THE OLD FOLKS

If I wasn’t in the yard, or at the pond
or playing with the neighbour’s kids,
there was only one other place I would be, and that was
at one of homes of the old folks who lived on our street.
I was drawn to them from the beginning and knew instinctively
that they were very special people.
Their faces were lined with wisdom and knowledge,
and they knew just as much about me.
It seemed to me they enjoyed my visits and I certainly
enjoyed mine. We’d talk about their flowers with so many
vibrant hues, and fishing on the river with Mr. Gabourie.
He taught me all about fishing and how to row his boat.
This man and his wife were the parents of Sister Joan of Arc
who directed the choir when I was a member. They had
the best crab apple tree in their back yard and they let
me have as many as I wanted. I have never in the years
since, tasted the likes again. On the subject of fishing,
well that’s another story for another time.
These people were the salt of the earth and regularly
gave me cookies and gingerale for a treat.
At the end of our street was a stone house,
and the Genereaux lived there. It seemed whenever I went
to visit, I had a piece of bread and butter in my hand,
and just to tease me they said my hand was bandaged.
One day I went over and they were fixing some Boudin
for their meal. It smelled so good and I told them so,
so they insisted on giving me a piece to try.
I don’t know how something that smelled so good
could taste so bad–at least it did to me.
They had a good laugh over it.
Right next door lived my Uncle Levi and my Aunt Tildy
and I went to see them frequently because their house
was full of calendars of every kind, and my Aunt who
was very old wore a number of sweaters and many stockings
to keep warm, then she’d have the oven door open, and sit with
her feet on the oven door.
Her circulation must have been some bad.
Her hand was forever in her pocket because
her Rosary was there and she wore her hair drawn back into a
very tight bun. Uncle Levi used to shave with the straight
razor and I always timed my visits to watch him, he didn’t
seem to mind. They had an ice shed out beside the house and there
were many blocks of ice under a huge pile of sawdust.
We had an iceman who came frequently with his horse and wagon,
and we kids chased him all the way down the street, begging pieces of
ice to make us cool on hot summer days. Lots of times, he obliged.
Today all these lovely people are resting in the Cemetery which
catches the suns rays throughout the day and there are other
spots that rest in the cool shade of the old trees that like sentinels are at
attention in respect for those interred and line the fence
and change the colours of their uniforms with the seasons.
When we go to visit my mom and dads grave, we make the rounds
of all my dear friends from my youth, and I say a little prayer
for them all, and I smile as memories come rushing back,
and I thank God for His gift of
The old folks.

Margaret Rose Larrivee
Apr. 20, 2007