When Nannie Spoke, Even the Bunnies Harkened, Gathering to Eat From the Palms of Her Hands

Why do dated words intrigue me? Recalling early childhood memories, time, or perhaps I should say, restoring time, means being back at my grandparent's home where nature fearlessly spoke her simple truth. The only voice more inspiring and all-knowing came from a woman who called herself Georgia. Days of yesteryear still live on inside me commanding my attention.

Three-year-old-me was excited to meet my grandparents for the first time. Running with open arms to the man with the lumberjack shirt and bright red suspenders, my grandmother chuckled as I blurted out a bold "Hello, my darling" to my grandfather. Indeed, a big expression of emotion from the little girl with golden pigtails, this first encounter became a story told time and time again by the woman who I called Nannie.

Growing up in a British/American household, my mum taught me that Nannie was the proper term for grandmother.

Settling into the vacant side of my grandparent’s two-family home, my parents, baby sister, and I had just relocated from Virginia Beach, my father’s final stop serving in the Navy. Moving back to his home state of Massachusetts, Berkshire County became our final resting spot, providing an ideal upbringing reflective of the humble values of country living.

My grandparents owned several acres of land and were farmers before my time, yet the rickety old barn remained, singing the song of yesterday's neighs, moos, and cluckings as a hallmark of laborious days gone by. Gardening continued for a few more years, yielding healthy vegetables for canning and Winter storage.

Nannie was a superb gardener and exposed me to planting at a tender age. Together, big hands and little hands dug in the garden, pulling potatoes, carrots, and radishes from the soil. How her rigid cracked fingers worked the earth was skillful and indicative of a deeply held passion. Mother Nature and the woman I often heard talking aloud to herself, "Oh, Georgia," my Nannie would say during painstaking effort, chores, and situations where time was of the essence.

Could this be her secret, self-talk and turning within?

Even her flowers bloomed in plenty; marigolds, petunias, zinnias, and begonias; from sections devoted to specific types to beautiful interminglings and random color play set in old worn tires. Wildflowers complimented hand-planted art, daisies, and buttercups galore. Nature's dynamic duo symbolizing joy, new beginnings, and the ability to keep a secret, paired with neatness, childishness, and attraction paired with seed-to-soil sophistication, beckoned my wide eyes ever to wonder, capturing the vision for later recovery.

With Nannie's guaranteed green thumb, I was convinced she was a faery grandmother who commanded the elements, fauna, and creatures walking on fours with old-fashioned values. Nature responded to her gentle yet confident demeanor. Was it her knowledge of the earth, her convincing vocal tones, or perhaps her word choices? Little girl, me had to understand the power of the woman who effortlessly self-assured, "Oh, Georgia."

blue eyes like blue skies with blonde to silver shifting tresses

nature attuned; rose tales of the pruned

she mesmerizes by words uttered, phrases; professes

Harken and Ye Shall Learn

My Nannies' incredible gift was her compelling way with domesticated and wild animals. Although I missed out on the farm animal days, my grandparents always had two dogs, large ones to share their land of plenty and the many gems of mother nature with.

At this time, my parents, younger sister, and I had moved into our newly built home up on the hill of my grandparents' vast land. Only a stone's throw from my Nannie, ascending the gravel driveway or my preferred route down the footpath stamped out by little feet.

Down the hill and through the tall grass, off to Nannie's house, and away I would go!

I will never forget one early summer evening, not quite dark, but the sun was bidding her final farewell sliding behind the infamous Berkshire County hills. Nannie and I were sitting on the lawn as we often did. Bare feet brushing against the freshly cut grass tickling between our toes and the fragrance of watermelon wafting from green cushioning; indeed, country living has unparalleled charm.

"Shhh, hush," Nannie said, looking around with a wholly plucked dandelion in her hand.

A Chatty girl I was, so Nannie promptly commanded a firmer, "hark!"

And harken, I did.

In the still of the moment, a little brown bunny hopped right up to Nannie's hand, unafraid yet attentive, with his eyes and ears on high alert for trouble but fearing nothing from the woman who called herself Georgia. This was when I realized that when Nannie spoke, even the bunnies harkened, eating from the palm of her hands.

Hark was her go-to word, demanding attention; sharp and serious but from a place of love.

Indeed, I was accustomed to her vocal command marking a significant occurrence like when watching the evening news or during her fights as she loved her boxing matches; I can see her now with her spunky fist pumps in the air. But this moment in nature, this glorious occasion which I bore witness to, answered my most pressing question: was her best-kept secret her uncanny self-talk of what the little child me thought were antique words and out-of-time notions?

No

The little brown bunny's complete trust in my Nannie, this wild creature of all fours with many a predator, knew she was worthy, felt her compassion and undying love for life, all life on earth lacking alternative motives, owning a pure spirit.

Animals know; they sense beyond the human experience into higher levels of learning.

A serendipitous soul-sighting spell casting between human and creature spoke volumes to this starry-eyed child.

From this moment forward, my Nannie became much more than a grandmother; she became the lamppost on my path to spirituality.

***

Many years have passed, and so has the woman who openly called herself Georgia. A country gal attuned to nature with a gung-ho working ethic wasted not one day. She worked her hands to the bone, made miracles in the kitchen, made good of her resources, and verbalized the words the universe listened to.

Oh, Georgia, you spoke the knowledge of the greats to me then, and I still hear your words now. Time and place have changed not one thing. Yet, somewhere in the distance, you say, "Hark," a dated comment I've grown to cherish, and I realize that your guidance lives on in me, your greatest listener.

Originally published on Medium on 3/08/2023 in Age of Empathy

Written in response to the prompt: Women who inspire