Tag Archives: garden

MY FIRST BEST FRIEND, MRS. MCFARLAND

I grew up in a small town in New Jersey, South Jersey, to be more specific. The town I grew up in was called Maple Shade. I always assumed it was called Maple Shade because of the many Maple trees that grew there from one end of Maple Shade to another.

I believed that Maple Shade was a great place to grow up. Of course, my life experience at nine or ten was somewhat limited. But, as far as I was concerned, it was heaven on earth. Especially in the 1950s through the 1960s when I was growing up.

I clearly remember my mother standing on the street curb outside our house with me by her side, and she was teaching me how to cross the street safely. She said, “Before you cross the street, look to the right and then to the left, and then to the right again. If no cars are coming in either direction, it will be safe to cross the street. She practiced with me several times, and then she said, “You are on your own, be careful. Before you go anywhere, let me know where you are going. Understand?”

“Yes, Mom, I understand, right, left, right, then cross the street.”

“OK, now keep your eyes open, and most of all, don’t be late for lunch or dinner.” And then she went back into the house. I guess she was going to clean the house. That is what she did most of her days unless she was cooking. She did a lot of cooking. We had a big family.

After I crossed the street, I went directly across the street to Mrs McFarland’s yard. She was our neighbor, and I loved her so much. She was really, really old. She lived alone because her husband had died a long time ago. And if she had any children, they had all grown up and moved away. I never met them.

I walked up her path to her side door and knocked. I could hear her walking towards the door. When she opened the door, she said, “Well, isn’t this a nice surprise? Would you like to come in for a snack??? Or we can sit outside on the swing and have our snack?

“Oh, let’s eat on the swing.”

A couple of minutes later, she came out with a tray of milk and cookies. Oh, how I loved her cookies. I hope they were chocolate chip. Mrs. McFarland sat down on the swing and said, “Here we go, your favorite chocolate chip. I smiled from ear to ear. Mrs. McFarland had one whole arm and one-half arm. What I mean is her left arm only went down to her elbow, and the rest of her arm was missing. I was always amazed that she never let that bother her at all. She managed to do everything she had to do with one and a half arms. And her cookies were delicious. Sometimes, she brought her doll outside that she had since she was a kid. And She would let me change her clothes. She told me the doll was made from china, which I didn’t understand. When I asked my father what china was, he told me it was a country very far away. Sometimes, I would bring my doll over and play dolls together. Other times, my best girlfriend brought her doll, and we would all play with dolls.

But what I loved to do the most was walk around her yard, which had flowers growing all over it. But, my favorite flowers grew in the Spring, and she called them tulips. She had red tulips. And they were so beautiful. Sometimes, she let me cut a tulip and take it home to my mother.

While we sat and swung back and forth on the swing, she told me all about herself when she was little. I wished I was little when she was so I could play with her every day. But I guess I was lucky to have her as a friend now. The fact is I really loved Mrs. McFarland. And I didn’t care one bit about her only having one half of an arm. Anytime I saw Mrs. McFarland out in her yard, I went over and visited her. She was my best friend. One day, she said, “How about we walk out to the corner of my yard, and you can try climbing up the tree?”

I screamed at the top of my lungs,” Yes, yes, yes. Let’s”

“Well, I can’t climb the tree, but I’ll stand next to the tree and keep you safe.” And she did. After that, I took every opportunity to climb that tree and any other tree I saw around town. Sometimes, I fell, but I just got black and blue marks on my arms and legs. My mother would say, “What in the world have you been up to?”

“Nothing, Mom, just playing in the tree.”

