Remembering

Short story about an elderly gentleman who relies on old-school ways to predict the weather and how he perceives sweet memories of his wife.

Flipping through his Farmer's Almanac, Elias Akers smiled. He had relied on the publication for years. He depended on it to bestow wisdom about planting, animals and the weather, as it had for his father and his father before him.

The elderly gentleman had just read a short article about canning. Nonnie had loved canning. Placing the book on the side table, he arose slowly from his recliner, rubbing his left knee before stepping toward the bright yellow kitchen.

"Joints are achin' somethin' fierce today, Wicket," Elias announced to the orange tabby cat as it jumped from the counter. "Expect a rain today, probably a cold one."

The cat meowed and swished its tail as the man opened the pantry door. Mason jars, row upon row, filled the long shelves; jellies, peaches, green beans and pickled okra stood at attention, awaiting their fate.

Selecting a jar of apple butter preserves, Elias struggled with the lid. "C'mon," he grimaced. Frustrated, he held the cool glass jar to his wrinkled cheek. "I miss you, Nonnie Mae," he whispered.

Then he remembered. Opening the silverware drawer, Elias extracted the thin rubber circle laying beside the spoons, placed it on top of the jar and twisted until he heard the popping sound.

"I remembered, Nonnie," he grinned. "Just like you told me."

His wife had teased him many times, saying he didn't listen to her and when he did listen, he couldn't remember what she had said for more than five minutes.

"Husbands!" she would holler and shoo him from the kitchen with the hem of her apron.

As he fixed an apple butter sandwich, Wicket curled and uncurled around his booted feet. He remembered the day Nonnie found the little thing out in the side pasture. A beehive had somehow fallen from the old tree by the fence. The kitten was lapping golden liquid honey from the comb, angry bees flying dangerously close. She had rescued the feline from imminent harm. The orange ball of fluff was sticky from the tip of its nose to the tip of its tail. Nonnie had dubbed him, Sticky Wicket.

Elias laughed, a hearty guffaw as the memory played along the edges of his mind. "I remember Nonnie. Just like you told me."

Sitting back in his recliner, Elias chomped on his sandwich as he turned on the old television set in the corner. Watching the noonday news was a big part of his daily routine; something from which he never wavered.

Developing news was at the top of the program. The pretty weather girl, Whitley Varone, was pointing at a large map and advising everyone in the area to take cover; tornadic activity would be causing damage soon.

"That girl ain't hardly ever right, is she, Wicket?" Elias absentmindedly fed bits of bread to his companion. "Why don't we go on out and see what that weather vane Nonnie Mae got us for our birthday says?"

Wicket pounced his way to the back door and mewled anxiously.

Walking slowly to the big red barn, the semi-retired farmer stopped to rub his knee and looked toward the sky. No clouds; barely a breeze. The unusual shape of the folk art inspired metal cow-turned-weather vane wobbled slightly.

Elias shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing to be concerned about. Might as well check on the goats while we're out here."

Wicket ran into the barn and gracefully landed on the railing, peering into the pen housing a Momma and baby goat.

Elias filled the water trough, spread some fresh straw and scratched the baby behind the ears.

Wicket hissed.

Picking the cat up into his arms, Elias Akers scolded, "Don't be like that you goofy cat. Ain't no need to be jealous."

Suddenly, darkness enveloped the structure. Both goats bleated. Wicket squirmed and Elias gasped. Walking a few feet out the doorway, he was shocked to find the weather vane spinning like a child's toy top. A flash in the distance caught his attention; a dark funnel cloud was right on top of them.

Wicket still in his arms, the man dove back into the barn as wooden boards, paint peeling and cracked, whirled around him. The roar of the wind was deafening.

After what seemed an eternity, but was truly only minutes, Elias opened his bloodshot eyes and surveyed the debris. Wicket growled but snuggled closely into the crook of his master's elbow. The barn was destroyed. He could see the back of his house from his prone position, it looked untouched. He was untouched as well, save a small scratch on his left cheek.

Raising to his knees, he noticed the Momma and baby goats hunkered down near a pile of wood, they appeared to be safe.

Turning his silver head back toward the cat, Elias' eyes caught something shiny in the dust. The weather vane. Twisted awkwardly, it was an oddly comforting sight. He knew it was a message from his sweet Nonnie Mae. He remembered. He would be okay, just like she said.

Author's Note

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Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

Another sweet story about people and things I can relate to. I respect science, but treasure the old ways, too. I'll bet Elias straightens out that weather vein and puts it back up.

[MelissaAndres]

Thank you, Sam! Sometimes little things like that and the memory of someone special can keep us going!