I looked down this morning…to see…my Granny’s hands…coming from my sleeves…it’s not the first time I’ve seen them…in fact…the older I get…the more they’re there…
But…for some reason…this morning…the site of them…got me to really thinking about…Granny’s hands…and…what they meant to me over the years…
Interestingly…many of my memories…involve her holding a knife…I suppose that is because…preparing food…was such an important part of her life…
I remember…corn day…when the roasting ears were ready…and we would make a day of it…Mama…pulled the corn…while the rest of us sat under the mulberry tree…I whacked off the ends with a butcher knife…which I pretended was a machete…one sister shucked…one sister silked…and…Granny and Mrs. Posey…cut off…
They used the thinnest of pairing knives…freshly sharpened for the day…and they would make…at least three cuts down the cob…no whole kernel corn for us…before scraping it with the knife…to get the last little bit…it was an art form…in and of itself…Mama…has it…I never mastered it…I’m not sure about my sisters…
Those days…sitting outside…in the heat of summer…fighting off flies…and squealing over corn worms…are some of my happiest memories…not just from childhood…but…from life…they were the days…that my sisters and I were…included with…the…womenfolk…and were privy…to whatever gossip might be shared…
But…I realize now…because…Bertha…is telling me…it wasn’t the gossip…that was important…it was just what made me interested…it was the wisdom…that was passed along with the ears of corn…from one hand to another…that was of real value…
Jane
