Finished reading John 4[th] time 10 after 8 a.m. Oct. 15, 1983, Sat., Regina spent the night with us Fri. -notation in Grandma’s Bible at the end of the book of John.

I can still see Grandma’s sweet smiling face peering at me from over the sink as I drove up that crisp fall day.

It was my first trip to their house in my new “flivver” as she called it, a maroon 1976 Plymouth Duster.

It was also my first taste of being at Grandma and Grandpa’s house as an adult by myself, because I had just learned how to drive.

Grandpa had a fire going in the hearth and grandma had a warm supper on the table to greet me as I walked into the old kitchen.

The next morning we went on a road trip to Tishomingo State Park in Iuka and spent the night in a little cabin.

It was lovely waking up the next morning and looking at the river. I took pictures of the pretty sweet gum trees. 

Over this past month I’ve thought about the influence that my grandparents have had in my life.

Each grandparent had their own special brand of memories.

For grandpa it was muscadine hunting and finding treasures in the dump or eating at some little homey restaurant I’d never been to before.

Granddaddy on the other hand took me hunting at Grenada, tried to teach me how to drive a stick shift, and pulled me through the snow on the hood of an old car.

Grandmama and I spent many a quiet afternoon on the lake wetting our hook and Grandma Butler treated me with a tall glass of lemonade and stories of her childhood on many a hot summer day.

Recently I went to the cemetery to visit grandmama and granddaddy’s grave in memory of losing granddad two years ago.

I couldn’t help but reflect on the joy that they were in my life. Tears stung my eyes as I remembered that soon it would be grandparents day, and for the first time in my life I won’t have a grandparent to go see.

I cleaned the old flowers from the grave and put out the fresh fall bouquet I’d just picked, a brand new American flag blushed from amongst the yellow blooms.

I reverently dug a hole and buried the old flags, resting them in peace below granddad’s foot marker.

It was funny how something so mundane could bring such comfort to my soul as I reverently cared for the little bits of material and the last resting place of my grandparents.

I walked to the back fence to throw the old dried magnolia leaves into the woods. The yellow leaved muscadine vine caught my eye.

The purple fruit hung in a pretty smile above my head. 

I stood on my tiptoe and picked the ripe orbs, I closed my eyes as I tasted the sweet goodness letting the tears spill down my cheeks as the moments of yesterday stole their way down the corridors of time.

Before long I left the cemetery, pulling the gate quietly behind me.

I drove home with a pocket full of muscadines and a heart full of memories.