It's summer, and I've finally started walking daily again, a love and a habit made possible by my decision to downshift. (More on that at some point on another blog). In the last couple of weeks I have been feeling so inspired by nature and by architecture, basically by being outside in my urban neighborhood. I've been taking my camera with me to capture beautiful and interesting images (see them at http:righttoside.blogspot.com though I'll warn you that I'm raving there about vinyl siding).
I've been feeling so reinvigorated after a long Midwest winter that I affirmed today the fact that the out-of-doors feeds my soul. When I state that this basic personal truth was an affirmation for me I cannot overstate the point. I am the only person in my immediate family (of marriage) who likes to spend time outside not necessarily doing anything, maybe just sitting.
When I made this affirmation today, I thought of my grandfather (pictured above, second photo). In my preschool years, I stayed with him and my grandmother during the work week. This was a temporary arrangement that I of course value greatly today since it was during those early days that my intimate relationship with both my grandparents developed.
Like so many families whose homesteads have a front porch, we spent lots of time together in this semi-private, semi-public space. Pictured above are my Aunt Bobria (the youngest of my father's sisters), my paternal grandfather, my sister, brother, and yours truly (covering eyes with hands). On this particular occasion, probably around '73 (that'd make me eight years old), Aunt B was visiting from out of town, which is why we were taking pictures. Other days, sitting on the porch is just what we did; there was nothing out of the ordinary about it for us. I'm stressing this point because today, in some communities, I think you just about have to apologize for sitting on the porch, and, as I've already stated, I cannot get my children or husband to come outside unless there is an express purpose for their crossing the threshold between hearth and porch.
All of these preparatory comments lead me to the following.
Sometimes, in those days when I was with my grandparents, my grandfather, I'll go ahead and call him Big Daddy, would go missing for maybe an hour. Eventually, I discovered that he would sometimes just go sit in his car, which he tended to park on the northeast corner of the two intersecting streets where his and Big Ma's home was located. (Their front door was not on the street where he parked, but the fire hydrant in front of their actual street may be the reason he chose to park on the house's side street.) Anyway, the point is that my Big Daddy would spend an hour each day sitting in his dark blue Ford Galaxie on the northeast corner of his house.
Years after he had passed away (which was in 1980, November), I asked my father's oldest sister (top photo; she's pictured with my oldest sister) if she had ever observed this practice, and, indeed, she said she had. Of course, I asked her why he had done this thing, and she replied: "He used to say, 'You have to get outside'. When you inside, you see things, and you don't see things'."
Huh? See what things? What can be seen outside (besides nature) that cannot be seen inside?
Since my aunt told me this, I have thought back on it many times as I've tried to understand my ancestors. What did Big Daddy mean? Well, I wouldn't be worth anything as a researcher had I not asked his oldest daughter this follow-up question. Her answer was that in order for Big Daddy to continue in his work he needed to have some alone time each day. "You see," she said, "Your grandfather was a businessman. He'd be thinking of new ideas, what to do next."
I have to say, this answer is priceless though I was not satisfied that it was the whole answer. One reason that it is priceless is that it comes from the perspective of the oldest child, who was only twenty years younger than her father. Her time with him began Down South, in Mississippi. She knew him when he was the big landowner, the man every body went to for money, advice, and other types of assistance. This daughter knew the weight that had been on her father's shoulders before 1945, the year he packed up the family farm and moved north.
Then, there is also my view so many years later, twenty five or more years. Was Big Daddy still carrying the weight then? I would have to answer yes because his legacy was great. In 1923, when his father died, he and his siblings inherited about 800 acres of land. By the early '40s, that land (actually half of it; the government "condemned" the rest) was in the sole hands of Big Daddy. What must this responsibility have felt like? His father had purchased the land (two separate purchases) in the 1880s. There is a long story that goes along with this basic information, but I will make it short. Though Big Daddy was the youngest child of his parents, the baton was passed to him. Now, it was a mighty baton (mighty heavy and mighty powerful) because our Big Daddy was blessed with more than land back in 1923. His was a spiritual inheritance.
Now, I could get into how most of his male relatives, elders, were men of the cloth, and even talk about our famous practitioner of Hoodoo, but that's a little beside the point. In fact, Big Daddy wanted no parts of church, and he was at war with the Hoodoo-er. Big Daddy's life story really is about using his own energies to discover how he could best answer his calling in his own way and be at peace with that. So, I could talk about his dealings in the big city or the hundreds of bulls he raised on his farm in Mississippi, his store, or his undertaking business, but what I'm really trying to get to is the possibility that Big Daddy was directed by his ancestors. I am saying that the reason why he spent that time outside in that car on the northeast corner just sitting is because there he could enter a space where he could quiet himself and hear.
Readers, be assured that I have not gone loco, but I have to tell you that one summer day my father parked our car in Big Daddy's spot! Well, we spent a nice long day at our grandparents, and, being the kid I was, when my parents started winding down our visit I ran to the car and got in. (I was the youngest and had to try to beat my brother and sisters at everything.) I remember this day like it was yesterday. I had been in that car just a few minutes, and as I recall I had inverted my body, i.e. my head was pressed into the car's back seat and my legs were dangling at the back window. I'm sure blood was rushing to my head, and this may be the reason why suddenly I heard a voice, "Everything happens for a reason, and everything happens in its own time." Yikes (an appropriate '70s term)! I tumbled down, looked around, and without a second thought dashed out of the car, embarrassed and scared out of my eight-year-old wits. I hurried back to the porch where my parents were still talking. Oddly, no one asked me why I had returned. Thank goodness!
What happened to me in that car? Did I really approach or, better yet, transcend a portal and, not only that, but one that Big Daddy had already accessed? I know it sounds crazy people, and if I didn't think you all were fairly open to this kind of experience I certainly would not tell this story to you.
I guess the last thing that I'll say is I'm pretty much convinced of a few things: (1) there is only the slightest separation between earth and the beyond, (2) the ancestors choose you at an early age (maybe even before you're born) and have various ways of communicating with you, (3) they encourage you to answer your calling and assist your work, (4) not all children will answer said calling since it scares the bejeezus out of you, (5) many people so run from this sort of thing that they are given to drink and drug, which is funny because these substances probably only give the ancestors more access! On second thought, maybe that's the point. Okay, I've said enough, but let me bring my comments full circle by saying that all of our ancestors spent much more time outside than we do. Hint Hint. Think about that the next time you're sitting on a porch, in a gazebo, on a park bench, etc. You get the picture.