My mother said, “Well, you have to be more careful. My father said, “Let her be. Kids will be kids.” And so, after that, she would say, be careful. When I was a kid, I would tell my mother that I was going out for a bike ride. She would say, be home in time for lunch. I would listen for the church bells to ring at noon time. We lived two doors down from the Catholic church, and then I would run as fast as I could home. Because if my father was home, it wasn’t a good idea to be late for lunch or dinner. When I got home, I would rush through the front door, and my mother would say, “Go wash your hands and face before you sit down. We almost always had the same thing for lunch every day: Lebanon Bologna sandwiches with chicking noodle soup or sometimes Alphabet soup. I loved making words in the soup with the noodles that were in the shape of the alphabet letters. My father would say,” Stop playing with your food. And my mother would say, “Oh, leave her alone. She’s just a little kid.

As time went by, I grew up and visited my friend Mrs. McFarland less and less. I was always busy with my neighborhood friends and my school friends, who came over after school. There was never a shortage of kids around town to play with after school and during the summer.

Eventually, I graduated from elementary school and went on to high school. We had to take an entrance exam to get into Catholic High Schools. I was sure that I failed, but as it turned out, I passed both tests, the one for St. Mary of the Angels Academy and Holy Cross High School. My parents decided that I would attend St. Mary of the Angels Academy. I had to take a bus to go back and forth to high school. As time went by, I didn’t see Mrs. McFarland anymore. She didn’t come outside since she was having difficulty walking, and I didn’t see her working in the garden anymore.

Then, one day, I was sitting at the kitchen table, and someone knocked at our front door. I got up and opened the door. It was an older man, and for some reason, he looked very upset. My mother came to the door and said, “Can I help you?” He said, “ I was just across the street at Mrs. McFarland’s house. I am her insurance man. And she had a heart attack and died right in front of me.” And then he started crying. I never saw a grown man cry before. My mother told him to please sit down. He did. The tears were streaming down his face. I looked at my mom, and she looked at me. And then we both started crying. I felt really bad because I hadn’t visited her for a long time. And I wish I had. I never saw Mrs. McFarland again. Someone else bought her house and rented out the top part of the house to someone else. They took Mrs. McFarland’s swing down, and about a year later, they cut down her Weeping Willow tree one day. I’ll never understand why. I cried all over again.

I will always remember Mrs. McFarland even though I am now the age she was when she became my first friend.

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THE MASKED BANDIT

It’s early Spring, and I’ve recently planted all the vegetables that I had started in my greenhouse outside. I can’t tell you how much I looked forward to eating freshly picked vegetables, tomatoes, peppers, and herbs.

Every morning I walk outside filled with anticipation, loving every minute of the hard work, the heat, the rain, the weeding. And watching the bees slowly buzzing over the plants and landing on the flowers that have recently bloomed. I imagine the bees are in some sort of drunken stupor from the overwhelming array of smells as they hover and land so lightly upon the plants that surround them.

I take a deep breath. I feel slightly lightheaded. Even though I have gardened almost the entirety of my adult life, I still feel the same joy I felt the first time I saw a plant growing and peeking out from the earth that was merely a tiny seed ten days before.

The time flew by in what seemed moments, and I saw some of the watermelons growing larger by the day. I could almost taste their sweet nectar upon my lips. Every day that passed drew me closer to that moment when I could enjoy the fruits of my labor. And then the horror began.

One Saturday morning, I stepped outside on my screened-in porch, and I saw what appeared to be one of my watermelons in the middle of the yard. But how could that be? How in the world could that happen? This was the very watermelon that was so close to being ripe. It was huge. How could anything but a human being pick it up and carry it out into the middle of my yard? And then abandon it. What kind of warped individual would commit such a crime against nature, against me? Who, who would do it? I could not imagine.

We live in a small community with only about twenty homes. And my neighbors made a practice of keeping to themselves. They rarely even pass the time of day if they see you outside in your yard. I was lucky if they even waved. After six years, I only knew the names of a few of our neighbors.

I slipped my gardening boots on and ran out into the yard in my pajamas I hadn’t even put on my gardening clothes. I was in such a shocking state of mind I forgot I hadn’t gotten dressed yet. I felt as if I was looking at the remnants of a murder committed in my own backyard.

