Mrs. V's Garden

The day began just as so many had before. Mrs. V lay face up on a queen bed, arms folded across her stomach, as a cat snored softly between her feet. The sun’s gentle rays danced through the hand-sewn drapes before they landed on her face. The darkness receded and she sat up at a speed that refuted her one hundred and one years of age.

Out of bed, she nudged the ball of fur and commanded, “Get up lazy bones.” The cat, colored black and cream, started an elaborate choreography of stretches before he lept to the center of the bed just as Mrs. V stretched the top sheet over the bed. The cat playfully pawed at the sheet from underneath, and as was customary, Mrs. V batted the paws through the sheet.



She laughed, “Oh Henry, you always know how to start a day.” On cue, the cat tumbled out of the sheets and onto the floor and now, unobstructed, Mrs. V made the bed. From there, Henry followed her out of the bedroom and to the coffee pot. She loaded four scoops of coffee then she sat down at the table. Henry jumped onto the seat next to her, eager for pets as the coffee brewed.



“Well Henry, what shall we get ourselves up to today?”

As a response the cat purred, lay down and offered the belly for scratches.

“Oh no, we cannot just spend the whole day on you, goofy cat,” she murmured as she moved her hand back and forth across Henry’s furry back.

She fed the cat, then for herself spread a layer of her own homemade raspberry jam atop buttered toast. Per her normal pattern, after breakfast, Mrs. V read today’s page of her prayer book then bowed her head and shared aloud a long and grateful prayer. She thanked her God for her good fortune, her health, her home, her many loved ones - both on earth and those no longer - and her cat.



After breakfast she brushed her teeth, washed her face, and removed her curlers. She unfastened her gown, and selected a set of blue pleated shorts and an ecru eyelet blouse. On her ears she placed a set a gold rounds adorned by pearls, a present from her seven daughters on her seventy-second year on earth.

“Let’s check the raspberry bush and the cucumbers,” she told Henry as she velcro'd her sneakers. Together they walked through the backyard to the garden. She bent down and felt under a row of dew damp leaves.

“The beans are almost ready,” she told Henry. At the next row she snapped off a verdant orb, took a chomp and then pronounced the cucumbers superb. One by one she plunked the plump vegetables onto one another. Once the wooden slat bucket was full she pulled out another and headed to the raspberry bush. Henry had settled under the green bean plants for a nap.

She started on the top branches at one end and made her way down the long row of bushes. Between every few handfuls she paused to taste a magenta-colored gem or two. Today she would clear the top and tomorrow, seated on a stool as her back could no longer tolerate long stretches hunched over, she would clear the center. The task left room for her thoughts to wander. As she popped a berry onto her tongue, she remembered her husband, twenty-two years gone, who used to check every one for small green worms. She never could taste the worms, so she never bothered to check.

She was brought back to the present when a chorus of “Good day Mrs. V!,” was yelled by three small boys as they hurtled themselves across the long grass lawn.

“Hello boys,” she answered. As a response, all at once they each posed a query: Where was Henry? Would she watch them compete to catch the greased hog at the county expo next week? Had she had Mr. Welch’s peaches? Mrs. V laughed and answered that Henry was under the bush, that yes she’d do her best to be there, and no she hadn’t had a peach yet. 

“Help yourselves to every raspberry on the bottom stretch of bush,” she told them, “There are more buckets by the shed. You should each gather a bucket-full for your mother.”

Elated, the boys rushed off to do just that. Once they’d had enough samples, they focused on the task at hand. Mrs. V enjoyed the gleeful sounds they made, as they were happy to have a quest and happy to be together.



When the sun rose overhead and sweat began to bead on her forehead she told the boys goodbye and headed to the house. Henry sensed her movement and woke from slumber to follow.

From the mess room she washed the vegetables and lay them out to dry, then went to prepare lunch. 

She opened her last jar of last summer’s canned peaches and scooped out a few to accompany her bread, bologna, and cheese. Before she could take a seat the phone, mounted on the wall, rang.



“Hello dear … yes, slept well … the cucumbers are perfect … the next-door boys helped clear the raspberry bush.”

Henry leaned on her calf as he made soft mews. Mrs. V held the phone to her ear as she walked to the table.

