Short Story

The old faded stewing pot that had been passed down for generations sat empty on the stove. Sensing that her grandchild, Laniza, was heartbroken, Grandmama decided to comfort her as Big Mama had done for her when she was a child—with a pot of greens.

Grabbing milk out of the fridge, Laniza noticed the pot. She walked to the edge of the stairwell and yelled, “Grandmama ‘bout to make some greens ya’ll.”

The grandkids filed into position as if cued by a drill sergeant’s horn. Mae fished a vinyl record from the red milk crate and fiddled with the old player until the speakers were filled with the peaceful sound of Bill Withers’ “Grandma’s Hands,” which warmed the grandkids’ souls during their weekend visits.

Preparation time had arrived. Rube grabbed a bag, out of another bag, that was stuffed with a hundred crumpled bags. She pulled the greens holder—a typical white laundry basket—from the bottom of the pantry. The holder eased washing and rinsing the greens. Siline removed the seasonings from the wire rack, opened the tops of each container, and neatly placed them beside the stewing pot. Collie shifted the butter bowl, jam jars and other containers around in the fridge until she spotted the red and green hot peppers. Grandmama raised an eyebrow at the peppers and set smoked turkey parts on the table. The grandkids looked at each other and whispered, “These greens gon’ be good.”

It was 87 degrees at seven in the morning, but that didn’t stop Grandmama from picking greens. When she walked to the front porch, towing a white bucket of dirty leaves that she called “beautiful,” her grandkids greeted her with smiles. They moved their legs out of the way so she could carefully make it up the slightly chipped and broken concrete steps. Grandmama sat in the corner of the porch on her worn kitchen chair, which had a folded towel draped over the cracked orange plastic pad so her butt wouldn’t get pinched.

Laniza folded the rough surfaced leaf and snipped the bottom stem with shears. She turned to Grandmama and asked, “Why you say these beautiful when they have holes in ‘em from the bugs? Not to mention they full of dirt…”

Grandmama held up a leaf from which loose dirt fell.

“You got’sta see the bigga picha. At the beginning, sure they full of dirt. They dirty, fulla holes and just plain ole raggedy. They grow from the ground,” Grandmama said. “It’s the same ground where ants, leaches and spiders roam. But if—and only if—you can see the big picha, you get happy because you see somethin’ greater. You break the ratty stems where the leaches ate, and you pick around the holey areas to save as much of the good leaf as possible. Even though the bugs ate, there’s still some good left. Then you baptize the leaves again and again to get rid of the dirt. All of the nasty ole dirt that helped make the leaf ugly. Now you got’ sta’ baptize the leaf bout three good times. You don’t want no traces of dirt in a good dish. You toss the once dirty—but now cleansed—greens in the empty pot. You toss in the ingredients to help turn ‘em into something flavorful. The empty pot becomes the maker for something beautiful. Somethin’ delightful!”

Hours later, Grandmama walked through the kitchen and noticed calmness as the girls polished off their bowl of well-seasoned greens.

“Now, da peppers: those for only if you need to add a bit of extra spice to the greens. It’s needed every now and then, ya know,” Grandmama said, gently but firmly.

Y. VINO is a native of St. Louis where she spent her childhood crafting stories. When she’s not crunching numbers as a Financial Specialist, she’s busy creating characters and plotting stories.