  She and Evvie-Lou had given each other a wink and giggled.  Something to think about, maybe.  They had visited together a little bit after every one left.  Nothing but silly bantering back and forth but they did make plans to meet at the little country church up the road next Sunday, something she was looking very much forward too. 

Enjoy!

jen

six

(6)

She woke with a start, confused by where she was.  Quickly sitting up in the bed, she looked around and breathed a sigh of relief. Sunlight streamed through the window above the bed and danced across the floor.  She glanced at her phone – 9:20 a.m.  Her first night in the cabin had provided some much needed rest.  A prayer of thanks passed through her lips.  She had worked until long past sundown the night before, determined to get the white slat board walls and old barn wood floor cleaned enough so she could put the bed together.   

Yesterday morning during a quick trip into town for some necessities, she had happened upon a charming little antiques shop.  Mentally declaring that a break would do her some good, she pulled the old truck over and parked.  The little shop was packed floor to ceiling with goodies that most would call junk but to her, priceless treasure. Even if you were unsure what you were looking for, you could find it here.  She smiled as she remembered the little incident that took place while she was there.  She had been in the back looking at aprons and as she headed back towards the front of the shop something flicked across her foot.  She pulled her foot back quickly and stifled a scream. There, sitting calm and pristine in front of a dish of water was a very regal and very handsome black cat.  His tail had flicked towards her about the time she went to step down and had, she was quite sure, purposely brushed her foot.  His green eyes gave her a look that both laughed at her discomfort and demanded a pat on his kingly head.  She smiled and breathed a sigh of relief thankful that she had taken time to read the little poster on the door that warned of the possibility of fur-baby greetings.  Giving him a small bow, she moved towards the counter to pay for her purchases that included a small Jadite bowl sporting a chip in the bottom, some gorgeous vintage sheets with tiny red roses and a beautiful white chenille bedspread.  The green-eyed shop owner, whom she was quite sure had been a cat just moments before, grinned at her and made a bit of small talk as he wrapped her purchases up, asking that she return soon.  She assured him that she would most certainly be back.

Her purchase of bedding gave her the excitement she needed to make the final push to get the cabin ready to move into.  On the way back to the campground, she stopped by the laundry mat.  The old sign out front proclaimed it to be the “Wash-O-Matic”.  It, like the antique shop, was pure vintage charm.  It reminded her of the one she had sort of worked in growing up.  The mother of her then best friend managed the laundry mat in town.  Fearing nothing short of us tearing the house down, we often ended up at work with her. For the nominal fee of an egg sandwich from the drive-thru next door, we would even consider working.  Goodness, the memories.  The old harvest gold washing machines holding their metal hands out for silver coins before they would churn the days dust from your clothes.  Walls lined with dryers, double stacked turquoise monsters that made a whirl and whip sound with each tumble.  She often got lost in her thoughts while she watched those clothes tumble in circles.  One dollar and twenty cents in dimes guaranteed your clothes to be dry in the first cycle.  She could still see the moms with their paper coffee cups filled with change jockeying for prime position – a four-plex of dryers directly in front of their chosen folding table, their toddlers climbing across the plastic waiting room chairs, hanging from the metal bars underneath the tables and when no one was looking riding the roll around metal baskets down the aisle.  Thinking about that made her smile.  She didn’t take the time to run the dryers today…..no, today, she would take the damp bedding home and hang it to blow in the breeze.  She couldn’t wait to slip between sheets that smelled of sunshine. 

Waiting for the wash to dry, she pulled the old iron bed out on the front concrete and gave it a good wire-brushing and then a quick coat of ivory paint.  Chastising herself for being too impatient to let the paint dry, she headed back into the little kitchen to fill up the mop bucket with sudsy water.  She had been cleaning the cobwebs out of a corner when an old memory came back to her.   Some close friends had pulled an old iron bed, much like the one she was working on, out of an old homestead up the road from them.  One had to look past the rust and grub to see the beauty it had once been.  In fact, there had been some talk about whether it was worth the time it would take to restore it.  She knew it would be.  Beautiful rosettes and leaves had been intertwined in the metal.  Not sure how the bed had ended up in the old homestead, probably a gift for work done.  The gentleman that had lived there did odd jobs around the neighborhood to earn his livelihood.  She imaged that it had once been ivory in color and fit for a small princess.  Hours were spent cleaning, sanding and painting and in the end it was beautiful.   She had envisioned painting those rosettes in water colored rose pink but in the end left it with the clean look.  It was hard to see it loaded up in the truck and carried away but it looked beautiful in the little girl’s room for which it had been purchased. 

