In the Northeast part of the United States, residents are privileged to enjoy a phenomenon known as
"Indian Summer." Sometimes it comes earlier in the season, and other years, it arrives later. Autumn can be ferociously fickle, as are all matters involving Mother Nature. Only two years ago, our region suffered a blizzard the day before Halloween. There have been other years when children have trick or treated in shorts and T-shirts. You just never know what you're going to get!
"Indian Summer." Sometimes it comes earlier in the season, and other years, it arrives later. Autumn can be ferociously fickle, as are all matters involving Mother Nature. Only two years ago, our region suffered a blizzard the day before Halloween. There have been other years when children have trick or treated in shorts and T-shirts. You just never know what you're going to get!
This year, the leaves have started to turn early, especially in the valley where "V" lives. There have been many mornings where fog has gently blanketed the entire area, an unusual site around here, as the prematurely cold nights magically transformed into stunning sunny days.
Going into the second week of October, the forecast calls for temperatures in the high seventies, which is an absolute delight for early Autumn! The trees are clearly confused, not knowing whether or not to shed all of their leaves, as some have already done quite unashamedly, or remain completely clothed, modestly waiting to show off their stunning Fall wardrobe made up of spectacular shades of gold, orange, red, and yellow.
For most of the Spring and Summer, "V" has been extremely cautious about going outside, even if it is just to sit on her back porch. There is a small step going from the dining room to the deck, and "V" is understandably fearful of falling, despite a very capable walker (not to mention even more capable caregivers) to brace her. Her only ventures into the community begin with the kitchen door, where there is a handicapped ramp that leads straight to her car. Then, she is driven by her weekday caregiver to doctor appointments, grocery stores, the local pharmacy, the library (which somehow manages to keep the large prints in stock!), and any place else that she wishes to go. Sometimes she is treated to a scenic overlook near the Hudson River, which she very much enjoys. The world viewed primarily through a car window!
During my last visit with "V", however, she ventured into new territory, much to my surprise and delight. On a bright and beautiful Autumn afternoon, "V" asked if we could sit out on the back porch. It was later in the day, so the sun would not be directly upon us, which "V" preferred. I don't think I've jumped up that quickly from her comfy couch in the past two months! Sit outside? Of course we could, and would, sit outside!
What this really meant was not so much that "V" desired fresh air or even a change of venue from her comfy reclining chair, but that she had begun to trust in me as one of her caregivers. Walking is a scary task for "V", and I didn't want to push her into doing something she wasn't yet comfortable with. Trust is something that needs to be earned, and I believe that her request to sit on the patio was the first of a series of steps that needed to be climbed on the ladder of trust.
And so we began our journey. Carefully and ever-so-cautiously, "V" slid her walker up to the double sliding glass door that separates the dining room from the deck. Outside the screen door, there is a small, somewhat awkward little step that needs to be taken in order to get outside. Standing as closely behind "V" as she would allow, I watched as she gently guided her way out onto her patio, something she may not have done since before her debilitating fall last year. There were two white, plastic Adirondack style chairs just waiting there for us to make their acquaintance, and we sat each sat down in one, the glorious rays of the late afternoon sun beaming down on both of our backs.
"Wow!" I exclaimed. "This is wonderful!"
"V" looked at me and smiled, nodding her head in agreement. I happened to notice that she looked very proud, as she very well should be of her accomplishment. I imagined how tentative my own footsteps would be, if I took any at all, after a nearly debilitating tumble down the basement stairs leading to a broken neck.
"You did great," I encouraged her! "You're a natural at this!"
I, on the other hand, managed to not-so-gracefully trip over the small step, juggling our two large-print books as in the process. "V" had asked me to bring them out with us so that we could both read, and she seemed entertained by my misstep.
"I often fall asleep reading in the warmth of the sun," "V" told me, and I responded that there was nothing wrong with that. She was not one that was prone to naps during the afternoon, and I was amazed at how she was able to stay awake throughout the days we'd already shared together.
About an hour later, I opened my eyes with a start! A bit disoriented, I looked around to get my bearings, and noticed my large print book wide open on my sagging lap.
"You fell asleep, Dear," "V" informed me, her tone one of amusement.
"Oh my gosh..." I began to apologize. "I'm so sorry."
"No need to apologize, Dear," "V" consoled. "I've done it many times."
