From Tiny Seeds
by
Rick Quoin
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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Published by:
Jon and Jean Hamilton-Fford
From Tiny Seeds
Copyright 2010 by Jon and Jean Hamilton-Fford
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Under the spreading branches of a large oak tree set in the middle of a meadow sat a young boy flicking acorns into the long grass. He hung his head, pausing occasionally to pick at one of the fallen seeds before flicking it beyond the reach of the longest branch.
“So, why the long face?” an enquiring voice asked as the figure of an old man approached and stood beside him.
The boy looked up at the stranger and scrunched his face in reply. “Just ‘cause,” he muttered, averting his gaze. He flicked yet another acorn through the air and into the long grass.
“Do you mind if I sit awhile and rest my weary legs?” the man asked, removing his knapsack from a shoulder and leaning it against the tree together with the long stick he used for support.
“S’pose not…” he allowed. He watched as the old man struggled to bend and find a spot that would comfort his aching limbs, eventually finding an ideal spot between the knurled trunk in which to sit.
“So, why the long face?” the old man questioned, looking at the boy as he angrily flicked an acorn into the grass.
“Just ‘cause,” he again replied, unwilling to share his mood with the stranger.
“I see. I think I understand,” the old man sighed. “Been there myself once or twice,” he revealed, removing his cloth cap to give his head a welcomed scratch.
The boy merely nodded and flicked yet another acorn into the long grass.
“My name is Joseph, by the way,” the old man introduced, holding out a hand for the boy to shake.
“Peter, mine’s Peter,” he answered, unsure why the old man was holding out a hand towards him given that his social skills relied on a simple ‘hi’ and ‘bye.’
“Peter?” the old man replied. “That’s a fine name for a young man such as you,” Joseph acknowledged, looking at the boy as he contorted his face, squinting an eye as he took aim before flicking yet another acorn through the air.
“S’pose so,” Peter replied, looking about him for yet another acorn to flick into the long grass and trying his best to ignore the stranger.
“I knew a Peter once,” Joseph smiled. “I taught him how to fish,” he added, looking across at the boy as he continued in his search for fallen acorns.
Peter scuffed his heel in the dirt to reveal yet more buried seeds.
“Do you mind if I try my hand at flicking one?” Joseph asked.
Peter merely shrugged his shoulders and watched as the old man picked an acorn from the dirt and flicked it out across the meadow.It traveled through the air and landed way beyond his.
“Lucky try,” he huffed, choosing to toss his next acorn in an effort to beat the old man’s lucky flick. “Stupid game anyway,” he muttered to himself when his acorn failed to gain any distance.
“Is that the reason for the long face?” Joseph asked, nodding his head toward a group of people gathered around the rear of a horse-drawn carriage as a coffin, laden with flowers, was slid across the boards.
“Yep,” Peter answered, looking up at the group and then diverting his gaze back to the ground to look for more acorns to flick.
“Well, you must have loved him a great deal?” Joseph observed, “given that you are carrying so much anger inside your heart,” he added.
“S’pose so,” Peter agreed, flicking an acorn into the air.
“Is it because he has gone to heaven, do you think?” Joseph questioned.
“He didn’t even wait to say goodbye,” Peter retorted.
“Oh, I see,” Joseph accepted. “So that’s why you’re angry?” he added.
The two sat in silence, watching as the cortege made its way along the lane toward a distant hill that had witnessed many burials.
“Is this how you want to remember him, by carrying so much hurt in your heart?” Joseph asked, breaking the long silence between them.
“No,” Peter acknowledged, diverting his gaze away from the group of mourners as they walked behind the horse-drawn carriage.
“Did he not ever tell you just how much he loved you?” Joseph asked.
“S’pose,” Peter sighed, rubbing his eye as if to hide a tear or two.
“Well, it’s my guess that he loved you a great deal more than you are perhaps ready to admit,” Joseph revealed, handing Peter a hankie. “It’s okay, it’s clean,” he added.
“Did you know my grandpa?” Peter asked, offering the hankie back to Joseph.
“You could say that we had a great deal in common,” Joseph allowed.
“He never mentioned you,” Peter sniffed, wiping the end of his nose with the back of his hand.
“Well, I don’t mind,” Joseph smiled. “I’m here now and that’s all that matters,” he suggested. “Better late than not at all,” he suggested nodding his head.
“Shouldn’t you be with the others, at the burial?” Peter enquired.
“I’ll be there, in spirit,” Joseph smiled. “Believe me, at my age, you tend to find comfort in just sitting and reminiscing about the old days,” he admitted.
“Are you old, too?” Peter asked.
“I’ve been around for quite a while, so, yes, I guess I must seem that way to you,” he accepted.
“My grandpa was old, I think. I don’t know how old but he taught me a lot of things,” Peter revealed.