Shaking her head to clear the memory, she went about putting the bed back together.  She was glad that it had been late in the evening and that any neighbors she had were far enough away to miss the dragging of the mattress and box springs from the storage trailer.  She was quite sure un-mentionable words might have been spoken.  Once inside though, she started dressing the old bed.  She put a red-fitted sheet on the box spring and then covered that in a lace bedskirt.  The red of the sheet underneath peeked thru the lace.  Next she added the white fitted sheet with the little red roses.  Very delicate.  Adding the top sheet to match and a white velour blanket, her one splurge, she smoothed her hand over the top to remove any wrinkles and gave the mattress hospital corners.  Next, she added the white chenille bedspread, much like one she had when she was growing up.  She dressed the pillows, two sets, one in red roses and the other in red.  Folding down the spread so everything peeked thru.  It needed something.  She quickly ran back up to the little camper and pulled the old red and white checked quilt from the bed in the back.  Once back in the cabin, she spread it out across the end.  Perfect!

It had been a good day and a restful night.  But, she’d layed in bed long enough.  Evvie-Lou had insisted that she come to her house this afternoon for a barbeque/meet & greet and she had been reminded….repeatedly…..that she owed her a skillet apple pie for cleaning the bathroom.

 

(as always....the memories may or may not be my own.....)

Enjoy!

jen

Five

(5)

Evvie-Lou must have come directly from her shift at the diner – still sporting her tie-dye and that blonde pony that followed her in the door.  Before she could speak the pony tail started talking.

“I came to help.”  Evvie-Lou started, “I figure you for a very stubborn sort but truth of the matter is you need help.” 

Still unable to apply her voice to the conversation she watched as Evvie-Lou shoved the cardboard box of cleaning supplies to the side and dropped a brown paper bag on the table in its place.   She then held out a bright green tissue wrapped bouquet of flowers.  Lilacs, some of her favorite blooms, in the most marvelous shade of purple.  She once worked with a lady that had given her some starts off of her lilac bush.  “An Heirloom Lilac” she was reminded every time Ms. E passed her in the hallway.  She would never forget the time she went up to see the “gardens”.  Over an acre patch filled with ancient old walnut trees and a house just as old.  The land held plants scattered with no rhyme or reason, all in bloom.  Ms. E. would point to a particular plant and say that it just felt right to put it there that day so she pulled up her lawn chair and there she planted.  That visit had left her a bit envious because she could only hope for the faith in knowing that something would bloom just where you planted it.

“My momma always said never show up empty-handed and you should always have fresh flowers for the table” Evvie-Lou said. 

“Moms are generally right about those things.  Very thoughtful.  Thank you.”  She sat the spray bottle she had been using on the counter under the window sill, wiped her hands off on the legs of her jeans and then took the flowers from Evvie-Lou.  “Uhm….”  She replied.  Feeling a bit shy, she quickly turned and began searching the cabinets in search of something to hold them.  There, in the cabinet next to the sink was a beautiful, white, ironstone pitcher.  There was a tiny chip in the pour spot.  Just enough of a chip to cause the pitcher to splatter when poured.   She guessed it had been left behind because of its flawed appearance.  To her it was perfect, chippiness made her feel right at home. She filled the pitcher full of water and set it on the counter.  She would let it sit for just a bit before adding the flowers.  Water too cold or too hot would shock them and they wouldn’t last very long.  She made another mental note to grab an aspirin from her purse to add as well.  She could hear her new friend behind her rummaging in the paper sack and just ask she turned back around Evvie-Lou pulled out a can of spray paint.  She smiled.  The can sported a very bright pink top.  She could see the look of determination in Evvie-Lou’s face. 