Well maybe she did, but certainly not today! While I was slumped in my chair, not-so-gracefully snoozing on the job, "V" was taking in all the glorious splendor of the early October day.
Her property was large and multi-leveled, the driveway under the porch separated by some steps and a rock wall from the football field sized backyard below it. And just beyond that, separated by a layer of wildflowers and bushes, lay a spectacular, yellow-green field of... ???
I certainly had no idea. Nor did "V" when I asked her. I wasn't a farmer by nature, but I had grown up in the Northern suburbs of NYC, as well as gone to undergraduate school in Albany, New York. Actually, my first boyfriend in college was a corn farmer, who dabbled in strawberries when they were in season. Although the relationship was destined to last a mere seven months, I nevertheless learned a lot about the hard work being a farmer involves... Especially in the Spring, when middle-of-the-night watering of the fields provides a harsh lesson in sleep deprivation. It's funny now to think that at one time, I had envisioned being a farmer's wife. I don't know who I thought was going to do all of the cooking in the giant home-style country kitchen, but I certainly knew it wasn't me!
Back to the present, and "V"s mystery field. There it lay in all its glory, whatever it was! And so, ever-curious by nature, and much less fearful of seeking out an answer than I had been in my earlier college days, I announced to "V" that I was going to walk down to the field and find out what was growing there!
"You're going down there? she asked with a hint of horror, as if I were about to go cliff-diving.
"Sure. It's a beautiful day and I could use the exercise," I reasoned. "Plus, I have to find out what the heck is growing!"
"Okaaaay," she said hesitantly, drawing the word out cautiously. Then, she instructed me in a very motherly way to go ahead, but to take the utmost care. Another sign of trust, I wondered? Perhaps. We were making some major headway today!
So off I trounced to the field below the yard shaped like a football field, eager to solve the mystery. Or perhaps I bounced. Whatever I did, I'm sure it was an ever-so-graceless combination of the two! And either way, I landed at the foot of the large yellow-green field, absolutely in awe of its beauty.
From behind me, and much to my surprise, a voice called out, "Go ahead. Try some!"
I turned around quickly, and was thus introduced to one of "V"s neighbors, a friendly, slightly scruffy looking man around my age who lived in the house next-door with his family.
"Is this your field?" I asked, expecting a definitive "Yes!" followed by a resolution to the nature of the mystery crop.
"Nah," he drawled with a smile. "It belongs to the farmer." I wondered who "the farmer" (as if there was only one in the area) was, but kept that query to myself.
Instead, I asked the question of the day, "What's growing out there?"
"Those?" he pointed to the yellow-green field, which was much larger up close than it looked from "V"s porch. "They're all soy beans!"
Then he again encouraged me, this time in a softer voice, to try some. "They're ready for pickin'. And the farmer won't mind." Almost in a whisper, he added, "I took some myself the other day."
Well... if "the farmer" wasn't going to mind, and if they were ripe for the picking, then I guess I would try some, I reasoned to myself. There was just one tiny problem. I had no clue whatsoever how to handle a soy bean plant! My ignorance must have been crystal clear to the neighbor, probably due to my baffled expression, who instructed me to "Just pick the pods off the plant... like peas!"
Oh! Like peas! I was too embarrassed to admit that I'd never picked pea pods directly off the plant, but I had a strong hunch as to how to manage the task.. I may not have learned much about farming or cooking in my early years, but I certainly knew what a pea pod looked like! They are my favorite vegetable, and I savor their sweet flavor.
And so, I picked my first soy bean pods! I didn't want to go over-board, even though there were thousands and thousands of plants, each with dozens of pods, so I decided to pick three! One for me, one for "V", and one for the next caregiver on shift, just in case "V" and I were accidentally poisoned by the mysterious beans. Then she could figure out the source of our unfortunate demise!
I thanked the neighbor for his hospitality, and hurried out of the field, eager to share my "discovery" with the waiting "V", whose head I could see from a distance still nose-down in her book. I guess she wasn't as worried about how I was faring in the field of beans as I had first thought... that, or she had dismissed me as being completely insane!
Bouncing and trouncing (and huffing and puffing) my way back up to "V"s porch, I held out my hand and proudly (and ever-so-gracefully) displayed my treasure. "They're soy beans!" I managed to announce through my embarrassing efforts to catch my breath. I obviously needed more exercise... or an oxygen tank!
