Singing on the Porch

“Ssshhhh…” She puts her finger up to her mouth. That is my cue to be very quiet as she is listening in on a phone call. I am familiar with this routine and know the drill.

It is still the time of “party lines” in the rural south. Six families share a telephone line. This means if you need to use the phone, you pick up the receiver to see if the line is free. If someone is talking, momma taught us to quietly hang up. It was wrong to eavesdrop on another person’s conversation.

My Granny Lee, as we call her, does not abide by this rule. She has a cane-bottom stool that sits under the black telephone hanging on the wall inside the living room. The chord can reach all the way into the kitchen if you are busy while listening in. Most of the time, she enjoys resting on the stool so she can give it her full attention. This ‘habit’ is a thorn in my parents’ side.

I smartly keep my eye-witness accounts of eavesdropping to myself to keep momma from forbidding me my afternoon visits. Quietly, I open the frig and grab a cold bottled coke. I take the bottle opener off its hook next to the frig and step out on the porch. Any noise I make opening my bottle cannot be heard by the party on the phone.

I am eleven years old and my paternal grandmother is my hero. I choose to overlook that she is nosy and a gossip. It pains me to admit it, but the truth is the truth. Since I am making confessions, I will go ahead and admit that I love being privy to the community gossip. I feel this ups my street cred with my friends tremendously. Like Granny Lee, I love being ‘in the know.’

Granny Lee knows exactly the precise moment to drop a gossip bomb in the middle of conversations. Her timing is impeccable, and it is a thing of beauty to watch. People respond in many ways. Some gasp, some get fidgety, others just look away, and a few lean in to hear more. One observation that I have made is respond as they will, they all still want to know. They cannot help themselves. It is like watching a masterful artist at work. Mentally, I am taking notes because I know I will practice these learned techniques myself.

By the time I drink most of my coke, she has hung up the receiver and we head to our favorite spot – the glider on the porch. My daddy keeps the hinges oiled so it glides back and forth like it floats on air.

An old oak tree stands right next to the backdoor and keeps the porch shaded and almost cool year-round. Granny Lee teaches me about the many birds that visit the tree. She seems to know their names by sight and even mimics their calls.

My favorite bird call is of the Bob-White quail. I learn that in early spring the male calls to a female hoping for a date, “Tu, tu, bob white!”

In April and May, she tells me about the many flowers growing around her house. Camilla’s, azalea’s, a magnolia tree, roses, buttercups; a cornucopia of floral wonderland. I think she is the coolest person ever.

As we settle on the glider, I can no longer wait to ask the burning question, “Granny Lee? Did you learn anything new today?”

She motions for me to lie down and place my head in her lap. As she glides back and forth, I can hear her stomach rumbling next to my ear. It comforts me.

“Well…it seems poor Ivy Maude is having marital problems. That no count husband of hers is at it again.” She answered.

I vaguely knew the woman in peril, but I had no clue what “it” was. “It” seemed to be a very bad thing. Already wise to the ways of “information collecting” I knew not to ask what “it” was.

“Does Mrs. Ivy Maude KNOW her husband is at ‘it’ again?” I inquire.

“Hon, I suspect she does. A woman has a way of knowing when her man is up to no good. That’s a woman’s gift – intuition they call it. Remember as you get older, always listen to your gut. That is where your intuition lives. It will never lie to you. Everyone else will, but not your gut.”

I immediately store this valuable information away to think about later. I continue my interrogation, “Well, what do you think will happen?”

“I reckon she will give him down the road. He will straighten up long enough to get back into her good graces. But Ivy Maude is a smart ole gal. She knows it won’t be long before he’ll be right back at it again.” Granny Lee replied.

I was beginning to get sleepy because she was combing my long hair with her fingers as she spoke. The only response I could muster was, “Umm hum.”

Even though I was curious why she continued to put up with her husband doing ‘it’, it wasn’t a big enough concern for me to ask. I nuzzled closer to Granny Lee.

Sensing my drowsiness, she begins to sing. I never know the tune, but it sounds like notes from long ago. Sometimes she hums during the parts I guess she no longer knows by heart. Or she just likes to harmonize with the leaves rustling on the tree.

Somehow, I know these moments will stay with me even after I become an adult. A subtle realization that the secret of life is being revealed in a single space of time. It says, ‘Pay attention.’

My childhood is full of the feel of the glider and my Granny Lee’s body pressed against my ear. Birds chirping in the nearby tree, and an old tune from long ago.

Just as I am settling into my comfortable nap, Granny Lee pats me on the arm and tells me to scooch up. I am not ready to leave this idyllic spot, but I do as I am told. She rises and heads back inside.

“Where are you going?” I drowsily ask.

“I need to find out who Ivy Maude’s old man is messing around with.” As she lifts the receiver one more time, she turns to me and puts her finger up to her lips. “Ssshhhh.”

I lie back on the glider, close my eyes, and start humming a tune.

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