“This place needs brightening up if you want people to stay here.  I still say the picnic tables need to be bright pink.”  She put her hand up to stop her from commenting.  “Now, I’ve been marinating on this whole campground business.  You need a catchy name like “The Pink Flamingo” and each site needs some kind of theme and color scheme to match.  Just think, when a reservation comes in, you could assign them ……”

Evvie-Lou rambled on and on and on and when she finally came up for air, she replied “No Flamingoes.”  Images of another time suddenly flood back to her leaving her somewhere between hysterics and nausea.  Oh, she could totally rock a good flamingo bash.  But those were times when things done out of silliness suddenly became the backwards talk of others and often reminded you that you would never truly fit in.  “Ugh!”  She quickly pushed those images out of the way.  She grinned and shook her head in amusement at Evvie-Lou.  “All good ideas.  But, the cabin needs to be cleaned up before I can think about the other stuff.”  Taking advantage of Evvie-Lou’s determination to help she asked, “How do you feel about cleaning bathrooms?”

Without missing a beat Evvie-Lou shot her a dead pan look and quickly volleyed back “Where’s the toilet brush?”

They worked together the rest of the afternoon getting the kitchen in order and the bathroom free from any critters.  Questions and answers from each other battered back and forth between the rooms.  Casual getting to know you time, with each of them offering just a tiny glimpse of their story.  She had been giving the old stove a healthy dose of Comet and elbow grease when she heard the screech and a loud stomp followed by “Oh! Don’t you worry. It wasn’t a very big one.”  Curling her toes up in her sneakers and grimacing a bit, she offered up a silent prayer of thanks for the help that her new friend had offered. 

Later in the evening, after Evvie-Lou had left, she sat quietly out on the sea wall watching the sunset.   She looked back over the day’s events – from her determination to keep to herself to suddenly having a new friend.  “Friend”, she thought surprisingly.  How had that happened? 

 

(I wrote this early last week but hadn't had time to proof and post.  Puttering around in one of my favorite antique stores - I found  the treasured ironstone pitcher....complete with the chippie pour spout.  Fate?  Definitely out of my budget - I walked away twice and then I discovered the blue/white enamel serving platter that made it all perfect.  It just had to come home with me.  It will be filled with Lilacs as soon as mine bloom.)

enjoy!

jen

Four

(4)

The hand-written note on the cabin door read – “You have water & power – try not to enjoy them together.  Signed, you’re friendly utility person.”  The graphic on the card showed a charred, grinning stick person.  She chuckled.   She wished she’d have been here to put a face with that witty prose.  Balancing the cardboard box of supplies on her hip, she grabbed the note, stuck it under her chin and nudged the door open.  She threw a cursory glance over her shoulder at the powder room.  Channeling a message to any creepy critter within hearing distance she let them know they had another day of reprieve.  This afternoon she would focus her attention on the tiny kitchen.  She couldn’t help but be excited having utilities meant real food and not just something questionable warmed from a can.  Thinking back to her meal the day before, bacon does NOT make everything better.  Fixing a meal on that old stove almost made her giddy with anticipation.  Nudging the red vinyl chair out of her way, she sat the box down on the well-loved enamel table.  Very much like the one she had tried to talk her mom out of, it was white with a red stripe around the edge.  She looked around for the fourth chair but it was not to be found.  She would add that to her list making a mental reminder to find out where all the good junk stores were.  Before she forgot, she tucked the note into the back pocket of her worn, holey jeans.  She would put that away in her journal later sure that it would bring as much of a smile then as it had when she found it. 

