Things we give

There are things we give that will outlive us. This train of thought pulled into my mental terminal this afternoon while sitting on the back deck watching our great nephew Jordan play in our back yard.

His mom had to work late and his nana had a doctor's appointment, so I picked him up at school.  

I asked him if he'd eaten. "I had a little fudge bar, but I'm pretty sure that's not really food," he reported. I snickered at this observation from a six-year-old kid from rural Alabama. So we headed out in search of some chicken.

Back at our house, he headed outside after he'd eaten. He loves for me to give him challenge runs and time his efforts. 

OK, you have to run down and touch the gate, circle the hemlock tree three times, rattle the chicken pen fence, touch the rotting stump and then back to the steps before I count to ten.

Then he's off like a shot. I adjust the speed of my counting so that he is always barely successful.  He will do this until his legs are rubbery. 

When the self competition was over, we sat on wrought-iron chairs, and drank cool water. The shadows were getting longer with dappled sunlight falling on plants at the end of the deck.

A hummingbird buzzed in to drink nectar from the bleeding heart that is still blooming. Without saying a word, we both stood statue still, watching the tiny bird feed.

When it zipped off, Jordan stepped over and leaned in to smell the tiny white flowers with red tongues. 

I told him Jilda's grandmother Mammie gave her that plant long before his mommy was born. He had to turn that over in his mind a while and I could tell it was hard for him to reconcile how old the plant was.

I know that Mammie is somewhere smiling down on the gift that keeps giving long after she was gone. 

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