Ever eager for closeness, Henry snuck under her bottom as she took a seat. “Oh! Henry! … Sorry love, what was that?”

“Sure dear, lunch tomorrow would be wonderful … Mabel’s cafe sounds great … yes, see you then. Love you, Audrey.”

She walked back to the wall and hung up the phone, spoke a prayer of thanks aloud, then sat down to eat. After lunch she started to mend a wool sock, but found her eyes too heavy and made her way to the lazy boy where she and Henry took a nap.

When she woke up she returned to the worn socks. Afterwards her eldest daughter called to say hello and see how she was. They talked about the latest people news: who had passed, who had wed, who had cancer, who had a baby, who had surgery. After the call, Mrs. V drove her golf cart to the center of her small town. The town had one sparsely populated block that housed a lone restaurant and a general store that catered to most needs.

She parked the golf cart out front, entered, and was greeted by the teenage boy at the checkout, “Good afternoon Mrs. V.”



“Hello Gerald. How are you today?” She asked as she set her hand gently on the counter for support.



“Good. Same old, same old,” he answered. 



“Oh, that can’t be so. All the town talk last week was about your three home runs. Your pop was awful proud, told me all about the game when he came by to patch my screen door a few days ago.”



“Oh yeah?” Gerald asked, clearly pleased.

“Oh yes, true and proud. He offered to take me to the next game, but those bleachers are a challenge for me now, hurts my back too bad. You’ll just have to tell me after.”

“Can do! Need me to get your goods today, Mrs. V?” Gerald asked.

Mrs. V turned down the offer and proceeded through the store to select a block of cheddar cheese, a loaf of bread, and some fresh-caught perch. As Gerald rang her up, he prodded her to call when she needed goods. He told her he’d be happy to drop them off at her house on the same day and for no charge. Mrs.V was grateful and vowed to do so whenever her knee acted up next or the weather turned sour.

Back home, she drug the perch through egg wash and then flour. Once the pan was hot and the butter bubbled, she cooked the perch for just a few moments on both surfaces. Then she chopped a fresh cucumber and reheated a potato she had roasted the day before.

Before she ate, she fed Henry a can of wet food and a small bowl of cream. She thanked the Lord, then together they enjoyed supper and afterward she read three chapters from the New Testament aloud. Her copy of the Good Book was well worn and she knew many passages by heart. Recently she found great comfort when she read verses on Heaven. At one hundred and one death was rarely far from her thoughts, even the smallest stomach gurgle or cough caused her to wonder whether that malady would her last. But then she would belch or the cough would end, and on about her day she’d go. After seven rounds of pregnancy she knew better than to try to forecast events of the soul.

Once the room was spotless and leftovers were stored, she removed a lemon bar from the freezer and made her way to the lazy boy. There she turned the channel to Jeopardy. Mrs. V was never much one for TV, but her late husband had loved Jeopardy and MacGyver and over the years together she’d grown to enjoy them too. At the end of an often lonely day any sound that wasn’t her own was welcome. Henry snuggled up next to her and together, over dessert, they watched the wheel go round.

Jeopardy ended and a new, modern show came on. Mrs.V watched the screen as the room darkened. Once she felt the repeated and heavy downward tug of her neck she rustled the cat awake.

“Well Henry, that’s another day done. Let’s go to bed.”



They padded to the bedroom. Mrs. V brushed her teeth, changed, wrapped her short, gray locks around curlers, then got under the covers. Henry hopped onto her feet.

She tugged the lamp’s strand and the room darkened. Then she clasped her hands and aloud began her prayer, “Dear Lord, my wonderful God, thank you for another good day.” She thanked God for all the small graces of the day, for the bees and the pollen, the joy of the next-door boys, and the benevolence her town folk. She prayed for health and peace for her daughters, and for her daughter’s sons and daughters. She thanked God for her husband and the years they’d had, and for her sweet pals, all of whose funerals she’d attended.

Spurred by gratefulness and remembrances a few small tears rolled down her cheeks. Henry had crawled up the bed and was cradled under her left elbow.

She let out a large exhale, then just as she had done at the close of countless days before, she uttered, “Oh God, my years have been good. Should your plans allow, please, please take me home.” Then she closed her eyes and hoped not to meet the next day’s dawn.