One of the perks to purchasing this old cabin was that the previous owner had left behind numerous vintage items. Each time she opened a cabinet or a drawer, she found a new treasure.  She turned the handle on the old faucet. It sputtered to life and spit the rusty contents from years of disuse out. As she waited for it to run clear, she pulled an old wash basin from the shelf above the sink – Robin’s Egg blue with a thin red stripe around the rim.  The sight of that old basin transported her to another kitchen, when she was younger, filled with these old treasures.  She relished the time her then BFF and her spent at her grandfather’s farm. Hours and hours spent walking the creek line and catching crawdads.  Such ornery little creatures.  Of course there were never enough for a meal and she couldn’t imagine either mother being excited about a bag of mudbugs brought home to the kitchen sink.  She could remember helping buck hay and being distracted by the idea of finding the big black snake up in the hay loft.  They never found anything other than hints that he’d been there and looking back at it now, she was pretty sure the two of them would have run willie-nillie if it poked its head out.  Her favorite memory though was after the hay had been cut.  They would climb to the top of the biggest hill in front of the little house, lay on their sides and race to see who could roll the fastest.  Each of them looked like little round bales by the time they got to the bottom.  BFF’s aunt would call them in, admonish them for getting all messed up and then present them with a store bought treat (She was not the domestic sort, if you know what I mean). But a treat was a treat!  We ate from a paper napkin because it wouldn’t do to break a piece of Great Grandma’s china.  Her memory today focused on the old wash basin, much like this one, sitting on a little tea towel at the side of the old white farm sink.  She could still picture that little white house and the old red barn.  She had always dreamed of having a little parlor with a fireplace and a beautiful, homey kitchen.  She had that in this little cabin.  Well, no walls other than “that bathroom” but still.  It would be her own little white house.  Maybe she would even paint the old cement building Barn Red.

She was wiping down the kitchen window with old newspapers and some vinegar, dreaming about apple pie and curtain panels blowing in the breeze, when the screen door slammed behind her.  She jumped and quickly turned around.  There, standing in her kitchen grinning like a Cheshire Cat was Evvie-Lou.  She backed up and glanced up the hill wondering how she hadn’t heard someone pull in.  There, parked just up the lane from the cabin, sat a sunshine yellow Volkswagen Beetle….complete with a set of eyelashes….closed now because the engine had been turned off.  She grinned and shook her head.  She wouldn’t imagine that Evvie-Lou drove anything but. 

 

(I must laugh at some of the questions that have come from this little deal.....my answer remains.....it's all in my head.....where it really probably should have stayed -)

enjoy!

jen

Three

(3)

Breakfast had been amazing though she had eaten less than half.  After a few bites and some random sketching her imagination had taken over and, as her friends would say, “She-gone.”  Her plate had been pushed to the edge of the table.  Her tea cup, less than half full, had been pushed to the side.  There were a few paint samples spread over the top of her open sketch book.  She had been twirling her tooth-marked pencil between her fingers and starring out the window when the incessant tapping of a long, neon green polka-dotted fingernail on the scarred Formica brought her back from the land she had been lost in.   She put the pencil down and quickly hid her nail-bitten fingers beneath the table, “What?” she asked, just in case there had been words to go with the tapping nail.

Evvie-Lou smiled at her, popped the top off of her pop bottle, quickly caught the metal cap in her hand, and plopped it down on the scarred Formica.  She scooted into the booth across from her.   “Pink” she bubbled excitedly.  “Whatever you are fixing to paint should be pink.  And,” she grinned again “…. a bright, happy pink at that.” 

That ponytail on the back of Evvie-Lou’s head seemed to have a life of its own,  rocking side to side, dancing to its own music as she scooched around getting herself settled for what was apparently going to be that “I Want To Know Everything” conversation.

She couldn’t help it, it was almost as if the pony had hypnotized her.  “Picnic Tables” she said quietly.

Evvie-Lou leaned forward, pony bouncing, and arched her eyebrow, “Do what, huh?”

No longer able to ignore the bubbly enthusiasm of the gal sitting across the booth from her, she gave in….just a little.   “I said” smiling shyly, “I’m painting picnic tables.”

Evie-Lou gave her a long, curious look and then pointed and wiggled a finger at her.  “You must be the little gal that bought the old campground property out west of town.”

She nodded her head in a “yes, believe it it’s true” fashion, smiled just a little more and answered “Yes.”

