Owlva

Christmas at my grandparents’ house was always special. The food preparations started weeks ahead with the making of sausages from the meat my grandfather brought home from his butcher shop. Gran grinded the pieces in her hand-held meat grinder, added spices and pushed it through another machine which filled the intestines. We tied string in sections making sausage shapes, some were small, others bigger. My grandfather, being a butcher, used to say he would never buy a readymade sausage from a shop as he knew exactly what they put in it, and he said I was better off not knowing.

I was always there, watching from a little girl’s eye and my Gran took immense pride in showing me how everything was made. She made liver pate, salmon in aspic, and then there was the beautifully baked ham with mustard icing and a big piece of kale for decoration. I really enjoyed eating the crackly bits and the homemade apple sauce. I became a vegetarian later in life, but I never really forgot the smell and taste of Grans cooking. She pickled cucumbers in spicy vinegar and served up the jam she had made from blueberries and lingonberries that we had picked in the forest during the autumn weeks.

I was always excited when I stood outside the white wooden gates waiting to go into the old house because there was always something happening. This year, when I was seven, I arrived early on baking day and Gran waited with a clean, freshly ironed white apron and a scarf to tie back my hair. Flour, sugar, yeast, butter, and milk were already lined up on the table and I watched as Gran measured all the ingredients carefully before she put them into the big yellow bowl. She stirred the fresh yeast with a little salt until it loosened and almost became runny, and butter was melted in a saucepan on the gas stove before adding the milk. We were making cinnamon buns. I helped to stir and knead the dough and we set it aside by the warm stove to rise. Gran lit her 5-armed wooden red candelabra with white candles as we sat down by the window drinking hot chocolate with whipped cream and watched the snow falling outside. It lay on the lawn like a thick white carpet on the lawn and the tree branches were heavy with the new fallen snow.  Grandpa played the piano in the dining room. The house smelled of freshly cooked food and baked bread and there was the scent of pine from the Christmas tree that was already dressed waiting for the big day. You could see the footprints from the birds that had gathered on the window seal where Gran had put out some seeds. She loved her birds and was always making sure they had plenty to eat, especially during winter when food was scarce. They knew her place was a safe heaven, and they would arrive at the same time every day to be fed.

I was close to my Grandparents, and I knew their big old house very well. I spent my first couple of years living upstairs with my parents until they bought their own house and they continued to look after me during the days while my mother was working. We still visited every week and l loved my time there.

It was time to roll out the dough and Gran sent me to the pantry to fetch the cinnamon. I knew where it was kept, close to the top shelf and I grabbed the little foot stool on the way so I could reach it. The smell of fresh oranges and cloves hit me as soon as I opened the door. It was dark in the pantry, so I switched on the light and focused my eyes on a couple of oranges hanging in red ribbons from the ceiling. The real food cellar was in the cool basement, but the jars of pickles and jams were stored on the bottom shelf in the larder, and I noticed a few bottles of cherry cordial that my mum had made from the cherries on our tree. I grabbed one, thinking Gran would not mind if we had a drink later. I climbed up the step on the footstool with the bottle still in my hand and reached for the jar of cinnamon when I noticed something moving behind it. I still had my hand out when I heard a sound and got so scared, I dropped the bottle and it fell to ground and scattered. I could hear Gran yell from the table.

“Are you alright dear?’

“All good Gran, just dropped something.”

But I was far from all right. A pair of yellow eyes was staring at me from the shelf. I reached for the shelf beside me for support feeling shocked and surprised at what was looking back at me. A barn owl! I was so close I could have stretched out my hand and touched it, but fright gripped me, and I maneuvered back down the step realizing the cinnamon was still on the shelf. I had never seen a barn owl before, only in pictures at school when we were learning about the animals in the forest. Where did it come from? I looked up towards the vent in the wall and could see a hole there. The vent was broken and that was where the owl must have gotten in. I felt excited. Something from the world out there had entered our safe and warm little house. Something from the forest had come to visit. I could not tell Gran, she would not like an owl in her food larder. I climbed back up again and grabbed the cinnamon jar as the owl moved back into the darkness by the wall. I could hardly see it now and I thought it would be safe there, and nobody needed to know.

“Gran, I’m sorry, I knocked over a bottle of cordial. I will clean it up.”

‘Oh dear, it wasn’t the sherry I hope.”

Gran looked at me with her big blue eyes and I could see the smile hiding behind them.

“No, it was cordial.”

I was scared. Not so much for the broken bottle, but what if she went in there and saw what I seen? I could not let her do that.

“Gran, here is the cinnamon. I will clean up the pantry now.”

‘Don’t worry too much dear. We will get another bottle from your mum. Let’s get back to the baking”.

I cleaned up the pantry and swept the glass off the floor before wiping it with a wet rag. And I could not help but look in on the owl again. It was still there. Glaring at me with those big yellow eyes and I felt like I had discovered the world's biggest secret, and I was not going to let anybody know that Gran had an owl living in her pantry.

“It is okay Owlva, I will not tell anybody. It is our little secret.”

Soon the house smelled of baked cinnamon buns and I made quite a few trips to the pantry to put away the ingrediencies. I took my time, whispering to my newfound friend who watched my every move. I was not going to let this secret out.

A few days later we were baking gingerbread men and I got there early to pick out the things we needed from the pantry. I was delighted to find that my friend was still there and when I knew Gran was nowhere in sight, I climbed up the footstool and whispered to the owl.

“You are my friend. We have a secret together and I will always come to see you!”

I always enjoyed making gingerbread men but this time it was more fun than ever. I could walk back and forth to the pantry as much as I liked to see my friend and I told him, because now I was sure it was a boy, that I was making little men and women and little pigs and trees out of the dough, and I was sure he was listening, Owlva, my secret friend.

Owls are wise, aren’t they? Well, he knew I was there, and he kept an eye on me.

I will always remember that Christmas. The table in the dining room was beautifully set with Grans finest china. The decorated tree was lit with a hundred fairy lights and there were parcels underneath it. The small Father Christmas figure that had been in the family for a long time had his usual place at the side of the fireplace. My Grandfather played the piano as we all sat down to a beautiful dinner. It was a big family indeed, aunties, uncles and cousins and I was the youngest and perhaps that was why I got so much attention.

There was a special magic in the evening, and I wished that it would go on forever, but all things must come to an end eventually.

“Are you ready Elsbeth? Have you got all your little bits and bobs together now?”

Gran looked at me and smiled.

“Oh, I think we have it all here.”

Mum was heading towards the door.

“Say goodbye to Gran and let’s be on our way.”

“Oh, and don’t forget to say goodbye to your little imaginary friend.”

Mum looked knowingly at Gran.

‘Come on let’s go.”

Gran was smiling at me as I turned in the doorway.

“Thank you.”

She gave me a wink.

“It was a pleasure my dear. And thank you for all the work you did with the baking.”

“Oh, and don’t worry. Owlva will have a very good feed tonight.”