On an almost dirt road in Mt Sinai the little white house sat back from the road decorated by hydragas, lilacs, forsythia, mimosas, lillies, and the peach farm next door. The house was flanked by fruit and vegetable farms, so rural and foreign to my fascinated young mind. It was a world away, not earthly, magical.
The old farmhouse was simple and antique, with squeaky wood floors and worn throw rugs. The kitchen boasted metal cabinets and appliances that were an upgrade for the 1950s. My great grandmother proudly showed hommage to the memories of the Kennedy family with lifesize needlepoint and silkscreens framed of the noble family - they blessed our meals in the dining room. The second floor creeked and cracked more so than below, making sneaking about an impossibility and adding fuel to my already spooked dreams. My great grandparents slept in separate single beds - pre-Brady Bunch - and the fragrance of moth balls and cedar lingered in each room. Sterling Silver vanity sets sat atop dressing tables and mirrors speckled with age protected each room. The house breathed a history and knowledge of harder times, different times without technology, but also of family and togetherness and generations of tradition to share.
I hear stories of my great grandparents from my mother, aunt and grandmother. Some I remember and can even picture, but others speak of the more sinister side of family and appearances. I was too young to be touched by that darker side of my fairyland, and cannot connect those stories with my memories. My great grandmother was a strong and proud woman. She demanded and was firm in her convictions. I remember her always in a dress and most often in an apron with her coke bottle glasses, giving her eyes a fish bowl appearance. I have a memory of her sitting in the back yard with a tub between her knees fileting the fresh fish that would be our dinner...the smell of high tide bringing the beach to my playyard. I see my great grandfather slumped on the couch in the family room watching TV, as was his favorite pasttime, in his long underwear and flannel in 90 degrees without air conditioning. His cigar burning its fragrant smoke as incense offerings to his game shows. The remote or "clicker" as he called it truely clicked and had only 5 buttons that somehow moved the dial on his monstrocity of a TV "box". The bottons were yellowed from the nicotine and the TV black and white.
The back yard was an adventure calling. To the right next to the shed was my glorious blueberry bush. Daily I would ask the tree to share her delicious fruit and I would sit by that tree with my little fingers plucking plump berries one by one and savoring their flavor. Beyond the blueberry bush was the endless garden. The vegetables and fruits that filled my tummy were organic and fresh from this wonderland. I'm sure the garden had an end somewhere, but to my little eyes the gardens joined the wood and went to a land that I was too small to travel. Eggplant and squash, peppers and onoins, all kinds of lettuces and greens, tomatoes and green beans, potatoes and turnips: I also remember the strawberries and cherries and nuts and other fruits that appeared at every turn in the gardens. The burst of colors from the flowers splashed across the greens of the vegetables. Brilliant rainbows of color and fragrance...and bees. Hrm...that's interesting...why don't I remember being afraid of them? I would watch the little buzzing creatures flower to flower collect their pollen for the scrumptous honey I knew would be on my bread the next morning. I would spend hours with my fairies in the gardens, exploring these wild lands.
Where are my gardens? My fairies have left? Our modern world has turned nature into a machine. The farms disappear every day and you can no longer pick fruit from any tree for fear of the chemicals they've been doused with to keep the bugs at bay. Our honey bees are dying, leaving our honey supply in jeapardy. Sure I can trek to Longwood Gardens for the scenery, but where will my little angel go to meet her magical guides? What woods will honor her adventures and dreams? I realize I've become as sterile as our world. I am afraid of many things, with my fairies gone I am alone and fearful of the unknown.
My great grandparents have long since gone to the beyond as have my father's parents and my mother's father and my own father. Anya has two great grandmothers, her Omi and her Pro-yiayia in Greece. I am desparate to have her travel to Greece to play in her great grandmother's lemon trees that grow as tall as the second floor balcony. I want her to meet her fairies in the olive groves and run with them along the island shores. Why does this seem more like a dream? How can I deny my child her birthright adventures because this modern world ate her financial stability? I feel panicked because her great grandmother ages every day. Without her the island is only a vacation.
I get angry. I am afraid. It would be so easy to hermitize myself, but at a detriment to my child. Everyone drives too fast, doesn't play outside anymore, purchases goods that are tainted and poisonous. Life will only continue to so-called-advance and the days of animal farm will be conquered by the matrix. What kind of life will my child grow to have. How can I protect her if I can't protect myself? Where can I offer her adventures before the fairies are gone for her too.
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