"V" expressed her amazement that I actually went down to the mystery field and spoke with the neighbor, as if I had gone on some sacred expedition. "He's very nice, isn't he?" she said. "What's his name again?"
I told her his name, and she nodded and smiled with remembrance. "That's right. I had forgotten."
"But what about the pods?" I was thinking, trying to remain cool as a cucumber ("V"s favorite vegetable) on the outside. "Ask me about the pods!" my mind raced eagerly.
I couldn't wait any longer, and thrust my fisted hand in front of "V"s face to unveil the mystery hidden in my palm.
"See?" I finally unfolded my hand. "They're soy pods!" The silly words seemed to stumble (of course, not-so-gracefully) out of my still-gasping mouth. I just couldn't conceal my glee at my accomplishment any longer! Not only had I solved the mystery of what was growing in the yellow-green field, but I had survived the dangerous trek there and back!
"V" gently reached out her hand, her skin so clear and unblemished even after ninety-five years, to touch the fuzzy pods, and I could sense her satisfaction at my achievement. "I'm so glad someone finally found out what was growing down there!" she complimented me with a big smile.
"Do you want to taste them?" I asked, as if I was about to share a gigantic secret with a special friend.
"Sure," "V" replied. "Let's give them a try!" She sounded like as big an adventurer as me!
Carefully, I slit the pods down the seam on the side to reveal three tiny light green beans. Soy beans!
Still a tad bit concerned about poisoning "V", I tentatively tried the first bean myself. I'm not so sure if "V" noticed due to the glare of the late afternoon sun, but my face contorted at the not-so-sweet taste of the oval-shaped little gems. Peas they definitely were not!!!
"You try one," I handed a bean to "V" to see what her reaction would to the taste would be.
"They're not bad," she said, but I think she was just being kind. Criticism did not seem to be a part of "V"s kind nature, and in the two months that I have been acquainted with her, she has not said a harsh word about anyone or anything. I very much admired that about her, and vowed to try harder to be more that way myself.
"Let's bring them inside and save them," "V" suggested after tasting one. "Then we can show everyone what they are." If that wasn't an ever-so-polite way of saying "Yuck! These taste terrible!", then I don't know what was!
And that's exactly what we did. I displayed the soy pods on top of the bright red candy container that sat prominently in the center of "V"s dining room table (talk about two opposite taste sensations!), and "V" and I were equally able to admire their beauty while we ate our soy-less dinner salads, mine full of sweet peas and hers brimming with tasty cucumbers.
Afterwards, we both retreated to the living room to watch another Turner Classic Movie, a highly entertaining comedy farce from the mid-1930's. Before tucking her into bed following the film, "V" thanked me for a "very nice" day, and I felt very happy and fulfilled. The foundation of trust that we were building had become cemented in our relationship thanks to a sun-drenched afternoon on the porch and a field of beans.
While I lay in bed that night, I acknowledged my gratefulness. I still missed "M" terribly, but I was lucky to have another delightful elderly friend in my life, someone not only to share new experiences with, but to savor fascinating stories of the past. I felt very full (but thankfully not of soy beans!).
"How odd," I thought before falling asleep. "I've gone from shelling to shucking in under a year!"
You just never know where the next road is going to take you...
During my last visit with "V", however, she ventured into new territory, much to my surprise and delight. On a bright and beautiful Autumn afternoon, "V" asked if we could sit out on the back porch. It was later in the day, so the sun would not be directly upon us, which "V" preferred. I don't think I've jumped up that quickly from her comfy couch in the past two months! Sit outside? Of course we could, and would, sit outside!
What this really meant was not so much that "V" desired fresh air or even a change of venue from her comfy reclining chair, but that she had begun to trust in me as one of her caregivers. Walking is a scary task for "V", and I didn't want to push her into doing something she wasn't yet comfortable with. Trust is something that needs to be earned, and I believe that her request to sit on the patio was the first of a series of steps that needed to be climbed on the ladder of trust.
And so we began our journey. Carefully and ever-so-cautiously, "V" slid her walker up to the double sliding glass door that separates the dining room from the deck. Outside the screen door, there is a small, somewhat awkward little step that needs to be taken in order to get outside. Standing as closely behind "V" as she would allow, I watched as she gently guided her way out onto her patio, something she may not have done since before her debilitating fall last year. There were two white, plastic Adirondack style chairs just waiting there for us to make their acquaintance, and we sat each sat down in one, the glorious rays of the late afternoon sun beaming down on both of our backs.
