Today my orange tree blossomed. Today one of my favorite childhood memories comes to mind, receiving letters from my Poppa from Florida, where he and my Grandma Pence wintered every year. In the spring, he put orange blossoms in the envelopes. When the orange trees bloomed, it was time for them to think about coming home to Ohio. I loved the scent of orange blossoms. I loved receiving letters from my Poppa. I loved when they came home.
Recently, I spoke about the importance of having an unconditional love person in your life. My Poppa Pence was mine. I was born two months prematurely. My parents marriage was always a contentious one. Like all children, I needed a place of security and love. My Poppa Pence was that place. He and I had a special connection from the beginning. Apparently my first words were “bite butter” and Poppa gave me a small bite. Kind of silly, I know, but it shows the attention he paid to my desires.
I could talk with him about anything, all the sad things, all the scary things, all the hard things, all the things that you worry about when you’re a kid or a preteen or a teen. He was always there for me, nurturing, insightful, nonjudgmental, supportive.
It truly was a gift to know that I was loved at that level. It offered a stability and a grounding like nothing else did. While unconditional love is a gift at any time in our lives, it’s a special gift for a child.
Poppa ran the Western Union office in Urbana, Ohio. Every year, my siblings, and I received letters, from the Easter bunny, Santa Claus, or other characters. One year we got letters and long haired trolls. (Mine had orange hair.) In those days the letters were on ticker tape, glued to the page or card. Poppa always said they came across the wire from Santa or the Easter bunny to him for us. This didn’t happen a lot, so that made them more special when they did.
Poppa surprised and delighted me on a regular basis. He supported what I loved. My Grandma Pence gave me my love for flowers. My Poppa Pence helped me search for them. I especially loved hunting for violets growing wild in the yards near their home.
When I was little, he would sometimes take me fishing on Saturday mornings. We would get up when it was dark because he said the fish bit best as the sun rose. We would pack club crackers with cream cheese and take water to drink, both delicious on those hot sunny summer mornings. Many days I came home with the entire front of my legs burned to a crisp. But I loved every moment. Sometimes Poppa’s friend Cecil Spriggs would come with us. Cecil was funny. He would take his false teeth out, put a napkin on the top of his head, and talk to us as if he was an old woman. Together, the three of us would spend companionable mornings fishing for bluegill, crappie, and catfish. We didn’t always catch much, but we enjoyed our time out in the sun, together.
Sometimes I would sing to the fish or create poems. “Fishie fishie in the brook, please bite upon my little hook. And if you do, the truth to tell, tonight we’ll eat you very well.” Not much of a poet, but I enjoyed how much Poppa and Cecil laughed at my performances. Few things tasted better than the fresh fish we caught, then ate for dinner.
Poppa was also a hunter as all Midwestern men were at that time. He hunted small game, so as a kid I tried pheasant, squirrel, quail, and rabbit. My siblings and I were not involved with nor did we see the butchering or cleaning process, but Poppa would save us tails, feathers, and once he gave me a “lucky” rabbit’s foot. I know I ate everything he, my dad, and my uncles hunted. Today I’m not much into game. I find the tastes too strong. Then I loved it all.
After Poppa retired, he would spend summer days on the deck overlooking Meadow Lake where my siblings and I swam and trained to be life guards. Swimming lessons started early in the morning and it had to be 68° before we could get in the water. We loved the water. For hours every day, Poppa would sit on the second floor deck overlooking the lake while we swam and played. At the time, I didn’t think much about it. Today I wonder how he had the patience and tenacity to spend the whole day sitting there, watching us while we played. At some point, we always got hungry or thirsty. He would take us to the snack bar to get ice cream sandwiches or hotdogs. Then we would sit at the snack bar for a bit and talk before we ran off again to play in the water. At that time, we had to be out of the water for at least an hour after eating, so for one hour a day we hung out and talked between swims.
Poppa took us for picnics at roadside rests, drove us past the game farm so we could try to catch glimpses of deer, moose, and smaller game. He fed my love of road trips, picnics, and tiger lilies.
Poppa never shied away from telling me he loved me, snuggling me in his arms after I woke up from a nightmare, skipping home from church with me, holding me when I cried, rubbing my back to help me fall asleep, telling me bedtime stories. He congratulated me on my successes and encouraged my dreams.
Unconditional love is such a big thing and today I am grateful for my Poppa and my lovely orange blossoms.
Deborah's Deliberations 