“Yes, I know,” Joseph smiled. “But, can you remember what he taught you?” he asked, removing a well-used pipe from a pocket together with a block of tobacco.
“Yeah, I can remember everything,” Peter confirmed. He watched as Joseph went through the motions of charging his pipe with tobacco before finally lighting it.
“My grandpa smoked a pipe a bit like yours,” Peter revealed, the fragrant aroma reminding him of the many hours they’d sat out on the stoop to enjoy the last rays of the evening sunshine together.
“So, can you remember how to tie a hook to your line and fish for trout in the river?” Joseph asked.
“That’s simple stuff,” Peter huffed.
“Then why don’t we give it a try,” Joseph suggested.
“But, we don’t have any rods or line,” Peter queried.
Joseph struggled to his feet and proceeded to thread the strap of his knapsack over his arm to his shoulder.
“We could use these,” Joseph suggested, producing two rods from behind the tree that already had reels and line attached.
Peter’s eyes sparkled at the thought of going fishing again and eagerly jumped to his feet. “Wow, these are the best rods ever!” he declared, eager to inspect the fishing rods and accepting Joseph’s offer for him to carry them down to the river.
“Oh rot!” Peter declared, halting in his tracks to turn to Joseph. “We don’t have any bait,” he sighed.
“I’m sure that the good Lord will provide all we need,” Joseph smiled, placing an arm around Peter’s shoulder as the two made their way across the meadow and down towards the river.
“I know all the good places to fish,” Peter acknowledged with some authority. “My grandpa taught me everything,” he revealed, using the rods to point out the direction in which they should travel.
“Then perhaps you should lead the way since you seem to know best,” Joseph smiled. He watched as Peter forged a path through the long grass toward an opening in the hedgerow and the wooden fence that bordered the riverbank.
“It’s a bit rickety, but it should hold your weight,” Peter informed Joseph as he clambered over the fence ahead of Joseph, pausing briefly to ensure that Joseph negotiated the rickety old weathered fence.
“So what else did your grandpa teach you?” Joseph asked.
“Oh, he taught me everything I know” Peter revealed. “He taught me where to find wild honey and stuff like that, everything,” he revealed.
“Wild honey, you say?” Joseph questioned. “Did you never get stung?” he asked.
“Not once,” Peter quipped. “Well, maybe just the once,” he admitted, “but it only hurt for a minute or two. My grandpa knew just how to make the hurt go away,” he added with a reassuring smile.
“He sounds like a grand man indeed,” Joseph agreed.
“Oh, he was the best grandpa ever!” Peter smiled. “The best of the best,” he added chirpily.
“Then I’d say that here looks about the right spot to fish,” Joseph suggested looking out across the river, allowing his knapsack fall to the ground.
“Have you fished here before?” Peter asked squinting in disbelief.
“One or twice, maybe,” he smiled, looking at Peter’s expression.
“So, what do we use as bait?” Peter asked, looking at Joseph for an answer.
“We could perhaps use these,” Joseph suggested, reaching inside his knapsack for a container and then prying the lid open to reveal a wriggling mass of juicy plump maggots.
“But, how did you know?” Peter asked, flummoxed by how he had first produced two rods and now a tin of bait.
“I came prepared and I know that you love fishing,” Joseph smiled. “So, how many fish do you think we’ll catch for tea?” he quickly added, hopeful that he might halt any further questions that Peter seemed eager to ask.
“Two a piece, that seems a good number,” Peter chirped, excited at the thought of catching a fish worthy of supper.
Joseph watched Peter prepare his line and noticed how he handed the rod and line with consummate ease. He carefully threaded a wriggling maggot on the hook.
“It seems that your grandpa taught you well,” Joseph praised, watching as Peter cast his line into the flowing river and then found a perch in which to sit and wait for his first bite.
“Would you like a sandwich and a drink?” Joseph asked.
“Oh, yes please,” Peter replied, watching as Joseph reached inside his knapsack and removed a pack of sandwiches and two drinks. “Wow!” he exclaimed. “You really have thought of everything,” Peter smiled, gratefully taking one of the drinks while Joseph opened the parcel of food.
“Strawberry jam, your favorite I believe?” Joseph allowed, handing Peter one of the bread slices.
Peter was, and not for the first time that day, flummoxed, flabbergasted, yet somewhat eager to ask the awkward questions that young boys often do.
“So, do you live close by?” Peter asked, hoping to extend their acquaintance and fill the gap created by his grandpa’s passing.
“Now, watch your line, there’s a big brown trout ready to eat your offering,” Joseph suggested, nodding toward his outcast line and the inquisitive fish.
“Oh golly,” Peter responded, quickly gathering some slack line so that he could strike just as soon as he felt the first bite. “Whoa, I got it, I got one… it’s a big one!” Peter called excitedly as his rod strained against the sheer weight of the fish pulling on the line.