I ran through the wet grass. It had rained heavily the night before. And looked down at my fallen watermelon. And it had huge bites taken out of it. I could not comprehend why anyone would do such a thing. It was bad enough that he or she would steal from my garden. But, to then take bites out of it and then leave it to rot in the middle of my backyard was impossible to take in. I was baffled.

I felt such anger well up in my heart in mind. I felt my temples throbbing, and my face felt flushed. The only time I felt this angry was when I was in my last year of college, and my teacher told me that my latest story was the work of a person who had no clue how to write or had any creativity. He failed me for the semester, and I had to retake the course. And then one of my classmates told me that self-same teacher just had a story published in a magazine. And it was almost an exact copy of my story word for word.

This is how angry I felt today. Someone had taken one of my creations that I worked and sweated for and destroyed it, desecrated it. I silently promised myself that I would seek revenge on whoever was responsible for this crime against nature.

When I returned back to my house, I called up my best friend Beth and told her the whole story. She listened quietly without interrupting. And then she said, “.Elizabeth, try and calm down; you’re going to have a stroke if you don’t calm down. Try to put this in perspective. It was just a watermelon. I’m sure that you planted more than one. I know how much you love gardening and look; the fruits of your hard work are like children to you. But think about it, you were going to eat it. And there will be another melon to take its place.”

“What? Just another watermelon. How can you say that? I planned my garden all winter. I spent hours and days preparing the soil, planting the seeds, watching them, and watering them. “

“You’re right, Elizabeth, but what’s done is done. You just have moved forward. Try not to let this affect you so much. Try to move forward. Maybe you could put some kind of net over the garden to prevent further damage.”

“You’re right, Beth. I will have to find a protocol to prevent this from ever happening. I will set up traps all over my yard if need be.”

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THE MASKED BANDIT

It’s early Spring, and I’ve recently planted all the vegetables that I had started in my greenhouse outside. I can’t tell you how much I looked forward to eating freshly picked vegetables, tomatoes, peppers, and herbs.

Every morning I walk outside filled with anticipation, loving every minute of the hard work, the heat, the rain, the weeding. And watching the bees slowly buzzing over the plants and landing on the flowers that have recently bloomed. I imagine the bees are in some sort of drunken stupor from the overwhelming array of smells as they hover and land so lightly upon the plants that surround them.

I take a deep breath. I feel slightly lightheaded. Even though I have gardened almost the entirety of my adult life, I still feel the same joy I felt the first time I saw a plant growing and peeking out from the earth that was merely a tiny seed ten days before.

 The time flew by in what seemed moments, and I saw some of the watermelons growing larger by the day. I could almost taste their sweet nectar upon my lips. Every day that passed drew me closer to that moment when I could enjoy the fruits of my labor. And then the horror began.

One Saturday morning, I stepped outside on my screened-in porch, and I saw what appeared to be one of my watermelons in the middle of the yard. But how could that be? How in the world could that happen? This was the very watermelon that was so close to being ripe. It was huge. How could anything but a human being pick it up and carry it out into the middle of my yard? And then abandon it. What kind of warped individual would commit such a crime against nature, against me? Who, who would do it? I could not imagine.

 We live in a small community with only about twenty homes. And my neighbors made a practice of keeping to themselves. They rarely even pass the time of day if they see you outside in your yard. I was lucky if they even waved. After six years, I only knew the names of a few of our neighbors.

I slipped my gardening boots on and ran out into the yard in my pajamas I hadn’t even put on my gardening clothes. I was in such a shocking state of mind I forgot I hadn’t gotten dressed yet. I felt as if I was looking at the remnants of a murder committed in my own backyard.

I ran through the wet grass. It had rained heavily the night before. And looked down at my fallen watermelon. And it had huge bites taken out of it. I could not comprehend why anyone would do such a thing. It was bad enough that he or she would steal from my garden. But, to then take bites out of it and then leave it to rot in the middle of my backyard was impossible to take in. I was baffled.

