Shelter from the Storm
There was just something about her, Grandma Emma, and how she shared.
“Now you kids ‘git’ on up here on this porch and ‘git’ outta that rain. The storms a’coming ’cross that ridge.” And as sure and clear as we heard her voice, we all clambered up on that porch in time to see the thick, gray wall of rain head in our direction.
The rough, green Astroturf carpeting covering her stoop scratched at our bare, rain-slicked legs as we ferociously hurried to assemble ourselves around her before her favorite part of summer began.
She plopped down in her aluminum-framed outdoor rocker with a force from her ample build that left each of us wondering if today was the day the green and white plastic weave would be sent unraveling! But alas, she comfortably nestled her buxom bum into position, clenching multicolored tubes of frozen concession in her hand. And with her old metal, black-handled scissors she clipped the tops off our prized treats, one by one. She laid the discarded strips of plastic top in her dress tail stretched taut across her unproportioned and boney legs as assurance the clean-up would be a cinch.
And we sat there, with our muddy, grass-stained hands clutching our popsicles, as we listened to the rain hit the tree leaves and the deep, echoing rolls of thunder bellow through the neighboring mountains! The aroma of June heat and steam rose from the adjoining rain drenched asphalt. I simply found solace in watching her little black-haired head lean back against the white cladding of the house, safe under that porch roof, as her eyes closed and her thin lips spread with a smile!
Send Us Your Memories
We love sharing photos and memories dear to our readers.Submit your story and photos
More to remember