Baked Pears and Honey

I was 28 when my grandfather died. My Paw Paw. We were never very close but he wasn’t close to anyone. I do have a memory of him riding me around the yard on his back and galloping like a horse. I was wearing a green dress with a picture of a white pipe that was blowing different colored bubbles.

For the longest time I resented the fact that I didn’t have a grandfather like other kids. He never came to school functions. He never went with us on vacations, even though grandma always went. He never came to family birthday parties or holiday get-together’s. He did however, work every day, went home and sat in his chair with his feet propped up on an orange fake leather ottoman. He didn’t watch TV much unless a car race was on. For entertainment he would walk. He walked a lot. Around the block, the park, even Kmart. He and his neighbor would stand in between their houses with their hands deep in their pockets and chat. I wasn’t privy to the conversations but I can only imagine.

When I had a child of my own, I saw my Paw Paw open up in a way I had never seen before. My son Damon was his buddy. He gave him a nickname and I never heard him use anything else. My son was his Jack. He was affectionate in his own way with Jack. He didn’t hug him but he would grab him by the arm and make this high pitched ‘he he he’ sound. Jack would giggle. I wish I could’ve seen Paw Paw for who he really was while he was still here.

Every summer Paw Paw would take out his ice-cream maker. I couldn’t for the life of me figure why he didn’t just go buy ice-cream. This was an old machine where he had to crank the arm for what seemed like hours. He only made one of two flavors; vanilla or peach. They were delicious. Even though the entire process was odd to me, I loved watching him relentlessly turning that crank because he would talk to me. He would tell me stories of his childhood. I was 8 at the time he told my favorite story for the first time.

“Things was different when I was coming up. We never had ice-cream. Never tasted it until I was grown. It sure never tasted as good as this ice-cream you gonna’ eat today.”

He was right. I don’t know if it was the taste or the effort I watched him pour into it, but it was absolutely delicious.

“You know how many brothers and sisters I had?”

I did know. I pretended not to and I shook my head.

“There was thirteen of us. Two of ‘em I never met. They died as babies. Momma never even had a picture of either of em. I was the youngest of the bunch. That left 11 of us sharing two bedrooms. Six boys and five girls. Thank the Lord none of us was very big cause we had two beds in that room and us boys slept three in each one. We knew better than to complain. My daddy was as strict as they come. We towed the line and always did what he said. Momma was too tired from taking care of the house and us that she just left daddy do all the punishin’.”

I looked at him and he was staring off. It looked like he was remembering what that was like, so I asked,

“Did he whoop you Paw Paw?”

“He sure did. He had a belt and he would tan our hides. Sometimes he’d make us break off a switch from a tree.”

“What’s a switch?”

“ Nothing but a little branch of a tree. But I hated that worse than the belt. The belt was right on your bottom. The switch, that was for the summer days when we had on short pants. And that switch tore right across the backs of our thighs. I can still feel it.”

I swallowed hard and I am sure my face was flushed at the thought of getting my legs smacked with a branch. Paw Paw noticed.

“Things were different then. I never once hit your momma or her sister. I didn’t want them to feel the way I felt. I never wanted them to be afraid. ”

Paw Paw and grandma only had two kids. Two girls. My mother was the youngest. She used to tell me how Paw Paw took her everywhere when she was little. If he was in the car, so was she. Mom reminds me what a hardworking man he was. She said one day he was so sick he could barely walk, but he went to work anyway. He never missed a day of work in the 25 years that he worked at the furniture factory.

Once Paw Paw finished making the ice-cream, the two of us would sit out on the carport and eat a heaping bowlful. Neither of us would speak until we finished the last bite.

“Peach is my favorite ice-cream but I sure do miss a good baked pear. You know when I was coming up we had different fruit trees. The garden had plenty of vegetable and they always kept our bellies full. Momma and daddy couldn't give us much, but they always made sure we were never hungry. Everything momma cooked from our garden was good but that pear tree, lord it was divine.”

I never cared for pears but the way Paw Paw described the baked pear made my mouth water.