"Wow!" I exclaimed. "This is wonderful!"
"V" looked at me and smiled, nodding her head in agreement. I happened to notice that she looked very proud, as she very well should be of her accomplishment. I imagined how tentative my own footsteps would be, if I took any at all, after a nearly debilitating tumble down the basement stairs leading to a broken neck.
"You did great," I encouraged her! "You're a natural at this!"
I, on the other hand, managed to not-so-gracefully trip over the small step, juggling our two large-print books as in the process. "V" had asked me to bring them out with us so that we could both read, and she seemed entertained by my misstep.
"I often fall asleep reading in the warmth of the sun," "V" told me, and I responded that there was nothing wrong with that. She was not one that was prone to naps during the afternoon, and I was amazed at how she was able to stay awake throughout the days we'd already shared together.
About an hour later, I opened my eyes with a start! A bit disoriented, I looked around to get my bearings, and noticed my large print book wide open on my sagging lap.
"You fell asleep, Dear," "V" informed me, her tone one of amusement.
"Oh my gosh..." I began to apologize. "I'm so sorry."
"No need to apologize, Dear," "V" consoled. "I've done it many times."
Well maybe she did, but certainly not today! While I was slumped in my chair, not-so-gracefully snoozing on the job, "V" was taking in all the glorious splendor of the early October day.
Her property was large and multi-leveled, the driveway under the porch separated by some steps and a rock wall from the football field sized backyard below it. And just beyond that, separated by a layer of wildflowers and bushes, lay a spectacular, yellow-green field of... ???
I certainly had no idea. Nor did "V" when I asked her. I wasn't a farmer by nature, but I had grown up in the Northern suburbs of NYC, as well as gone to undergraduate school in Albany, New York. Actually, my first boyfriend in college was a corn farmer, who dabbled in strawberries when they were in season. Although the relationship was destined to last a mere seven months, I nevertheless learned a lot about the hard work being a farmer involves... Especially in the Spring, when middle-of-the-night watering of the fields provides a harsh lesson in sleep deprivation. It's funny now to think that at one time, I had envisioned being a farmer's wife. I don't know who I thought was going to do all of the cooking in the giant home-style country kitchen, but I certainly knew it wasn't me!
Back to the present, and "V"s mystery field. There it lay in all its glory, whatever it was! And so, ever-curious by nature, and much less fearful of seeking out an answer than I had been in my earlier college days, I announced to "V" that I was going to walk down to the field and find out what was growing there!
"You're going down there? she asked with a hint of horror, as if I were about to go cliff-diving.
"Sure. It's a beautiful day and I could use the exercise," I reasoned. "Plus, I have to find out what the heck is growing!"
"Okaaaay," she said hesitantly, drawing the word out cautiously. Then, she instructed me in a very motherly way to go ahead, but to take the utmost care. Another sign of trust, I wondered? Perhaps. We were making some major headway today!
So off I trounced to the field below the yard shaped like a football field, eager to solve the mystery. Or perhaps I bounced. Whatever I did, I'm sure it was an ever-so-graceless combination of the two! And either way, I landed at the foot of the large yellow-green field, absolutely in awe of its beauty.
From behind me, and much to my surprise, a voice called out, "Go ahead. Try some!"
I turned around quickly, and was thus introduced to one of "V"s neighbors, a friendly, slightly scruffy looking man around my age who lived in the house next-door with his family.
"Is this your field?" I asked, expecting a definitive "Yes!" followed by a resolution to the nature of the mystery crop.
"Nah," he drawled with a smile. "It belongs to the farmer." I wondered who "the farmer" (as if there was only one in the area) was, but kept that query to myself.
Instead, I asked the question of the day, "What's growing out there?"
"Those?" he pointed to the yellow-green field, which was much larger up close than it looked from "V"s porch. "They're all soy beans!"
Then he again encouraged me, this time in a softer voice, to try some. "They're ready for pickin'. And the farmer won't mind." Almost in a whisper, he added, "I took some myself the other day."
Well... if "the farmer" wasn't going to mind, and if they were ripe for the picking, then I guess I would try some, I reasoned to myself. There was just one tiny problem. I had no clue whatsoever how to handle a soy bean plant! My ignorance must have been crystal clear to the neighbor, probably due to my baffled expression, who instructed me to "Just pick the pods off the plant... like peas!"