I felt such anger well up in my heart in mind. I felt my temples throbbing, and my face felt flushed. The only time I felt this angry was when I was in my last year of college, and my teacher told me that my latest story was the work of a person who had no clue how to write or had any creativity. He failed me for the semester, and I had to retake the course. And then one of my classmates told me that self-same teacher just had a story published in a magazine. And it was almost an exact copy of my story word for word.

This is how angry I felt today. Someone had taken one of my creations that I worked and sweated for and destroyed it, desecrated it. I silently promised myself that I would seek revenge on whoever was responsible for this crime against nature.

When I returned back to my house, I called up my best friend Beth and told her the whole story. She listened quietly without interrupting. And then she said, “.Elizabeth, try and calm down; you’re going to have a stroke if you don’t calm down. Try to put this in perspective. It was just a watermelon. I’m sure that you planted more than one. I know how much you love gardening and look; the fruits of your hard work are like children to you. But think about it, you were going to eat it. And there will be another melon to take its place.”

“What? Just another watermelon. How can you say that? I planned my garden all winter. I spent hours and days preparing the soil, planting the seeds, watching them, and watering them. “

“You’re right, Elizabeth, but what’s done is done. You just have moved forward. Try not to let this affect you so much. Try to move forward. Maybe you could put some kind of net over the garden to prevent further damage.”

“You’re right, Beth. I will have to find a protocol to prevent this from ever happening. I will set up traps all over my yard if need be.”

“OK, don’t get carried away. You can be injuring any of your neighbors because of a watermelon, Beth.”

“Alright, I won’t harm anyone, but I will certainly put the fear of god into them if it’s the last thing I do on earth. I will make them regret the day they came into my yard, my garden, and designated it.”

“You are still sounding unhinged; go in your house, get a shower, get dressed, and eat some breakfast. Maybe your blood sugar is too low. And then call me later, maybe we could go out to dinner and a movie later. Take your mind off of the watermelon. Call me after your shower, and we’ll make plans, OK?”

I called Elizabeth later, and she wasn’t home. I left her a message and said I was calmed down and that maybe we could make plans for later in the week. I decided that I would have a surveillance system put on the exterior of my home, and I would find out who the culprit was. And when I did, I would make them regret the day they were born. The next day they arrived bright and early and set up the surveillance system. I could watch my yard anytime I wanted to, and somehow they had connected it to my cell phone, and I would be able to check out my yard 24 hours a day if need be. I was stoked.

If there were any signs of someone on my property, I would receive a message on my cell phone. For five days, there was nothing. But I remained on edge. I had trouble falling asleep and staying asleep. I was confident that whoever it was would return to rob me again. And so I waited and waited for something, anything to happen.

And then, on Sunday night, as I was sleeping soundly in my bed, my cell phone went off with a high-pitched sound that woke me from the first sound sleep I had had in almost a week. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I did jump out of my bed and looked out my back bedroom window that faced my garden. I saw nothing. It was pitch dark.

So, I put on my shoes and my robe to protect myself from the mosquitoes and headed out the back door. And low and behold, I saw someone or something moving. But, it was too small to be a human. What, what could it be? And then I saw four or five smaller shapes moving behind the larger one. Good lord, what could be going on? I couldn’t fathom it. I slowly moved toward the moving shapes. Trying to be as stealthy as I could, considering my size.

As I got closer to them, I pulled my small flashlight out of my pocket and shined the light on the moving shapes. And when I did that, I saw one large and five sets of smaller eyes glowing red in the dark night. The larger of the group stood up on his hind back legs, and low and behold. I saw before me a Raccoon. The largest one I’ve ever seen. Behind her were five smaller versions of her, baby raccoons.

They looked eerie in the flashlight, and as soon as they saw me, the mother raccoon made a weird squealing noise, and they all took off like bats out of hell towards the back fence. And off they went. If they ever returned, I saw little evidence of it. Every once in a while, there would be some missing vegetable but never a watermelon again. I decided I was willing to part with the odd vegetable or so. She did have a family to feed, after all.

