99 WORDS...AND A LITTLE BIT MORE
“Almost,” he said, “here, let me help you.”
“No! I can do it myself.”
He laughed at the spunk. Sitting on a rock in front of her, he picked another blade of grass, showing her how to position it between her five-year-old’s thumbs.
“Squeeze it, but not too tight and lock your fingers together.” He instructed, moving her thumbs against her lips. “Now blow hard.”
The noise sounded like a goose with a sore throat.
She danced with excitement before throwing her arms around her brother’s neck.
“I made the grass talk.”
Our Mother had other ideas about how girls should act. Poor mom; she wished for me to be a lady in training. In reality, this might have been a simpler task if we lived ‘urban’ and not ‘rural’. I am certain I caused her much consternation, as in my younger opinion, there was no need to be ladylike (all of the time).
Now that I am at an age to appreciate younger generations who have a command of manners, morals, and respect, I am thankful Mom persevered. One of her favourite sayings was, “Manners are free and they will get you more in life than you will ever know.” So true…But, I wander from my desire to discuss the person who patiently, and sometimes not so patiently, put up with me at my young age, bugging him to ‘show me’.
While Mom attempted to tame the budding tomboy in me, it was my brother who (perhaps) unknowingly showed me the ropes. He taught me how to whittle a whistle out of a piece of green willow. Instructed me to use the part of the snake fence where the logs intertwined as a ladder to get to the top rail. With further words added directing me to “Don’t look at your feet, look at the other end of the log and you won’t fall off.” Easy for him to say; but, he was right. In time, I was running along the top rail. The stories could go on and on.
And yes, he was the one who showed me how to make the grass talk, or maybe I should say squawk; and more importantly, which grass was the best to use to make the sound happen.