Tell Me About the Olden Days

Kara watched her grandfather surveying the field. He carefully pulled his tattered black notebook from the chest pocket of his work shirt. It was held together by a blue elastic, that stretched around the coupons and bits of paper that he had collected in his travels. He retrieved the stubby pencil that was behind his ear, licked the tip and opened the book to a blank page. He began making scratchy marks, quickly, as if he were trying to write something down quickly before he forgot.

This was an everyday occurrence for these two – one quite old and near the end, one young and just getting started. The daily field tour got them out of the house and out from underfoot but also freed up Kara’s father’s time so he could stay on top of the chores around the yard. It was the summertime, and so there was no school classes, and Grandpa did not like to stay in the house during the hot stuffy days. It was better to be out, in the little pick-up truck, surveying their domain.

After he was satisfied with his notes, Grandpa ambled back to the truck, held the door for Kara, and sat down after she scouted across the front bench seat. He pulled the door shut with a quick upwards gesture that only he knew. It was the way of old things – you had to do it just right. After starting the truck and putting it into drive, Grandpa drove a large lazy circle and headed down the road. Kara was excited because she had glimpsed fishing gear and a cooler in the bed of the truck but knew better than to ask. He was a man of few words, but of another generation. He did not appreciate the modern tendencies to indulge a child’s requests and questions.

The small truck created a huge plume of dust as it sped down the road. It had been a dry year, dry enough that Kara’s father and grandparents had had the hushed worried conversations in the kitchen, after they had finished the dishes. They thought that the radio program was loud enough in the front room that the three siblings would not hear them. Kara loved putting her hand out the window and pretending it was an airplane. Moving her thumb would make it dive or climb, following the air currents that came up from the wheels.

Grandpa slowed down for a bend in the road. As they turned down an overgrown path, Kara looked over and smiled at her grandfather. One might think that learning how to bait a hook or clean a fish was on the top of her mind but first and foremost, were the chocolate cupcakes she suspected were in the cooler. Grandpa slowed and came to a stop at the end of the road. As he put the truck in park, he glanced over at his smiling granddaughter, the spitting image of his late daughter and for a moment, his sense of time was shaken. He felt adrift, unmoored. She jumped out the door, luckily closed it carefully and ran around the back of the truck, waiting to be loaded up. It had been three springs since the fever had taken Laura. She had been a bright light, a happy baby who had grown in a capable and caring woman.

He let down the tail gate, knowing to lift it a little because the old mechanism had gotten a little water in it and rusted a few years back. Who would know how to do these things when he was gone? He handed the cooler and bait bucket to his granddaughter and turned back for the rods and tackle box. He followed her down the cattle trail to the bend in the creek where there was a small beach. She put down her stuff, ran to the edge of the water and darted back. He carefully unpacked the equipment, demonstrated how to put the bait on the hook, and handed the rod to Kara.

“Grandpa, can you tell me about the olden days? When you were a kid?” The man sighed. Remembering the olden days was a longer drive then it once was and seemed to be filled with potholes of grief and loss. But the stories were important, and he knew very well that Kara could experience his loss any day. He was a man that would set to work on a difficult job with alacrity and this was no different. He reached into the cooler for a can of soda, handed it to Kara and took one for himself. He told her about the farm he grew up on, how they had diverted a stream through a stone house to keep the milk cold because refrigerators had not yet been invented. He told her about going to the city for university, meeting her grandmother Flora, learning how to dance to the popular music of the day and eating Chinese food for the first time (did not like dancing so much, loved chow mein) He took a deep breath and continued on explaining how he got a letter when he was nearly done university that he was to report to the local recruiting office the Monday after he was to graduate because he had been drafted. Flora had cried when he told her, so he got down on one knee and proposed. They got married three days later, with her brother and a classmate as witnesses. The war years were difficult and not really filled with the sort of stories for a child. But he did his best to explain why they were there and that they had done the best they could.

When he returned home, Flora met him at the dock and he met Laura for the first time. They bought a little house in the suburbs and he had got a job with an engineering firm. The work was exciting, but the hours were long and the pay was not great. It was a boom time for everyone else. The company resorted to paying their staff with stock options, which were worth pennies. Flora convinced him to return home to her family farm, where at least there would be enough for the family to eat.

He realized that he had been speaking for a long time and took a sip of his drink. He reached into his pocket and retrieved his black notebook. Carefully, he took the rubber band off, thumbed through the coupons, the ripped off envelope corners with sticky address labels, until he found what he was looking for. Unfolding the thin paper, Kara caught a glimpse of gold leaf. She made out the words “IBM” and one thousand dollars written out in cursive.

“I keep this with me to remind me of those days. Like a talisman. I remember the barbecues in the backyard, with your mother in her little red swimsuit playing in the paddling pool. Your grandmother – she was the same back then – making so much food, fussing over everyone. Everyone on the street would take turns hosting, and I would always drive around to pick up the meat and a cake. It has been a good life out here on the farm. But I wonder what it would have been like if we had stuck it out.”

“How much is this worth, Grandpa?” Kara smoothed the creases out, carefully studying the fine print.

“I don’t even know.”

They fished a while longer, the quiet between them pulsing with all the stories the old man had shared. Content that he had done his part to pass some part of his life to his granddaughter, he laid back in the tall grass and had a snooze.

Sometime later, not quite at dusk, the two packed up the remains of the picnic (which had included four chocolate cupcakes) and three beautiful rainbow trout. Anticipating a fish dinner, the two carried the cooler and tackle box back to the truck.