The wagging finger pointed at her suddenly turned to a hand reaching out towards her.  “Eugenia Louise Broadwater.  Folks call me Evvie-Lou.  You want to know what’s what around here, you come find me.”  Waiting expectantly, she finally prompted “You are?”

She reached to shake the hand that had been extended towards her, trying hard to remember the drill, and replied.  “Joe.”

“Joe??”  Evvie-Lou, eye-brow again raised, questioned. 

She gave a vague tilt of her head and nodded.  “Yes…Joe.”  It was funny how that name had come about.  Of course, her name wasn’t really Joe but she rarely used that except to sign checks and such.  She had inherited the name with an old, over-sized fleece jacket that, with her small stature, just about swallowed her up when she wore it.  It was warm.  The way it covered everything was perfect for those days when she craved invisibility from the world.  The jacket came with a patch sewn over the left breast proclaiming, in flowy cursive, the mechanic’s name to be “Joe”.  Her co-workers, always commenting on how she “fixed” things, quickly adopted it as her nickname and she’d been “Joe” ever since.

“Well…Joe”, Evvie-Lou said loudly, “Folks are wondering what you’re planning on doing with that fine property you’ve purchased.”

She could feel the silence.  The eyes of the other diners were all on her.  She could feel them lean in towards her …”I’m turning it back into a campground.”  She replied.  The buzz immediately started around her.  The gerbil’s in the gossip mill running just as fast as they could.  Well, she sighed, that should give them something to talk about. 

Slightly taken back by what she heard, Evvie-Lou lowered her voice enough so that folks couldn’t hear her, “That’s been sitting vacant for a while.  Not much left is there?  Last time I was by that way there was just a ridiculously old building and a cabin.  It’s going to take a lot of work to get that up and going.  It’s not just you, is it?  You have help, right?  Are you sure about this?”

Shuffling the pages of her sketchbook to avoid eye-contact, “I like old things, it has good bones and yes…..I’m doing it on my own.” She replied. 

Again with the eyebrow, Evvie-Lou replied “Ok….if you say so…..I still say you’re going to need a lot of help!”

“No,” she stubbornly replied “I can do it on my own” By then she had noticed that the dynamics in the room had changed.  No longer was there waiting silence.  She looked around – folks seemed to be hurriedly finishing up their coffee and heading to the register.  Apparently she had given them enough to send them on their way.

Evie-Lou, eyed her closely, “Oh, don’t mind them.” as she brushed her hand in the air.  “They’ll make up the rest of it.”  Giggling, she continued “I can’t wait to hear what they all come up with.  By the end of the day you’ll have had your five minutes of fame and your little spot will be the new home to a colony of Martian rabbits that you’re training to drive tractors and backhoes or some such thing.  Wait?”  She exclaimed “You aren’t planning on building a colony of Martian rabbits are you?” 

She couldn’t help but chuckle.  “No,” she assured her.  “No Martian Rabbits.”  But, she thought to herself, she had bitten off a lot with this project, she certainly wouldn’t say no to a little inter-galactic help getting the campground back up and running.  She would have to write about this in her journal later.  They spent the rest of the morning chatting.  Well, Evie-Lou mostly chatted…almost as if they’d been friends for life.  She had learned more than she probably wanted to like the fact that Evvie-Lou had moved here after her third attempt at love –“Men!”, she had exclaimed, “Who needs them?” 

She had also learned that Evvie-Lou, after bouncing over to the counter to grab a colorfully iced cupcake, had a secret dream to open up her own bakery.  The admitted town gossip filled her in on all the comings and goings of town and the who’s who.  An interesting trip to town this morning to say the least.  On the drive back to the campground she again thought to herself – that gal certainly had herself a little adventure going.  She had to chuckle….craziness.  Some days she missed those kinds of friendships – silly girls chattering about everything.  Nothing was secret or sacred.  You could always count on each other.   There had been a few like that at one time….they rarely kept in touch these days…..busy schedules, family, better offers always seemed to get in the way.   She found, with each new season that passed, sometimes talking things over with dresser she was distressing or giving needed praise of handsomeness to the door she was trying to coax in place was easier than actually chatting it up with a real person.  There were no assumptions to be had when you chatted with inanimate objects.  But…..her visit with Evvie-Lou this morning had left her craving just a bit of……well, something.

