Gnitter

22 Aug 2024

This is the tale of how I recognized my grandfather’s spirit form and realized the comfort he’s covered me with throughout these years. The story begins in the year 2007, the year he transitioned from the Earth.

All my cousins and I [from our generational set] were huddled up at uncle John’s house, and, now that I’m typing it, I realize the significance of the setting because John is the name of my grandfather as well. I had not yet realized why we were there so late, usually my dad would drop me and my siblings there earlier in the day and we’d be back home by dinner time. My aunt Portia sat us all in the living room, and she told us the story of the great flood. She said the first time the Earth was destroyed it was done by water, and the second ending would come about by fire. That element was significant in the sense of the color… fiery red. That was the nickname given to my grandfather, and it’s what I’d always heard my Mema call him. After my auntie was done telling the story and checking all of our tongues for lie bumps, she began to call each of us one by one into the then computer room, starting from the oldest cousin, Cam. When he exited the computer room, he went straight to his, and I remember wondering what was wrong. I soon found out why; she’d finally made it to the youngest two, me and my little sister — we were at the age of doing everything as a pair… sleeping in the same room, standing in the school breakfast line together, wearing coordinating clothes, and going to the same Sunday school class [either I would bring her to mine or I would go to the one for her age group] — so it was only right we received the news together. Pop had gone to sleep for his eternal rest.

I cried on and off with my cousins that night. Cameron created moments of humor and laughter for us in between the tears, then he’d cry and we’d all cry again. The next time I cried was at his wake, I realize now I only cried two times about his death and only once during a reminiscing — upon discovering his death, when seeing him lay at rest, and while in the back seat of my mama’s van listening to My Joy by Chrisette Michele. I came back into my body at the wake when I saw how calm Mema was; I sat partially on her lap, and she reminded me that everything is still okay and of what my grandaddy used to tell me every time we saw each other. “I love you a whole lot heap a lot,” is what he would tell me; I could remember the sound of him saying that, so calm and acceptance took over me. The next day, during his celebration, my Auntie Jennifer handed down to me a stuffed elephant gifted to her from Pop — this became his pillar for me + a physical comfort for the remainder of my childhood age.

The next description of events are small recollections of events leading to a moment in the woods … hence why I am was able to connect the dots in my latter years.

—

The year after. A year after Pop died, my baby brother was born; he was named partially after him. I can vividly remember a moment he and I shared that catalyzed reminiscion (I made that word up, but it sounds proper). I was visiting my dad’s house during a football season, and I was holding my brother while standing in front of the television to make sure he was able to see the game clearly — I was my first full year into wearing glasses at this point, and I was treating him near-sighted. I remember him getting heavy off the strength of how long I was holding him, so I decided to sit down with him for a respite period. I remember him crying every time I did, and me going right back into position so he could have his way. My dad was laughing at the fact, and said that’s exactly how my grandaddy used to act when it came to the televised football games. I was so smiley about that and exercised absolute endurance to keep my brother in front of the tv until he was satisfied.

The following year. The following year, my daddy took me shoe shopping for school, and there was a pair that I loved but were about half a size too big (that size being the last pair available), so I had to tie my laces tight so they would be comfortable. I remember my daddy telling my Mema about it some days later on our usual Mema stay, and I told her, “They do fit, they just too big if I don’t tie em right.” She was so tickled by my saying that, she said, “You sound just like Red.” I was cheesy the rest of the day after hearing that; throughout the years I’ve heard a lot about how I carry like my granddaddies from both sides as I casually carry on. I always feel more and more vibrant and confident when outside noise brings attention to their presence surrounding me.

The summer after fourth grade. The summer after fourth grade, I was to transition from Edgewood [the edge of the woods] to Cedar Park [the land of the cedar tree]. When I reflect on this transition at my age today, I know that was Pop for reasons I found out in my more recent years. I walked my sisters and I to the school of cedar every morning, and to the home where the cedars congregated every afternoon. My class was small, intimate, and full of space to be. I remember writing so much during my year at Cedar Park, and my teacher, Mrs. Kimbrough, reading my stories to the classroom — my favorite being a spooky story born from a halloween prompt and inspired by the moss hanging from the cedar trees. My grandma had always told me not to stand under the moss, for bugs would fall in my hair… but this year I was more drawn to exploring what was underneath the giant figures. Standing under + looking up felt like being in a magical world. The bark was like none other that I touched and the appearance exposed the layer(s) underneath without it being chopped down. No bugs ever infested my hair. It was a comforting, fairytale escape that ignited my imagination and exposed me to a space [to my knowledge] none dared to explore.

