I grew up on forty acres of land in the middle of nowhere, Bangor, Michigan. Yup, I am a farm girl. Never did any farm work but I looked great in my overalls. My grandmother and her sisters bought the acreage in 1976. As a child the significance of this was lost on me. Three women, three Black women, bought land. These boss women paid cash for their land. Women with vision are amazing.
Growing up in the middle of nowhere has its pros and cons. The biggest down fall was isolation. Everything seemed forever away. When the snow came it seemed to dump a ton every time. I enjoyed open spaces freedom. I know it sounds cliche, but I could play all day outside. The streetlights coming on didn't indicate a time to come in. I would lay on the hood of car or the ground and stare at the sky. Trying to identify constellations (mostly incorrectly) and loving the moon. One of my favorite activities was to climb the white birch tree just far enough to sit comfortably and read. I also loved peeling the white birch skin. I didn't know I was damaging the tree. Sorry tree! Our yard had an old huge willow tree leaning over the circle drive. This tree consumed many of my hours, swinging. Again, sorry tree!
While the willow tree provided me with hours of enjoyment, my boy cousins may have like it less. Mamma Irene, 4'10 small framed 90 something matron would command the errant boys to grab three branches for her to dole out discipline. I'm not sure which was worse watching her calmly, methodically braiding the branches or the strapping. However, I was often amused when she would yell at an escaping boy. "Chile, don't run from me, I'm old". She was old alright, old and bearing weapons.
If Mamma Irene wasn't braiding straps, her daughter Ruthie Mae was cussing like a sailor. Ruth was short and round. Her butt was the biggest part of her. Moving independent of the rest of her body. It was not unfamiliar to hear "Mother fucker, cock sucking, son of bitch" long before you ever saw her. Although all of the sisters could spin a phrase, Ruth was the most profuse.
Although my environment was riddled with the best cuss words in the best combinations, I am a lousy cusser. Somewhere in my childhood I made the decision not to swear. I would love to say it was because of disdain or moral standing. The words didn't fall from my mouth as powerfully or eloquently as theirs. My words were awkward and stilted. That's not to say I don't occasionally swear. But I am unable to command a room with my profanity.
There was one summer my close friends and co-workers, Ann, Elaine along with me decided out mouths were too naughty at work. We often ended tough triage calls with the Pregnant Portage Princesses with expletives. Believe me pregnant woman can be a tough crowd. We instituted the Swear Jar. We had to add a quarter every time one of us swore. That jar was emptied multiple times that summer, each providing a delicious treat from Ritters.
There were sisters similar to me in the swearing department. Gerry and Januita. Both could swear but weren't know for swearing. Gerry was one of my favorites. She was quiet and mild. Rarely rose her voice. Our time together was often in in the white station wagon with the burgundy seats talking and listening to the radio. Even though I wasn't old enough she would occ let me drive. One day on our trip to town Gerry says, "if anything happens to me, the papers are in that box back there". In the way back of the wagon was a small box mixed in with the fishing gear. "They will be looking for it".
I said "k". I had no idea what she was talking about but agreed anyway.
Several weeks later I clumsily stumbled from the bus in a mad dash for the bathroom. It seemed every day my bladder screeched its urgency as I got off the bus. This day was no different except it was. Juanita was stood outside the back door. They never met me outside. Each day there was an afternoon snack on the table and someone to listen to my girlish ramblings from the day. This day the energy was off. Alright, I admit the young me didn't know about energy, but something was off. I fell on the gravel ripping my new pants. I knew there was a conversation coming about being a lady, being graceful. Juanita grabbed me and hugged me tightly. Too tight. I won't become a fan of hugs until many years later.
"She's gone. Gerry's gone." Through her too tight embrace I could see the white station wagon in the driveway. Before I could formulate the question, she says "Gerry's dead. She had an asthma attack and didn't make it". Weirdly enough this is the last conversation I remember until the funeral.
Black funerals are a whole story by themselves. I know I attended funerals prior to Gerry's but hers is the first one I remember. The deep mournful wails, screaming and rocking scared the crap out of me. I was ok with the awkward body in the casket, these sounds however, rocked me to my core. I was completely baffled when one aunt collapsed to the floor. At that moment I decided funerals weren't for me.
Back at the farm things were slowly getting back to a normal. The chaos seemed to be gone. When morning I woke to raised voices. They were talking about insurance and trying to find where Gerry kept the papers. It absolutely did not register with my child mind that the papers in the box in the back of the wagon was what they were looking for. I continued my life until one night I woke up and Gerry was sitting at the foot of my bed. Surprisingly, I was not scared. She was wearing her gray and white fishing hat.
"The papers are in the car." She sat for a while smiling. I must've fallen asleep. When I woke again, the sun was shining, and I could smell coffee. My grandmother was near. I found her and shared my crazy story with her. Luckily, she is a true southern woman and my crazy story seemed to make sense to her. Gerry came to visit a couple times after that. Always sitting and smiling. She never talked again.
Growing up on those 40 acres with my crazy grandmother and her crazy sisters was rarely dull. I may have longed for movie theaters and restaurants but never for a listening ear. Those women infused strength and determination into me. Thankful for the opportunities they gave me.
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