For Everything, There is a Season

WINTER 

Someone called after her as she rushed into the mudroom. She slipped through the coats and shoes strewn all over the floor as she made her way through the hall, into the garage, and out into the night. The concrete felt cold beneath her feet as she pulled her socks off and ran into the grass, crunchy and wet with a thin layer of frost.  

She had always loved this little secret of hers, stealing a moment away from the crowd to take in the stark quiet, a dramatic contrast to where she’d been. Turning from the warm glow of the tall windows, she stared down the woods behind the house. The land behind her grandmother’s was private hunting land, and she and her cousin often dared the outdoors to hear the owls cry and wolves howl. On the other side of the house, she heard other cousins shrieking as they played games that she was beginning to lose interest in, as all older children did.  

Her imagination shifted from woodland creatures to cozy families as she gazed longingly at the small dots of light. She could see houses on the mountains far in the distance, and pictured families as big and happy as hers gathered together, some delightful combination of Rockwellian and Whoville festivities. 

It was the feeling of something bigger than her, the idea that the elation she felt was being shared with those on the other side of the valley. Her home was peaceful and safe, and as far as she was concerned, so was the valley in which she lived.  

SPRING 

Her face was warmed by the sun as she jumped out of the car, running to the front porch before someone could get onto her for going through the muddy grass. Quickly wiping her feet on the mat, she stepped inside, the aromas of bacon and coffee hitting her full force.  

The first stop inside was always to the far end of the kitchen table, where the old woman sat, taking in the crowded room. She could no longer hear each conversation, nor could she move gracefully around the room to greet each child, so there she sat, as each member of the family she created came to her.  

The girl was too young to fully understand the importance of the woman, nor of the impact that she would have, but does what she’s told and followed the rhythm of her surroundings. She bounced around the room, greeting those she met and stealing scraps of bacon when her uncle’s back is turned.  

After brunch, the cousins went to play outside, digging their feet into the fresh spring grass. The air still held a chill, to the children of the deep South, at least, and their mothers called after them to get their coats. The children argued in unique fashion, in such a way that an outsider would consider them siblings, telling of their upbringing as cousins that saw each other often. 

The biggest holiday of the season was Easter, and every child gathered at the top of the steps while the adults hid the plastic eggs filled with chocolate, jellybeans, and small bills. The girl was anxious to start the hunt, dressed to the nines in her colorful dress and curled hair. She longed for these days, helping younger children along as they found plastic eggs. The purpose to help someone else drove her, even if as simple as helping cousins find candy.  

SUMMER   

“HORSEFLY!” The pool water was cool against her sunburnt face as she dove under. The stinging bugs were especially bad that season, and the tradition of cousins diving under the water to avoid the pests had quickly turned from game to chore. Deciding she had had enough, and succumbing to her stomach’s growls, she swam to the shallow end. 

“Getting out, huuun?” her aunt asked from the garden, pointing to a large stack of towels on the black cast-iron patio table.

“Those are for whoever needs them.”

The girl sifted through the pile of towels, looking for her favorite with blue and white stripes.

“See if Grandmom needs anything,” she called after the girl as she walked inside, shout-yelling “I will!”  

The cold stone floor in the sunroom felt good on her feet. Drying off with the towel, she moved into the kitchen. 

“Can I get you anything?” she asked, walking toward her grandmother. The old woman smiled.

“No thank you, dear. Come in for a snack?”  

“Yes ma’am! I think I will have my grilled cheese.”

She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and that had only been a chocolate iced donut. Pulling out the grilled cheese maker, she set to work around the kitchen: butter and cheese from the kitchen, bread from the breadbasket next to the coffeemaker. She stopped to twirl the coffee pod carousel, taking in all the flavors, and wondering how anyone truly liked coffee. The smell, she understood; the taste, well, that must be something you acquire in adulthood. 

Four slices of white bread were pulled, followed by a healthy slathering of butter on top. Popped into the maker and pushed down until it closed, the red light turned on waiting to switch to green. While she waited, she set out a paper plate, then returned to the backyard to hang her damp towel out to dry. 

Younger cousins called out to her from the pool as she walked to the fence, asking why she got out and when she’d be getting back in. She smiled with the feeling that it felt good to be wanted but waved them off while she went back inside.  

“I believe your grilled cheese is ready,” her grandmother said with a wink. She sat in her chair in the corner of the living room, switching her attention from the television to her grandchildren’s shrieks of laughter and argument in the pool just outside her window. The girl muttered her thanks and rushed to the grilled cheese maker, steam pouring from its edges. Stabbing them with the butter knife, she plopped the sandwiches onto the plate and went off to find some chips to add to her meal. 

FALL 

The air was crisp, and the leaves had changed their color. This holiday wouldn’t be like the ones she had known before. The girl was older now, home from college for the week, and she dreaded this Thanksgiving.   

Every year like clockwork, Thanksgiving preparations were made. Sixty children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and in-laws gathered in the old woman’s home to celebrate being together. It was the woman’s favorite holiday and became the young girl’s favorite as well. Tables and chairs were rented and delivered, meals were delegated out to different sub-families, and each set of plastic silverware was carefully wrapped in festive napkins and twine by the grandmother and granddaughter. 

This year was quiet. Family members flashed forced smiles in the girl’s direction as she wrapped the plastic silverware in the paper napkins. She and her older cousin worked silently as they placed the name cards out on the tables. The girl was first to find the old woman’s name card, and carefully wrote “We love you!” on it. Finding her cousin behind her, they clung on to each other as they placed the grandmother’s name on the mantle, joining the names of those who had gone before her.  

Written for EN 200: Introduction to Creative Writing at The University of Alabama, Fall 2023.