He quickly forgot about all the questions he needed answers to; his face lit up like a firework as he struggled to land the enormous fish. He battled with the fish. His hand made the reel whirl as he reeled in the line tiring the fish. Satisfactorily, he landed the biggest, the fattest, brown spotted trout he had ever seen in all his life.
“Oh wow!” he puffed, carefully removing the hook from the fish’s mouth as it flopped about on the riverbank. “If only my grandpa could see this one. It’s huge!” he called, smiling excitedly at Joseph, exhausted, but most certainly proud of his efforts.
“That is, indeed, a fine fish to catch,” Joseph agreed. “A fine fish indeed,” he added with a smile.
Peter eagerly took another bite from his sandwich before adding a fresh maggot to his hook and casting his baited line into the flowing river.
“I have one, too,” Joseph declared as his line suddenly went taught and the fight began as the trout leapt clear of the water in a display of strength.
“Oh Wow!” Peter gasped as the trout landed in the water with a tremendous splash. “That fish is massive, enormous, it’s incredible!” he marveled.
Joseph skillfully worked the trout toward the bank until he could dip a hand into the water to grasp the trout as it struggled to break free.
“Now, that is a prize worthy of note,” Joseph smiled, holding up the trout to estimate its weight. “I’d say it’s at least four pounds,” he chuckled. “That is surely a record,” he added, laying the fish next to the one that Peter had caught.
“It’s even bigger than mine!” Peter marveled excitedly.
The remainder of that afternoon was one full of joy, as Peter eagerly conversed with Joseph, sharing everything that his grandpa had taught him. The two managed to catch four fish as Peter had predicted. But, just as all good things must finally come to an end, the lowering of the sun signaled an end to their afternoon of pleasure.
“Now, I suggest that we wrap the fish we’ve caught in this brown paper so that you can carry them home for your supper. What do you reckon?” Joseph asked.
“That would be good,” Peter accepted and watched as Joseph carefully packaged the four fish.
“They’re heavy, so you will have to be extra careful carrying them home,” Joseph warned.
“But, but aren’t you coming, too?” he questioned.
“Unfortunately, I have a journey to make, one that cannot wait,” Joseph sighed. “But, I think we had a good time together, you and I, don’t you think?” he added with a smile.
He watched as Peter tossed the remainder of his bread toward a group of ducklings as they made their way down the river.
“Oh the best time ever,” Peter remarked averting his gaze to thank Joseph.
He turned and looked up into the eyes of his beloved grandpa as a flood of emotions suddenly charged through his body.
“Did you really think that I could have gone anywhere without saying a final goodbye?” Joseph asked his grandson.
“But, you can’t go, not now, not after this,” Peter begged as tears now flowed freely over his cheeks.
His hands grasped his grandpa’s hands and tried his best to pull him in the direction of home.
Joseph placed a hand on Peter’s head and stroked his fingers through his hair.
“I simply could not leave while you held so much anger in your heart and without having a proper chance to say goodbye,” Joseph admitted. “We will have plenty of time to fish together, you and me, but first…” he paused, looking into Peter’s tearful eyes. “First, you need to grow a little and have children of your own so that you can pass on the wisdom that I have passed down to you. Once you have done that and you have grandchildren of your own, that will be when we will fish together once more,” Joseph promised.
“But, that will take forever,” Peter argued grasping his grandpa’s fingers.
“Well, it may seem an age right now,” Joseph added with a reassuring smile, “but, when you eventually take a moment to look back over your life, it will seem that everything changed in the blink of an eye… as quick as that,” he informed a tearful Peter.
Peter looked up to stare lovingly into his grandpa’s eyes, taking hold of the hankie from his out-stretched hand to wipe away his tears.
Joseph knelt down on one knee and embraced Peter with his open arms, hugging him closely as he rested his head on his shoulder, a loving hand cradling the back of his head.
“Do you really have to go?” Peter whispered as he draped his arms around his grandpa’s shoulders. “I don’t want you to go,” he sighed.
“I will always be a part of you,” Joseph reminded Peter as he struggled to stand once again. “Now it’s time for me to take a well-earned rest and watch you grow into a fine young man, be sure of that,” he added.
“Can I not walk some of the way with you?” Peter asked, hopeful that he could extend the time the two had spent together.
“No, your Mom is already calling you home. Can you not hear her?” Joseph asked, sure that she would worry if he did not answer her call.
“Now, carry these fish home for your supper. You can tell your Mom that we fished for them together. She will know, trust me,” Joseph smiled. “She’ll be sure to cry, so give her the hankie so that she will know that I did not leave without saying goodbye,” he smiled. “She placed it inside my pocket just before they took my body on its final journey,” he revealed.
Peter took hold of the package in both arms and, looking back toward the river as he made his way across the meadow toward home, watched as his beloved grandpa raised an arm to wave a fond farewell.
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