 

 

(just a reminder....it's fiction....and before you call the writing police on me....it's been a long time since I've written diaglogue.  Just read the story and skip through the poopie formatting.)

enjoy!

jen

Two

(2)

Crawling out of her little home on wheels (a 1967 Shasta w/wings) at day break, she watched the purples merge into oranges with bright yellow rays just peeking over the top.  She could definitely get used to the sunrises here.  Later she would venture into town for supplies.  But first, a steaming mug of tea in her hand, she wandered down towards the lake.  The water was gently slapping against the shoreline…..she was reminded of a long ago family outing, one where she was playing with her brother on the beach.  Much like a puppy craving attention, she followed him everywhere and was usually involved somehow in the mischief of the day, mischief that was generally aimed at her rather than with her.  That day involved bottle rockets and an old glass soda bottle.  She still sported a tiny scar on her shin.   Silly boy, she could still hear him re-assuring here that everything was totally cool.  Goodness she missed him and those mischievous moments.  She wished there had more of them.  But, enough of times past, the loud rumbling of her stomach snapped her back to the present – time to head into town, grab a bite and pick up supplies.

 

She pulled the truck into an empty spot in front of the town diner – the bright pink neon sign flashed “Breakfast All Day” – her tummy roared with anticipation.    The place was tiny, just four or five booths and seating at the counter.  Being the newbie in town, curious eyes followed her as she entered and made her way to the booth in the back.   No stranger to being on her own, she had brought her planner and sketchbook to make eating alone a little less awkward.    Glancing at the faded menu, she noted a favorite from her childhood….cream of tuna on white bread….nothing could beat that salty, creamy deliciousness except, maybe,  an exceptional order of biscuits and gravy.  Glancing around the room, it was  like she had been transported back in time.  The tables, with their vintage turquoise Formica, sported the stains of the past, perhaps coffee or tea bumped over by an excited child reaching for a bite off mom’s plate.  She assumed her waitress would be sporting the old time mustard colored polyester dress, support hose and sensible shoes…much like those in the beloved sitcom her parents used to watch.  She quickly masked the look of surprise when the waitress, a gal her age, appeared wearing a tie-dyed t-shirt, jeans and sporting a very bouncy blonde pony.  The name tag pinned to her t-shirt proudly proclaimed her, in multiple colors of  glitter pen, as “Evvie-Lou”.  She quieted a chuckle and placed her order.  She would bet her breakfast that there was a story there but, she wasn’t one to get close to anyone.  Not these days anyway.  Ignoring the whispers and the curious over-the-shoulder glances, she opened up her sketchbook and began to put together the plan for her six campsites.  She would need to have the wiring checked, new gravel poured and the well loved picnic tables repaired and brightened up with a coat of paint.   She was pouring over the paint samples when Evvie-Lou appeared a few minutes later with a plate of biscuits the size of softballs smothered in sausage gravy.  The smell of sage and pepper made her mouth water in anticipation and she couldn’t wait to take her first bite.  Evvie-Lou, shifting back and forth at the side of the table, waiting for her to look up, gave her that “I want to know EVERYTHING” wink and announced loud enough that everyone could hear, that she’d be back to chat in a few.  Oh bother!  She knew the type.  A “Nosy Nellie”…..the well-intentioned, or so you’d think, in your business and spreading it to anyone that had three minutes, kind of person.  She’d been here before.  Muttering under her breath, she reminded herself of the drill…vaguely answer only what is asked, keep it simple and don’t volunteer anything.  Well, she sighed, maybe she could round up a little support for the campground.  

