After Pecan Picking

It seems the best time
is a windy Saturday in November.
You can stand out under the tree
and practically catch them as they fall
off the tree.

The little boy who is outside with you
twirls, arms up, like the falling leaves
and falls down laughing.
He gathers a few “treasures” in his empty coffee can.
Then, laughing more, he throws them all up in the air
to rain down around him.

You stuff your pockets until they are bulging.
You feel dizzy from looking down for these nuts.
And then your thoughts turn to all the recipes
that need these pecans to taste just right
Sweet potato casserole, pecan pie, cola cake
and Meemaw’s brownies.

And that is when she is clear as day in your mind.
In her chair, shelling pecans all winter

Telling of her deep southern upbringing,
there is very little she cooked that doesn’t
require pecans.
And you know that she would be so amused to see
the two of you,
scurrying even more than squirrels
to pick up pecans
and she would be so proud of your effiency
preferring to harvest these
instead of paying $8 for a bag of pre-shelled, pre-chopped
store bought nuts.

Yes,
efficiency,
tradition,
heritage.

Who would have thought
you’d come all this way
to have a backyard with a pecan tree?

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~ by hannahcsykes on November 15, 2008.

One Response to “After Pecan Picking”

  1. Last night I dreamed of you. The girls and I had gone to visit you and L.M. Your house was different, though. Two-story, woodframe, weathered and grey. In my reverie, I see her house that way. I don’t know if there was a pecan tree in your backyard in my dream, but there was music – fiddle, guitar, & banjo. And you and I sat in the grass reading each other’s writings.

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