another little slice of memoir
*******
Once upon a long, long time ago, I boarded a ferry with my dad and grandmother to visit her sister, my great-aunt Nona.
She lived so deep in the countryside that it felt otherworldly. An old, old place. Old unpainted house, old separate kitchen joined to it by an old porch, old outbuildings…old outhouse. The memory has lost much of its detail now, like an aged sepia photograph, fading and fragile.
What remains are the bright sunshine and the green, green grass where I ran and played while the grown-ups talked and laughed on the porch. They were having a great visit…until I ran through a clover patch and fiery pain seared my ankle.
Bumblebee sting. I collapsed in the clover, screaming.
The grown-ups leapt off the porch in a single bound.
I can’t remember Grandma’s reaction. She was typically soothing: I know it hurts, honey. I am sorry.
I can’t remember Daddy’s reaction. He was typically irritated: All right, calm down! Stop making such a racket.
But I remember Aunt Nona’s reaction.
Sweet-faced, graying black hair pulled into a bun, silver cat-eye glasses…she said to my father:
“Give me one of your cigarettes.”
He did.
She peeled the paper back, put the tobacco in her mouth, made a paste, and dabbed it on my ankle.
“That’ll take the pain away,” she said.
As for me (weird kid that I was), the sight of the wet brown clump on my ankle was nearly as horrifying as the sting. Now I sobbed and screamed.
Sometimes I question the details of this memory: Was that really a cigarette she chewed, or snuff? It was so long ago…but cigarette is what I remember.
And I remember my gentle Aunt Nona, kindest of souls, bearer of wisdom from the old days, the old ways, a humble woman who played piano by ear and composed her own hymns. She lived to be 101.
All these ages and ages hence, I marvel at her tobacco remedy and resourcefulness.
Just a little leaf of memory, now pressed and preserved here, before time finishes burning it away.
Image by jan mesaros from Pixabay
*******
with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the March Slice of Life Story Challenge
Discover more from lit bits and pieces
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
lit bits and pieces 
This was a beautiful read!
LikeLike
I love this memoir slice. You were honest in your recall, even when you weren’t sure you had the details right. Your last line is perfect- “Just a little leaf of memory, now pressed and preserved here, before time finishes burning it away.” It sums up your piece so well but also describes how fleeting memories can be.
LikeLike
What a great slice! Your powers of description really bring your memory to life, but I most love how you deftly wove all that tobacco/cigarette word choice throughout. That ending line is perfection!
LikeLike
Beautiful writing. The image of the sepia photograph is great, as well as the capturing of what people probably said given what you knew about them. You have me wanting to google the healing powers of tobacco!
LikeLike
You bring memory and metaphor together in a memorable piece, full of the clover of childhood that one minute is a barefoot heaven and the next searing with a reminder of the dangers lurking in the most beautiful places. I, too, have memories of the tobacco. Ours was chewing tobacco – – my grandfather’s. He smoked a corncob pipe and wore overalls and Sears Union suits every day of his life. And yes, that tobacco “drew out the sting” here in the Deep South. What I love even more is how you set your scene. You took us there to the old house….otherworldly. It certainly seems so, even now.
LikeLike
Your memory, filled with details like the searing pain and smell of that tobacco are rich in their profound impact on you and in their basis as family lore. While I have never heard of this one, my mother considered whisky and honey the best cough medicine even for kids. Sigh
LikeLike
There are so many home remedies, and many of them work. The detailed description of your great aunt’s home paints a vivid picture of it in my mind. Thanks for sharing your memory.
LikeLike
Writing memoir is hard, and you do it well! I loved the description of the house and porch and fields of clover to run through. I also love your reverence for the older generation, the old ways, and preserving the wisdom of those times.
LikeLike
I have experienced this healing myself, and can attest that it works. But your telling the tale, with such detail and emotion, makes this writing the true medicine here.
LikeLike
So fun to read this on the day my memoir writing group meets on Zoom. I like how you paint the differing reactions of the adults that day.
Our NC neighbor remembers when the spaces where we now live were tobacco fields.
LikeLike
Fran, I love how you write about this memory. I can see you wailing from the bee sting and then wailing more by the tobacco patch. Your final sentence is a brilliant closure. Your writing never fails to impress me.
LikeLike
I imagine this as a scene from a (sepia) film. You have such a gift for precise description. Your last line seals the deal of the backstory you can’t quite get from film. Interesting remedy for a bee sting.
LikeLike
Fran, what a fascinating memory. Your reaction to the sight of the tobacco on your ankle cracked me up: “Now I sobbed and screamed.” I also loved your description of Aunt Nona’s house, and how your memory of it is like a “aged sepia photograph, fading and fragile.” I think that’s a great description of how I remember things from my childhood.
LikeLike
How lovely to be able to remember this! I would love to have grown up with visits to wise people like Nona. I love the details in the story as you recall them and how precious memories are.
LikeLike
Fran, what a great memoir slice! You hooked me at “Great-Aunt Nona.” I love your descriptive paragraph of Aunt Nona’s place and your repetition of the word old. I love your build-up of and repetition of “I can’t remember …. reaction.” and how those techniques make your Aunt Nona’s reaction stand out all the more. Some favorite lines are:
“The memory has lost much of its detail now, like an aged sepia photograph, fading and fragile.” It’s great how in this line your “The memory” smoothly brings us to the next paragraph.
“What remains are the bright sunshine and the green, green grass where I ran and played…. until I ran through a clover patch and fiery pain seared my ankle.”
“But I remember Aunt Nona’s reaction.
Sweet-faced, graying black hair pulled into a bun, silver cat-eye glasses…she said to my father:”
the sight of the wet brown clump on my ankle was nearly as horrifying as the sting. Now I sobbed and screamed.” I laughed here because I wasn’t expecting you to cry about “brown clump on my ankle.”
M”y gentle Aunt Nona, kindest of souls, bearer of wisdom from the old days, the old ways, a humble woman who played piano by ear and composed her own hymns. She lived to be 101.”
And I adore your ending sentence:
“Just a little leaf of memory, now pressed and preserved here, before time finishes burning it away.” Thank you.
LikeLike