(note:  some memories shared could be mine....some could be a fig newton of my imagination....either way....they are in no way directed towards or about anyone so don't take it personal....or take....well, you get the idea.)

enjoy!

jen

the lake house

(1)

To some, once they’ve rounded the little curve in the lane, it didn’t look like much.  But to her, this small cabin, along with its six trailer pads with hookups, was a little slice of heaven.  Perfection – sure, she could see the plethora of elbow grease that would be required to make it inhabitable, but oh, the beauty.  The cabin sat a few hundred feet from the back of the cove, quietly hidden in the trees, almost forgotten.  The exterior certainly showed its years – the patina from the faded redwood stain mixing with the grey barn wood underneath.  Part of her just wanted to sand the flakes off, apply a sealer and leave it but….this was to be her main source of income and those that would come would want shiny and new….always shiny and new.  Sighing….she wandered slowly around the outside making note of the things that would have to be brought up to snuff before she opened….patching the sandstone walkway, adding new pavers to the top of the sea wall, repairing the bottom two steps to the deck and she really should look into patching the moss covered clay roof tiles.  She made special note of the triple oak tree growing up at the side of the cabin – it would be a perfect place to hide a little tree house – just like the little one she wished for when she was a kid.  She let herself ponder those days just for a moment before getting back to her list…..a lot of work to do before opening day.

She turned the key in the lock and took a deep breath before pushing open the door.   Desperate for a change she had answered an online ad for the property.  The ad, complete with glossy pictures, promised a charming trip back in time…..wicker rockers on the porch, geraniums swaying in their hanging pots.  The realtor had warned her that, despite all the pretty pictures, it wasn’t much and cautioned her about buying the property sight unseen but she knew in her gut that it was the right thing to do.   She wasn’t afraid of hard work….determined that nothing would scare her off.  The cabin was nothing more than one large room with a bathroom.  Right inside the door to the left, the tiny bathroom was complete with a cobweb covered claw foot tub and pedestal sink.  She didn’t venture too far in…the thought of any eight legged, furry critters made her shiver.  To the right, a small kitchen, complete with an old green enamel Sears and Roebuck stove.  She could see it shined up, gingham curtains hanging at the little window above the sink.  Home.  Venturing further into the room, the sunlight that poured through the filthy bank of windows took her breath away….there was beauty there.  Once scrubbed and shined with vinegar and newspaper, the view of the cove would be amazing.   An old iron bed cowered against the back wall, its mattress and linens long gone.  She could envision it being covered in quilts and lots of pillows for lazy day lounging and watching the squirrels play through the windows.   It would be a while before those days came but it was certainly something to works towards.   There was a tiny alcove in the far corner of the room, between a small fireplace and the windows.  It would be perfect for her sewing table and quilt frame.  And old ladder leaned against the other corner of the room.  It led up to a tiny loft, barely big enough for even someone of her small stature to stand.  It made her think of a little doll house and would be perfect for any tiny visitors that may come to her door.  The old pine board flooring was scuffed and dented.  It would need to be sanded and sealed before she could move her simple furnishings in.  She would hardly contain her excitement.  She would live here, in the cabin, while she worked to get the campground ready.  Her hope was that this would become a haven for families.  She dreamed of campfires, the smell of marshmallows roasting and children playing.

She had been told that in its day, this little resort had been booming with business.  There were some remains of an old cabin or two as well as an old cement building stood on the upper side of the cabin.   The metal rungs empty from the carriage doors that once hung there.  An old wooden sign, haphazardly thrown in a corner, proclaimed this to be the “game room”.   Remnants of a forgotten hopscotch game still showed in the center of the old concrete floor.  She could almost hear the voices of the children playing.  Behind a stack of boxes filled with long ago newspapers, was a screen door.  She pushed it open to reveal what appeared to be a summer kitchen, surrounded by screened windows on three sides  –  so many possibilities, she couldn’t wait to get her sketchpad out and start dreaming.   But, for tonight, she would retreat to her little home on wheels….tomorrow would be soon enough….she would roll up her sleeves and embark upon her new journey.

 

(I'm writing again....it was a promise I made to myself for the new year.  It's fiction....it in no way, outside of my own dreams, has anything to do with real life.  And, it's protected under my copyright @grasshopperlanedesigns.)

enjoy –

jen