Our Mountain

 

             She was the mountain we couldn’t climb. At least that’s how we felt whenever the bellowing “No” was shot at any of our inappropriate requests.

            I remember the landscape that surrounding her house. It stretched for about eight acres give or take a half of an acre. Her front yard was half of an acre, then her two story house followed, with tremendous hills covered in every tropical tree we could think of. The boundaries seemed endless to us; we owned half the block. She had about twenty six coconut trees, pigeon peas trees, papaya trees, plum trees, mango trees, guava trees, orange trees, avocado, sweet sop and breadfruit trees, and who could forget her precious lime trees and that was only the beginning of her crop. She planted produce which include potatoes¾sweet and regular¾yams, cassava, plantains, green bananas, eddoes, tanya, pumpkin, and squash. Then she had what she liked to call a vegetable garden. This garden had everything and more¾jalapenos, sweet bell peppers (green, red, yellow), carrots, green and red tomatoes, lettuce, spinach, and collard greens. Who was she? She was descendent of an ex-plantation owner and one of his house-slaves

            Black curls with gray lining fell to her shoulders. Her gray eyes were so peculiar; she could hold a stare for nine and a half minutes without blinking once. Her nose was like a button. Like the sirens luring unsuspecting strangers, her voice always produced this soothing medley like a nightingale’s song that could hypnotize even the most insensitive individual. Naomi was our beloved grandmother. After my mom left, I remember spending evenings at Naomi’s house. My cousins and I would lavish the time we spent with her. She wasn’t too big or too small, “Grams” was just right. She taught us how to do everything she knew and then some. Baking bread wasn’t just a cooking lesson; it was a life lesson too. She’d always say “You can’t put too much water in the batter; that kills the bread,” or “Honey, why do you keep adding flour, we’re baking bread, not mixing mortar.” It was a treat.

            Naomi was one of the most influential people in St. Vincent and the Grenadines. She wasn’t rich, but she wasn’t poor. Grams classified herself as “blessed”. She showed my cousin Monsieur and I how blessed she was throughout her life. I remember once, when there was a horrible storm, she sat us down and told us where the land came from. We owned half of our block, but it wasn’t always so. Grams talked about how she used to pray six times a day when she and her husband lived in a two-bedroom apartment “with ten little ones and an eleventh on the way” because they had no money, and needed it desperately. Grandpa worked sixteen hour days six days a week to provide for his large and still growing family. Life was difficult. Each of her kids had two outfits, one for church and one for school, new clothes were unheard of. Mo and I sat outraged as we listened to her story. We couldn’t grasp the idea of having two outfits allotted to each child. Nevertheless, she laughed and continued her story. The land was a gift. Yes it was. Grams said the land was a gift from God, and it helped her realize her life’s purpose. She never actually told us how we got the land, we just knew it was a gift from God, and we never questioned it.

            In fact, we didn’t need to. Her church answered any questions we had. Her purpose was to spread the good news, and one day in her mid-40s, Grams built a church in her front yard. I remember hearing her preach about her visions from God, and how God told her she needed to enlighten everyone, her friends, her neighbors, the people on the other side of our island, everyone. We were a bunch of six and seven year old kids who really didn’t care how the land was ours, we just loved hearing grandma’s stories. Of course, we enjoyed the ten acres allotted to us. Everyone knew Naomi. I remember going to the city with my dad, and people asking him, “is your daughter’s grandma, Naomi?” It was really awesome. But sometimes people would see my cousins and me causing trouble, and they’d call Naomi and let her know her grandkids were up to no good. Her punishments were great too. “Get down on your knees and start reciting it: Psalms 1, Psalms 2, Psalms 3…Psalms 148, Psalms 149, Psalms 150.” Mo and I had several books of the Bible memorized by the time we were ten years old. We were bad. And Grams had the right punishments for us. Now we look back on it and realize that she was teaching us the good news by using our unrelenting bad behavior as a means. To this day when people ask me why I know half of the Old Testament by heart, I tell them and they’re amazed.

            Though we were almost always on punishment, we had irreplaceable time with her. Grams loved to sing. She sang all the time, about everything. She composed songs on the spot, music and all; it was incredible. Sometimes she’d have solo acts at church and people would try to sing along. She’d stop and scold them for interfering with her solo. It was great. “Shut up, and let me sing my song” she’d say. Mo and I would laugh until our sides hurt, as people tried to sing along to her newly composed songs, never before heard. We’d watch as she transformed into this crazed individual—blood shot eyes, pursed lips ready to pounce—because people were destroying her music. She didn’t sing gospels only; she also sang about simple everyday things like, how to treat your “knocked-up daughter” among other things. People loved her, because she was real. If you needed a home, she’d deliver at no cost. If you needed support, it was yours, no questions asked. She recognized that life was a struggle sometimes, but she knew there were always good times to complement our struggles. Citizens came from all over our island to meet this force. She was good, no she was great. The most important thing she taught me was forgiveness. I had to move into a house with my mother eight years after she’d left, and Naomi taught me how to forgive and really forget. “Too many people take things for granted; your mother was one of them. You’ll realize that you are very much alike one day, and this may very well be your struggle. Don’t dwell on the past, learn from it. Don’t look to the future, anticipate it. Live for today, and only today, tomorrow’s not promised to you.” She had so many inspirational words for everyone. She survived the struggle, and wanted everyone to know they could too. Sometimes I wish she wrote a book.

            It seems like I should say more about grams, but there were some aspects of our family life and history that stayed behind closed doors. Grams taught us one final lesson before she passed away six months after her 76^th birthday. Compassion was very important in every day relations, and opening our home to the needy was a way in which we could show this trait, however, exposing dirty laundry and family secrets, were out of the question. These were things that everyone knew, but left un-said. After she died, our family began to fall apart, because her children forgot the values she lived by¾be good to yourselves, be good to others, act with love, remember your past but always look forward. She was the glue that helped us stay together but when she died the adhesive she applied throughout the years became exhausted in mere months.

Author's Note

This is the opening chapter of the book. I guess my question is will if it's enough to hook the reader in?

Reviews

[Sseoni]

What a great opening chapter! It's really intriguing and attention grabbing! You don't get to read many stories like this anymore. I like this book already! I bet it's gonna be awesome! I can only imagine the things that will happen in the future! A broken family... what next? I'm curious... I guess I'll have to keep reading! :D

[John_Cox]

I think it's great and I usually drop a book if the beginning doesn't grab me. It's very descriptive, especially about the land and that's the only thing I could see slowing anyone down. Personally I don't mind I enjoy when people have this ability, I seem to lack. It's very sweet and heartfelt even if sad over all. I'll continue reading and let you know what I think. Mind you I'm no one to review you, just an average Joe so don't take my word as gospel.

[Theresa]

I think it's perfect. So many life lessons that everyone can relate to and it paints a nice picture, "Don't dwell on the past, learn from it. Don't look to the future, anticipate it. Live for today, and only today, tomorrow's not promised to you." That is a great line.