The storm was long, the night darker than dark. Flashes of lightening breaking against that darkness, as if angels had been thrown from the heavens, armed, waging a war of light on all humanity. Or, perhaps that’s just my mythical recollection of a Southern thunderstorm, quenching the heat from a hot humid summer day. By whatever memory engaged me, the dream of that night busted into reality, as the wet and foggy morning arrived.
Early up, breaking for just a moment to grab a ham biscuit and my favorite canteen, I zoomed away to where my dreams had taken me just a few hours earlier. A slippery red clay path lead to a forgotten old gravel road. Large pecan trees, weighted with the night’s rain, guided me on my hurried quest. My pace slowed as a large opening appeared in the distance, and then I saw it. A large white house rested before me, neglected and abandoned. It had a porch that wrapped around the entire house, the bottom story was very large, and in the upper story, a single room consuming the center section of the house, and a tiny observation deck at the roof line.
I stood for what seemed like hours, at the very front of a few steps that led to the front door, wondering if I should take a peek. Stepping forward, suddenly I heard a bark come from the back of the house, and a brown, black, and white furred beagle attached to the bark. A friendly dog just wishing to investigate the new arrival. Calling for the dog, an old man appeared from the south side of the house. My thoughts of exploring the house now vanished. The man was not upset to see a stranger on his property, but greeted me as if he knew I was coming. He invited me in, as people did in those days, and offered me a lemonade to cool my thirst.
He spoke to me as a grandfather would speak to his own grandchildren, kindly, and full of wisdom, never lacking for another story to maintain his audience. We moved to the back porch, and sat there rocking. He spoke of his wife, now departed, his children that were busy and rarely visited, and his grandchildren that saw no need to visit an old man that allowed for little entertainment to keep their interest. Then, I saw it! Although the path here had been lined with fruitless pecan trees, at the very center of an unkept lawn was a very large evergreen tree, with only a few blossoms. The limbs were large and hung low in need of a good pruning, its blossoms few. There were benches, swings, old flower beds that circled the tree, once the center piece of loving family gatherings. The sight of this both angered and saddened me, for the old man, and a tree left unattended.
I asked him, because of his kindness, if I could come back, and begin the work to restore the house, the gardens, and the tree. Tears swelled up in his eyes, and he agreed. I told him that the task was too big for a small lad like me, I’d need my brothers to help, and a few close friends. For the next few summers, and every off time we could find, we came and worked, and played, and made lasting bonds. We pruned the tree, a big beautiful magnolia tree, that now had hundreds of blossoms with fragrance that filled the yard.
Slowly, the old man’s children began to visit again, astounded by the beauty that we had created, that they had once known, but neglected. Then, the grandchildren began to return, and their children, enjoying the restoration of a heritage that was always their inheritance . I and my brothers grew older, never stayed long away from the old man, never let his progeny forget the treasure they had. And when he died, we had so engaged his children with the maintenance of the magnolia tree that we were allowed to rest from our labors.
All this started in a storm, a boy’s dream, and a walk down an old path to a magnolia tree.
Service to God and honor to the South.
Nice and well said
Another great one.
Well done.