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THE EARLY BIRDS GETS THE WORM

As far back as I can remember my family has been telling me that I let my imagination run away with me. One family member actually had the audacity to tell me I was full of malarkey.

As a child, I would come home after playing outside with my friends and as soon as everyone was seated at the dinner table I would regale them with the adventures I experienced that day.

I always begin by saying, “wow you won’t believe what happened to me today.”

And then one night at the dinner table my oldest siblings said, “oh no, here she goes again with one of her wild stories. Mom, can’t you tell her to shut up? We can never eat in peace. You know she is full of bologna. There is no way that one person could have some crazy thing happen to them every single day of their life.

The weirdest thing that happened to me today is that my boss at Acme didn’t fire me. After I forgot to bring in the dairy delivery immediately after it arrived. He’s fires people for smaller mistakes. I consider it almost a miracle that I still have a job. But you don’t hear me telling you every night what awesome or strange thing happened to me every day do you?”

“Larry does not use that kind of language at the dinner table. And leave Sandy alone. She’s not doing any harm. She just has an active imagination. That’s all. She’s a very creative kid with a big imagination. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Yeah, imagination, sure. If anyone of the rest of us told so many lies, we would never hear the end of it.”

“He’s right Mom. You do favor her. She gets away with murder.”

“That’s enough Libby. How about we all just eat out dinner quietly.’

As a result, I never did get to tell them what happened to me. Every time I tried to bring it up. Someone would tell me to shut up, And my mother would say, “you are not allowed to say shut up in this house.

“Maybe I should start at the beginning. After I got out of school that day, I ran home. So that I could change out of my school uniform and into my play clothes. And then I ran over to my best friend’s house down the street. I banged on her front door. No one answered.

I banged and banged at the door for at least twenty minutes. I was about to give up and then I saw someone at the front window. She looked like a witch. Her hair was standing up in every direction. Her face had something sticky smeared across it. All the way up to her hairline. At first, I thought it was blood. The longer I looked I realized it was some kind of food on her face, maybe jelly. The window was half-opened she screamed out the opening, “help, help me they are keeping me, prisoner, here. Help, help, help.”

At first, I thought I better run away. She‘s some kind of witch, She‘s going to eat me. But then I saw tears slowly running down her face from her red, bloodshot eyes and down her wrinkled cheeks. And she kept wiping them away with the back of her hand. This further spread the jelly or whatever it was across her face. There seemed no end to her tears. I ran up to the front garden under the window and yelled up at her, “are you alright? Are you hurt? Do you want me to call the police?” She continued to moan and cry, “help me, help me.”

I decided to try getting into the house through the screen porch at the back of the house. My friend, Jilly lived there. But it didn’t seem like anyone else was home but this old lady. Jilly had told me that they never locked the back porch in case one of them got locked out of the house by mistake.

So I pushed it open and ran over to the kitchen door. I turned the knob and I was in. I stepped into the kitchen it smelled like pizza like it always does. My best friend‘s family is Italian and they eat spaghetti or lasagna or pizza almost every night. It always smells delicious in their kitchen. I called out, “Hello, hello where are you?” I could hear her crying from the living room. I yelled out, “hello it’s me, Sandy.”

Nobody answered me. So, I just walked quietly into the living room. I didn’t want to scare her. “Hi, it’s me, Sandy.” I saw her still looking out the living room window. I tiptoed up to her and said, “hi, I’m here. She screamed at the top of her lungs. I let out a scream myself. ” Good grief, you scared me half to death. Where is everyone? Why are you all alone? Where’s Jilly?”

She said, ” they left me all alone. They are keeping me a prisoner. They won’t let me out.”

I said, “let’s sit down in the kitchen. I know let’s eat a cookie. I saw some on the counter when I walked through there. Do you want a cookie?” She smiled for the first time.

“Yes, cookie, I want a cookie.”

I helped her sit down and pushed her chair in. We both sat quietly and ate the chocolate chip cookies. And then I said, “are you Jilly’s grandmother?”

