I sat in the lawn chair while my brother turned the chicken on the grill. The scent of charcoal floated toward me and my mouth started watering. I looked out towards the pasture behind the house. The neighbors used to have cows roam the fields. They terrified me as a little girl. One time, a cow ended up in our back yard and my mom fearlessly herded her back to the neighbor’s house. My Dad stayed in the house with me. He claimed that he was trying to keep me calm, but I don’t think he liked the cows much either. Beyond the pasture, trees stretched upward upon the mountain that towered over the home of my childhood.
Thump, thump. I turned to see pears falling from the two trees at the side of the house. The branches were raised in defiance, having unloaded the weighty fruit and daring us to come get them.
“Do you want to take some with you?”
My brother half-smiled, but his eyes were sad. I thought about what I’d do with a couple bushels of pears. I’d never canned before, but my boyfriend had threatened to teach me. Maybe the pears would be a good place to start.
We grabbed some garbage bags and filled them with pears from the ground. My eyes were wet as I thought about dad gathering them each year, washing and then preserving them. He’d loved his fruit trees. Around us, pears kept falling, raindrops soaking the ground. One of them beaned my brother’s bald head with a smack. The look on his face, of surprise and slight pain, made me laugh. Leave it to dad.
As I drove home, I realized that it had been seven months since I’d heard Dad’s laughter, since I felt his arms around me in a big, bear hug and listened to his thoughtful advice. He always knew what to say. I think he spent hours worrying about his kids and his grandkids, trying to figure out how to help. I missed him so much.
His birthday was coming up in another week and I wondered how to spend the day. Each year, I’d take Dad to his favorite restaurant, Donoli’s, where he’d order a steak and pasta e fagioli. He loved going out to eat. For him, eating a good meal with his family made him happy.
It occurred to me that canning the pears was the perfect commemoration of my Dad. He’d grown the trees in his yard for the past several years, nurturing and caring for them so they could grow healthy and strong. Now that they’re fully grown, they’ll continue without him, growing, bearing fruit and turning their branches to the sun while hoping to drop a fruit on someone’s head. Hopefully, my brother’s.
Beautiful!
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So often it is small things that remind us of those we lost. I love how you captured that feeling – simple, beautiful memories of the cow, preserving the pears – homey, sweet, and poignant.
Lovely!
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Thank you for your kind comments!
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Beautiful and so full of love and reminiscence.
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Thank you!
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I appreciated the humor you found in this remembrance of your father. It’s so hard to balance the emotions in a piece like this; I thought you did it beautifully.
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Thank you!
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OH, I loved this! I especially liked the way you described your father in such loving detail and how you kept a piece that could have been so heavy (like those pears) light-hearted. ❤
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Thank you for your wonderful comments!
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This was a beautiful tribute to your father and I agree that canning pears is a perfect way to remember him. Just one constructive comment – having snow on your blog is really distracting (I say that to everyone who has this so please don’t take it personally).
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You’re right about the snow. I looked at it for a little while and it actually started snowing harder! Thank you for your comments.
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I really enjoyed the part where the pear fell on your brother’s head. It was sweet way of dealing with a poignant moment and provided levity at the right moment in the piece. You did a nice job balancing like that throughout the piece.
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Thank you for your kind comments!
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I think the quiet, light nature of your piece works well. It was balanced and sweet, with a few funny moments too. Nice job.
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Thank you for your kind comments!
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Lovely! I learned how to keep a heavy piece light without watering down the emotions. The humour was in just the right dose.
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Thank you for your kind comments!
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What a lovely tribute to your father. It had the right balance of sincerity and humor. Beautiful work. ❤
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Such a touching and beautiful tribute to your dad, while still adding some levity by ending with your brother… Very nicely done!
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Thank you for your kind comments!
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There is something so hopeful about trees. I love the idea of your dad planting something that would carry on long after he was gone. This had a wonderful bittersweet tone. Well done.
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Trees have always seemed magical to me. And you’re right. There is hope within them. Thank you for comments. 🌳
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I can’t think of granny smiths, marigolds, or strawberries without thinking of my grandfather. I love the movement if this from sadness to that specific humor. The boyfriend threatening to teach canning…and — My Dad stayed in the house with me. He claimed that he was trying to keep me calm, but I don’t think he liked the cows much either. Beautiful.
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I love the way you added humor to this. It increases the sentiment without becoming maudlin.
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