Flying South

The birds didn’t go south for the winter because, this year, the winter forgot to come. School started in September, and we began harvesting the potatoes, but Ma didn’t take out my shoes. Thanksgiving passed, but by the time all the trees were leafless and all the pumpkin pie was eaten, Ma still hadn’t taken out my shoes.  

              Through December, the days were long and warm and I spent the evenings rocking on the porch. Last summer still felt like just a few weeks ago. Pa had said that when school started I would forget a little, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I couldn’t forget all those long evenings I spent rocking with Grandma. All the times Jack, the collie, had surprised us when he barked. All the stories she had told me, and all the ones I told her. 

One morning in mid-June, she surprised me when I came in for breakfast. 

“Morning,” I had said. 

“Eat fast, we need to get going.” Grandma’s eyes were twinkling. 

“Where?” I stopped and stood right in front of her, “where, Grandma?” 

“To town. It’s your birthday, after all.”   

“Who?”

“Just the two of us.”

I ran to the table with a little skip of joy. It seemed I had hardly started before the oatmeal in my bowl was gone, and soon the milk in my glass disappeared as well.

“Ready,” I said.

“What are we waiting for?” Grandma opened the door and I followed her out.

In a little over an hour we were putting the horse and buggy in a town stable for the day.

“It’s such a beautiful day,” Grandma noted, looking up into the clear blue sky. “You picked a good day for a birthday.” I laughed, and we walked out of the stable. Grandma looked lovely that morning. A straw hat, the only kind she could afford, drooped over her thick white braids. Her arms and hands were strong and weathered from 68 years of working on the farm. A simple gray cotton dress covered her wrinkled and tanned skin, and she walked with a small spring in her step.

We walked by all the stalls filled with pigs and ponies, jams and jellies, candies and seeds. Every year Grandma asked me if I wanted a pony, and every year I gave her the same no. she knew I wanted one, and I knew I wanted one. But we both knew that there was no money for a pony for me. So, instead, she bought me a bag of candy, and some jam for my dinner. When it was finally time to go home, we returned to the stable. I remember Grandma shivering in the breeze, despite it being a warm day.

“The cold is coming sooner than I want it to,” she said, and looked sadly at me.

January was here before I knew it, but still it was not cold. Last January was different, though. Grandma and I had sat on the porch, blankets covering our laps, watching the birds fly south. Just a week later, Grandma was in bed, sick. Pa needed my help out in the field, so I stopped school. I spent my evenings reading to Grandma. She slept through most of it, but I didn’t mind.

              I thought nothing of it, I had been sick many times before. Even Pa had. I didn’t worry about Grandma until one night, when I was thirsty in the middle of the night. I got up to get a drink, and while I was in the kitchen, I heard Ma and Pa talking in their room.

              “How much time do you think she has left?” Ma asked.

              “I don’t want to think about it,” Pa replied. Their candle flame went out, and all was quiet. My heart pounded. Is Grandma going to die? I went back to my room and took the blanket off my bed. I brought it to Grandma and gently laid it over her.

Pa worried about when he would plant in February. “What if the cold comes late? Then we won’t have any money for months.” Ma wasn’t worried. She told him to just let Nature do its thing, and everything would work out. I had learned a lot in school, but I wasn’t enjoying it. it was miserable to be in school when it was summer outside.

              Last February Grandma had been getting better. The weather had been a little warmer, and she was getting her strength back. She made me take back my blanket, though. Once she was asleep at night, I took it and put it in her room, and went back to get it before she woke up in the morning.

On my way to school one day, I had been shuffling through the snowy woods in my boots when I uncovered some dead birds. That evening, I asked Pa why birds go south for the winter. He told me that the winter here is too cold for them. If they stayed here, they wouldn’t make it through. I told him about the dead birds, and he told me to bring them back tomorrow. We would bury them.

March came and went, with warm weather and cold memories. Last March had been our last month with Grandma. She had been sick again, but Ma was hopeful that she would make it through the winter.  

I spent a lot of time rocking on the porch in April. One night Ma caught me up in the kitchen, crying.

              “It’s not fair!” I said, “why couldn’t winter have not come last year instead? Then Grandma would still be here.” Ma didn’t have an answer. She hugged me and put me back to bed.

              Last April Grandma had died. The week after, the birds flew back from the south, and the weather warmed up again. Ma said it was the last gift she gave us.

In May, I decided that winter wasn’t coming at all. One afternoon I went to the pond to fish, but some kids had beaten me there. I didn’t like fishing with an audience, so I turned and went back home.

              I rocked on the porch, thinking about last May. All I had done then was what I was doing now. Sitting on the porch, rocking on the porch, remembering Grandma.  

June came, and so did my birthday. Ma wanted to go to town, like Grandma and I used to. She and Pa went, but I wanted to be by myself. I spent the day at the pond, fishing. That evening, I was rocking on the porch when they came home. They joined me on the porch, and we talked for a little. Ma was tired and went to bed after wishing me a last happy birthday. Pa stayed with me, and we rocked in silence, watching the sun set.

Finally Pa stopped rocking and stood up, “It’s time for bed, kid.” I didn’t move, and neither did he. Minutes passed, and I couldn’t bear it any longer. 

“Pa?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Grandma never really liked the winter, did she.” 

“She never really did.” He pointed up, and I looked up into the red sky.

The birds were flying south.