“Yes. I’m a grandmother.”

“Are you living here now?”
“Yes, I’m living here. They left me all alone. I was taking a nap and when I woke up, they were gone. I was scared and lonely and all by myself.”

“Well, I‘ll stay here until they come home. Would you like that?”

“Yes, stay. I’m scared.”

We sat and ate our cookies for a while and I ask her what’s your name? She said, “my name is Alma. I came here a long time ago. I’m from Italy. We landed in New York City at the Statue of Liberty in 1905. We lived in Camden, New Jersey for many years. My husband was a tailor and he made suits for men. I had twelve children. They are all grown up and have children of their own. And some of their children have children. My husband died and now I’m all alone.”

“You’re not alone Alma. You live with your son, daughter-in-law, and two grandchildren. And now you have me, I’ll be your friend and I’ll come to visit you anytime you want me to. Maybe we could take a walk around the garden in the backyard. And there’s a big swing hanging from the Willow Tree that we could take a ride on. What do you say?”

“Yes, I say let’s take some cookies outside too. I love cookies.”

“Really I love cookies and candy. Next time I come over I’ll bring some cookies that my mom made. They’re oatmeal raisin. They are so yummy.”

Alma had a big smile across her face. And that’s when I saw Alma didn’t have any teeth. And I wondered how she could chew the cookies. I handed her two of the cookies and we sat down on the couch that was on the back porch. She finished her cookies before I did.

“Good, they’re good cookies. Give me more.”

“Maybe next time, I don’t want you to get sick.”

She smiled at me. And that’s when I heard my friend Jilly’s car drive up. It was an old car and it made a lot of noise. I said, “Alma your family is home. Do you want to go back into the house?”

She said, ‘no, I like it out here. It’s nice and there are a lot of birds and flowers. I used to have a garden when I lived in Camden in the front yard. I had all different kinds of roses. And we had a grapevine and my husband used to make his own wine. I miss that.”

“Maybe your son would let you have a garden here. And then you could go outside in the fresh air and not be stuck in the house all the time.”

“Yes, I would love to have a garden again. Let’s do that.”

And then I thought, oh no, I shouldn’t have told her that. Maybe they’ll say no. And then she’ll be sad again. “Alma, stay here. I’m going to run around front and tell them we are out on the porch. So, they won’t worry. I’ll be right back. Stay here.”

I ran out front and Jilly’s father said, “what are you doing here? Why are you here all the time?”

My friend Jilly’s father was a grouch, just like my father. I ignored what he said. And I said, “I was visiting Alma I heard her crying when I was knocking at the front door. And we were sitting on the back porch eating cookies. I told her I would bring her some of my mother’s cookies the next time I come over.”
“How did you get in the house Sandy?”

“I came in the back porch. Jilly told me it is always unlocked. And your mother and I were visiting on the porch and eating cookies. She said she wants to have a garden in the backyard. She loves flowers and grapes.”

“She did, she’s done nothing but cry since she got here. OK, let’s go see her on the back porch. We all marched around the yard to the backyard. Alma was sitting there quietly looking at the backyard. “Hello, Sandy said I could have a garden and work in the backyard.”

“She did Mom. That sounds like a great idea.”

And Sandy said, “she will come over and help me.”

“Well Mom, that sounds like a fine idea. And maybe Jilly can help you as well.”

And that is when I saw the most beautiful toothless smile appear on Grandmother’s face. That’s what she told me to call her, Grandmother. I never had a grandmother before. So, at least once a week I go over and help grandmother in the garden. And she tells me all kinds of stories about the olden days when she was growing up in Italy.

And that is how I made my second best, Alma. At least once or twice a week I go over to Jilly’s house and sit on the back porch and eat oatmeal raisin cookies with cold milk. And sometimes we go in the yard and work in the garden. I’m in charge of any worms we find. Because Alma is afraid of snakes. I keep telling her that these are just little worms but she doesn’t believe me.

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