Oh! Like peas! I was too embarrassed to admit that I'd never picked pea pods directly off the plant, but I had a strong hunch as to how to manage the task.. I may not have learned much about farming or cooking in my early years, but I certainly knew what a pea pod looked like! They are my favorite vegetable, and I savor their sweet flavor.
And so, I picked my first soy bean pods! I didn't want to go over-board, even though there were thousands and thousands of plants, each with dozens of pods, so I decided to pick three! One for me, one for "V", and one for the next caregiver on shift, just in case "V" and I were accidentally poisoned by the mysterious beans. Then she could figure out the source of our unfortunate demise!
I thanked the neighbor for his hospitality, and hurried out of the field, eager to share my "discovery" with the waiting "V", whose head I could see from a distance still nose-down in her book. I guess she wasn't as worried about how I was faring in the field of beans as I had first thought... that, or she had dismissed me as being completely insane!
Bouncing and trouncing (and huffing and puffing) my way back up to "V"s porch, I held out my hand and proudly (and ever-so-gracefully) displayed my treasure. "They're soy beans!" I managed to announce through my embarrassing efforts to catch my breath. I obviously needed more exercise... or an oxygen tank!
"V" expressed her amazement that I actually went down to the mystery field and spoke with the neighbor, as if I had gone on some sacred expedition. "He's very nice, isn't he?" she said. "What's his name again?"
I told her his name, and she nodded and smiled with remembrance. "That's right. I had forgotten."
"But what about the pods?" I was thinking, trying to remain cool as a cucumber ("V"s favorite vegetable) on the outside. "Ask me about the pods!" my mind raced eagerly.
I couldn't wait any longer, and thrust my fisted hand in front of "V"s face to unveil the mystery hidden in my palm.
"See?" I finally unfolded my hand. "They're soy pods!" The silly words seemed to stumble (of course, not-so-gracefully) out of my still-gasping mouth. I just couldn't conceal my glee at my accomplishment any longer! Not only had I solved the mystery of what was growing in the yellow-green field, but I had survived the dangerous trek there and back!
"V" gently reached out her hand, her skin so clear and unblemished even after ninety-five years, to touch the fuzzy pods, and I could sense her satisfaction at my achievement. "I'm so glad someone finally found out what was growing down there!" she complimented me with a big smile.
"Do you want to taste them?" I asked, as if I was about to share a gigantic secret with a special friend.
"Sure," "V" replied. "Let's give them a try!" She sounded like as big an adventurer as me!
Carefully, I slit the pods down the seam on the side to reveal three tiny light green beans. Soy beans!
Still a tad bit concerned about poisoning "V", I tentatively tried the first bean myself. I'm not so sure if "V" noticed due to the glare of the late afternoon sun, but my face contorted at the not-so-sweet taste of the oval-shaped little gems. Peas they definitely were not!!!
"You try one," I handed a bean to "V" to see what her reaction would to the taste would be.
"They're not bad," she said, but I think she was just being kind. Criticism did not seem to be a part of "V"s kind nature, and in the two months that I have been acquainted with her, she has not said a harsh word about anyone or anything. I very much admired that about her, and vowed to try harder to be more that way myself.
"Let's bring them inside and save them," "V" suggested after tasting one. "Then we can show everyone what they are." If that wasn't an ever-so-polite way of saying "Yuck! These taste terrible!", then I don't know what was!
And that's exactly what we did. I displayed the soy pods on top of the bright red candy container that sat prominently in the center of "V"s dining room table (talk about two opposite taste sensations!), and "V" and I were equally able to admire their beauty while we ate our soy-less dinner salads, mine full of sweet peas and hers brimming with tasty cucumbers.
Afterwards, we both retreated to the living room to watch another Turner Classic Movie, a highly entertaining comedy farce from the mid-1930's. Before tucking her into bed following the film, "V" thanked me for a "very nice" day, and I felt very happy and fulfilled. The foundation of trust that we were building had become cemented in our relationship thanks to a sun-drenched afternoon on the porch and a field of beans.
While I lay in bed that night, I acknowledged my gratefulness. I still missed "M" terribly, but I was lucky to have another delightful elderly friend in my life, someone not only to share new experiences with, but to savor fascinating stories of the past. I felt very full (but thankfully not of soy beans!).
"How odd," I thought before falling asleep. "I've gone from shelling to shucking in under a year!"
You just never know where the next road is going to take you...
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