“Momma would have us pick some good ripe pears, seven of them to be exact. Momma would cut the pears in two and put them in a big ol’ black heavy pot and set em up on the wood stove. I don’t know how long it took but it seemed to take all evening. She would heat up some honey and sometimes mix in a little of something or another, depending on what we had. I remember she would mix some plums in with the honey and add some butter if we had any. She would put our half a pear on a plate and cover it with warm honey and plum. We had a big table that would fit some of us but the young’uns had to sit on the floor near the wood stove. My brother Don and I shared a plate but we both got half of a pear like everybody else, except daddy. He got a whole pear cut in half. I can’t begin to tell you what that first bite was like. Cutting through that soft warm pear and taking a big bite. I remember looking around the room and seeing everyone’s eyes planted right on their plate. We were all together, and we were all happy. Momma would sit in her rocking chair eating her baked pear. She would smile the biggest smile looking at all of us. One night I watched her dabbing her hazel eyes with her handkerchief. I was worried about her being sad at something but now I understand what those tears was all about. “

“Some people cry when they’re happy Paw Paw.”

“Yes ma’am. Happy tears are the best tears. Anyway, we didn’t always have a special treat. We were pretty poor. Daddy was a farmer and he worked some odd jobs when he could. Daddy drank a lot and sometimes he would yell or momma would make him sleep in the barn. Don’t get me wrong, he was a good man but he wasn’t perfect. I think maybe he was just worried with all that weighing on him. Taking care of 11 kids and a wife had to have been a struggle. But you didn’t hear none of that from me, your grandma don’t like me talking about the bad stuff. She thinks the neighbors may find out and talk about us.”

I laughed because he was right. Grandma always cared what the neighbors thought. She sure did like to gossip about them too.

“It was hard but he did his best to provide. As soon as us boys was old enough we left school and started helping with the farm.”

“You had to quit school?”

“Yep. I was about your age. I wished I could’ve stayed in but helping the family was what was best. Boys had to go where they were needed. We was lucky. Some boys got sent off to help family members far away. At least I could still be with my daddy and momma.” He paused for a few seconds. “I wish they was both still here so I could tell them how wonderful they was and how grateful I was for what they did for all of us. We didn’t have much, but they still found a way to give us everything we ever needed.”

After that, we sat in silence. Listening to the crickets and watching the lightening bugs flash across the sky.

Years later, my grandma died and soon after Paw Paw followed. He told me he didn’t wanna’ be in a world without her, and he meant it. She was kind hearted and loved her family endlessly. Life went on without them and my memories were fading. One night I sat alone in my small one bedroom apartment thinking about Paw Paw and the stories he told. I needed to feel close to him. I wanted to tell him thank you and how proud I was of him. I wanted to hug and tell him I love him. After all this time, I couldn’t remember his voice or how he smelled.

The following weekend I drove out into the country where Paw Paw grew up. I knew where to turn, right at Mulls Grove Church and 10 miles later would be the old farm.

I pulled onto the property and saw nothing familiar. The barn was just a big pile of rotted wood and the house was gone and left no trace of its existence. I climbed out of my Toyota and pulled my shawl around my cold arms. I knew this was the place, but it wasn’t what I expected. I needed to feel close to him and there’s nothing left. I was disappointed. I walked around the thigh high weeds and breathed in the smell of the honeysuckle. Frogs croaked and birds were singing good night as the sun was starting to set. I walked over toward where the tiny wooden house would have stood. Something caught my eye. The pear tree. I touched the bark and knew I had found him. I gave myself a moment to remember the story of the baked pears. I closed my eyes and listened. I heard the laughter of his family celebrating a moment together.

I whispered "I love you Paw Paw. You were the best."

I spent a few more minutes alone taking in everything. The Blue Ridge Mountains in the background, the creek streaming nearby. I climbed in my car looked in my rear view mirror and I saw his eyes in mine. I imagine the same hazel eyes he got from his momma. I would never come back here, I didn’t need to. Paw Paw will forever be with me in one way or another.