Grandma Stella, Teal and the Green Snake
When my grandson Teal was a tiny little boy, l used to go visit them often. I would perhaps stay a week and return back home. On one such trip, at the start of summer, my daughter asked me if I minded keeping an eye on Teal and his friend while she ran a few errands errands. Needless to say, l was delighted. I did not get too many chances to spend time with him.
It was a beautiful day in Boulder. The boys were running about the vast garden doing what little boys do. I was sitting on the deck, keeping an eye on them as I knit. I did not mind them climbing the tree close to the house. The grass underneath the tree was soft. If they fell they would not get hurt. What worried me was the pond. There was a row boat alongside it. Although Teal and his friend were taught swimming, I did not want to risk their falling into it. I asked them not to go near it. They assured me they would not and off they went to play. I heard them running and laughing. At one point they took out two of Teal’s numerous scarves that passed for pirates’ costumes or the capes of the three musketeers. I heard the clashing of plastic swords and the uttering of, “En garde!’’ every now and then. I smiled in amusement at their play-acting. I laid down my knitting on the table and picked up the book I was reading. I stretched my feet on another chair, made myself comfortable, and proceeded to read.
The weather was beautiful. I glanced up once more. I was admiring the garden. The garden had a path that wound past the pond, onto a footbridge. Along the right side of the path, there were first some trees. I think mostly of sour cherries. Past that, my daughter had created an adequately sized vegetable garden for their needs. Past that, she planted flowers, flowers, and more flowers. Almost nearing the pond, but on the opposite side, there was a teak seating arrangement with a fire pit. It got cold at night and sometimes on autumn days. It was a pleasant place to sit and enjoy the surroundings. The path continued to meander past the pond over the footpath where the path diverged into two separate paths. The right side led to a farm where one could buy fresh-laid eggs, milk, and churned butter. Sometimes, when the windows were open at my daughter’s house, one could hear the neighing of horses, the lowing of the cows or the crowing of the rooster at daybreak. It is quite a serene and pleasant place to live. The other path led to the village’s shopping center. But I forget myself; I was speaking about little Teal and his friend.
Suddenly the voices of the two excited little boys broke through my thoughts. “Grandma Stella! Grandma Stella! Look what we found,” they cried as they ran excitedly towards me.
“What?’’I asked.
Teal plopped a very unhappy and writhing green snake on the table next to my knitting.
“TEAL!” I exclaimed, as I shuddered with alarm. “A snake! It might be poisonous!”
“Oh, Grandma Stella, it’s a green snake,” he patiently explained. “Green snakes are not poisonous.” With that, he was about to deposit the snake onto my lap, which I really did not care to have anywhere near my person.
“No! No, Teal! The snake will become uncomfortable in my lap. Go and get a pot and a colander from the kitchen,” I said.
They hurried to do so. Upon their return, they unceremoniously plopped the poor snake into the bottom of the pot. I instructed them to gather leaves and grass. When they did, they placed them in the pot. We sprayed the leaves with water. Then we placed the colander over the pot. I was cringing inside but tried not to show my fear to the boys. Now that their green snake was comfortably housed and Grandma Stella was in control, the boys merrily ran off in search of new adventures. For the next hour or so, the snake would keep lifting its head up beyond the colander, stick its tongue at me, and emit a hissing sound. I would push it back in with one of my knitting needles. I was beginning to feel quite brave. I imagined myself as the super Grandma! Every time Teal asked for the impossible of me, I would be the Grandma to the rescue! I smiled at myself. Ha! Me, the Grandma to the rescue? Well, why not? I sewed exquisite costumes and wrote and illustrated stories for him. We did so many things together. He climbed up the sour cherry trees to pick cherries for me to make him jam. Together we would pit the cherries. I would start the jam. He stood on a kitchen stool and impatiently peered into the pot to see if the jam was done yet. ’’ Grandma, is it done yet?” he constantly asks. “Not yet, Teal,” I answer until I finally say, “It’s done!” This time he sits on the counter, while I put a spoonful of jam on a plate. “Blow,” I say. He blew until I was sure it is cool enough. He then gingerly tasted the jam and smacked his lips in satisfaction. “It’s good!” he said. In later years, he forgot all that because he was too little, but I cherish the memories. However, on that bright summer’s day I was guarding a green snake, and that was so important to my grandson and his friend.
Time passed. Once more the boys ran towards me. Not another snake, I thought with dread! But no, they were hungry. They took a casual peek at their snake and followed me into the kitchen. They sat at the table and watched as I prepared their lunch. They happily chatted away as they ate, then went out to take another look at their snake. But the green snake had already made its escape! It lifted the colander from on top of the pot and slithered off the table, down the stairs, and into the grass. The boys were momentarily disappointed but very soon forgot it and ran off to play. I breathed a sigh of relief. I made sure the boys were playing safely and went back to reading
He is a mature young man now and probably cannot remember that summer day, many years ago.
Sometimes I ask him if he remembers the things I talk about, like the time he cried and cried at bedtime because his mommy wasn’t there. It was winter. Outside the big snowflakes were picturesquely drifting down. We camped on the floor in front of the fire in the hearth, wrapped in blankets. I hugged him to myself and sang him the same lullabies I used to sing to his mother and uncle. He fell asleep watching the logs dancing sedately in the fireplace. That is such a cherished memory for me.
He gives me a hug when I ask him if he remembers things that I tell him. He says, “No, Grandma, I don’t, but you always tell me.” That’s okay. His mother and uncle don’t remember either.
Isn’t it funny? The old cherish their memories while the young rush to experience new adventures. They do not realize that one day these adventures will all become sweet memories. But then that is what life us all about, isn’t it?