Rock of Ages

Rock of Ages

On a whim, a mere casual thought, I changed directions and went to my grandmother's old place before heading to her new house in a small town.  Her former home at been on a small farm down a dusty country road.  I found the property unchanged as no one lived there.  It had been sold, but the land was not in use.

As a young child, I spent many hours at this place riding a horse, looking for new born kittens the mother cat had hidden, petting baby calves.  I gathered magical things and placed them under a bower of trees making it my castle.  Of course the magical things were only rocks, feathers, and skeletons of reptilian creatures, but they were treasures to me.  I helped my grandmother bring in the cows so they could be milked and collect eggs in the chicken house.

I remembered these things as I strolled through the overgrown gardens where wild flowers bloomed.  My grandmother loved flowers and always had some growing around the house. I bent to pull up some weeds to allow a few hididen blooms to see the sun.  My vision fell on a rock beneath the grass.  I picked it up.

It was an oval rock about the size of my hand with a cup-like impression in it.  It had no vibrant color nor was there any sparkling facets; but the rock held a fascination for me.  Although it wasn't very big, I thought I could plant a small succulent plant in the dip in the rock.  When I left the farm, I took the rock with me.  It didn't feel like stealing since my grandmother had lived there.

I placed the rock in the car and drove the remaining miles to my grandmother's new house.  Again, a whim, a casual thought, I decided to take the rock into the house to show my grandmother and my mother who was also visiting that day.  I found them both sitting at the table in the kitchen.

"Look, Grandma, what I found at your old place," I said holding the rock up for her to see.  Her eyes filled with tears.  I couldn't imagine what I had done or said to make her cry.

"Let me see it, Dear," my grandmother said.  I handed her the rock.

"I am so glad you found it.  I've had this rock for decades.  Every time we moved, I took it with me.  It is probably the only thing I was able to keep through all those years of changing residence every year or so.  I guess I lived on the farm outside Piedmont so long I forgot about the rock when I moved here."

When my grandfather was alive, he had not been good with his finances.  Every time he got into deep debt and couldn't pay the bills, he would pack up my grandmother and move to a new farm, usually more run-down than the one before.  My grandmother did her best by selling eggs, milk, and vegetables from her garden, and she always tried to beautify the new place.

Over a few years time (after my grandfather died), my grandmother was able to put together enough money to buy the little house in a nearby town.  She hadn't even told anyone what she was planning; everyone was surprised when she announced she had bought a house and was moving.  She was like that – independent and private. 

In the new town, my grandmother was able to continue to pursue two of her passions: gardening and writing.  Well up into her eighties, she continued to do both.  She was a regular columnist for her local newspaper, and she put many of her writings about the "old days" into a book.  She was also featured on CBS news for being the oldest living journalist.

My grandmother had never had much in the way of material possessions, so that rock meant a great deal to her.  And I had found it, on a whim, a mere casual thought to visit the old farm.  I think not.  It was meant to be.  My grandmother gave me the rock to keep.  I have it still. 

My grandmother passed away at age 108 but never knew the rock moved with me several times, the last time moving to a farm where I live now at age 63.  I think the rock feels at home here in my office where I spend my time writing, sometimes about my garden.  I believe my grandmother would like that.

 

Author's Note:  This is a true story with some fictional liberties taken.


FIRST PLACE 8/3/2010 -

ID: 333655   (Rated: 13+) The Writer's Cramp  Write the best story or poem in 24 hours or less and win 10,000 GPs! by Sophy

Prompt: Write a STORY or POEM about finding something unexpected while weeding a garden.