SUMMER RITUAL
late one Sunday afternoon.
Babci greets us in the kitchen
with cold drinks clinking with ice cubes.
Dzidzi fetches a small wooden basket
from the cellar, takes my hand,
and walks me down the stone path to his garden.
He leans over a tomato plant,
holds a fat red globe in his cupped hand,
and looks at me. I nod approval.
I can almost taste the tomato’s warm, juicy flesh.
We choose a dozen more and place them in the basket.
We pick three green, glossy-skinned peppers,
pull up a bunch of feather-topped carrots,
enough beets for my mother to make a pot of zimny barszcz
thickened with sour cream and floating with cucumber slices.
Every visit to my grandparents’ house
is the same this season—
a small harvest of vegetables—
and when we leave, I take home
a little basket of Dzidzi’s garden.
September is my favorite month. I love the weather here in
New England at this time of year. We still have warm days--usually without the
summer humidity. Nights are cooler and comfortable for sleeping.
This month brings to mind my Dzidzi--my maternal
grandfather. He passed away in late September of 1984. It was the first real
loss of a beloved family member that I suffered. It was traumatic for me.
Dzidzi with my father
Dzidzi was a Polish immigrant...a peasant from the Old
Country. For many years, he worked at a leather factory in Peabody,
Massachusetts, which is known as the Tanner City. He also worked in his garden
behind his house. He grew many different kinds of vegetables--including onions,
peppers, carrots, and beets. He cared for his fruit trees (apple, pear, and
plum). His cherry tree was felled by a hurricane in the 1950s. He LOVED tending to his garden almost as much as he loved his family--and he loved sharing the food he grew in it.
Babci and Dzidzi with my older sister
My poem Summer Ritual is a remembrance of the times I'd
visit my maternal grandparents in summer and early fall--and return home with a
bounty of fresh-picked vegetables and fruit from Dzidzi's garden.
A few weeks ago, I posted a poem about my maternal
grandmother titled CROCHETING.
Michelle has the Poetry Friday Roundup at Today's Little
Ditty.
6 comments:
Beautiful poem, Elaine. Loved learning more about your grandfather and his garden. What wonderful memories you have to draw from for your poems.
This poem is like a harvest of love, Elaine. I so enjoyed hearing your memories and learning more about your family.
What Michelle said. :) #harvestoflove
That is lovely, Elaine. I love the names and the use of veggies. Food and family are often intertwined, in a kind of universal way.
You've brought back my memories, too, Elaine, of grandparents' gardens. What a sweet memory of choosing the best vegies with your Dzidzi.
Beautiful memories captured in a beautiful poem. I felt like I was in the garden with you and your grandfather picking that basket of fresh vegetables.
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