The summer after fifth grade. The summer after fifth grade, my cousin [Maya] and I spent the summer in Selma with my grandma — I lived in Selma already, but usually had some sort of away trip during the summer days. We had spent the entire school year having smart mouths, talking back and expressing ourselves sharply and appropriately, so I’m guessing this was our “punishment” — I didn’t, and still don’t, consider it that… that summer changed my life, and was one of the most memorable moments of my childhood. She and I started off every morning eating, cleaning, bathing, and walking off to Cedar Park with ChaChi [family dog]. We talked about life and our recent experiences the entire way there and then some, had respite at the school drinking water straight from the spicket, walked around the abandoned tennis court talking some more, and talked allll the way back home. Sometimes we would stop by the cement court and watch the boys/men shoot basketball, being slightly fast, but not blatant and boisterous about it. Our afternoons consisted of fig picking, twisting + braiding each other’s hair, grilled cheeses from the cast iron, sneaking and watching grown folks television, helping my grandma prepare for supper, and sometimes some time spent at the YMCA pool. Sunsets meant we were about to accompany grandma to choir rehearsal at Mount Zion No. 1 M.P., or just sit around the house and chill once housework was complete. Back to the tale at hand… the middle of this summer, I saw Pop. It all began with the revival in the woods we were carried to by my grandma. It was dark. We went so deep into the woods, it felt, that the only building for miles was the church. There was one air conditioner inside that was too cold to sit in the same row as, but too hot when sitting anywhere else. I decided to sit with the AC, so it could help me stay awake — I always fell asleep during Sunday services as soon as the pastor began doing the raspy singing portion of the sermon, and the revival was no different. I quickly found why no one wanted to sit there, though… it was uncomfortably cold, I’d rather just fall asleep and embarrass my grandma than sit in that pew again, so the next evening I sat somewhere different. This particular night, my sight was captivated by a spider lowering itself on a string of silk[wild] directly in front of me. I was always intrigued by the fact that spiders appeared to be floating in space because their wild was seamingly invisible. The focus of my eyes shifted from the spider to the figures behind her in the distance at the pit. The pastor of the church we were at for revival stood at the podium, but I took more notice of the older man sitting behind him, slightly to the side… his father. In that moment, I saw Pop. I couldn’t stop staring at him, and I couldn’t tell if the man just resembled my granddad that much, or if it was him. And so, the chill from the AC was no longer needed for a wake up. The gust of Pop did that for me.

Another summer. Another summer, not too long after the revival in the woods, I saw the man again. This time, on a plain field surrounded by trees every which way. My grandma had taken my little sister and me to a summer, church, field dayesque, for the children, jug juice + grilled hotdogs and chips type event. I saw him on a four-wheeler this go round, and he was feeling way more familiar to me seeing him in this atmosphere. It was strange though, because the familiarity wasn’t the familiarity that came with Pop… this one felt more like JP and Pawpaw, mainly because I’d never seen or heard stories of pop in this type of environment or known him to partake in riding a four-wheeler in the country. I saw him initially, but stayed close to my grandma, under a tent eating food, relaxing, and observing (I was a shy child). I did, however, find myself venturing closer and closer to the man. I noticed he was giving all the children four-wheeler rides, and I just watched and waited to see him again every time he made it back to start. Eventually, after his last ride, he looked at me as I looked at him. He asked if I wanted to ride. I shook my head yes, and he told me to come on, hop on. I walked up, had some help hopping on, and we rode. It felt comfortable. I was holding on to him the same way I held on to my Pawpaw when we were down in Brewton, but this still felt like it was Pop. The speed picked up and all I could see was the red dirt flying everywhere. I closed my eyes, and instead of seeing the red hue from my eyelid skin, all white illuminated my dark… like the light of an angel. I wanted to ride again and again, but I took the moment of magic for what it was; after arriving back to the starting point, the man wasn’t Pop anymore, he was just the man, and I went back to the white tent with my grandma to eat some more and bask.

—

My young adult years brought about the realization that tied these events together. I dropped out of a school that I attended to learn more about medicine, and I came home to explore it for myself. This is when I realized. I dove into the art of distilling, which opened my ears to more than I could physically see + initiated me into consciously communicating with the winds that surrounded me. The happenings that occurred [over a course] after making my first spirit is another story for another story time. I’m going to jump to big June [juniper/red cedar]. I had familiarized myself with all the wild plants covering the ground of my backyard, and I was graduating to higher concentration… trees. The, at the time, baby eastern Cedar was the closest tree to the house — I could just reach the leaves from the deck extension — and his leaves looked the most captivating to me, so I chose him. I had already created the habit of turning everything into a spirit for richer scent and smoother ingestion, and so that’s what I did. Immediate. I harvested spiny “leaves,” distilled them, and then did a little research on the properties. I didn’t ingest the hydrosol via mouth immediately due to still experimenting with dosage + potency, but instead, put it in the air via my handy — and still with me to this day — water based oil diffuser. I let it release in my room while I continued my day doing other things, and I even left the house for a while. When I came back and re-entered my room, it smelled crisp, clean, and like nothing. The spirit completely neutralized my space. Completely.

I began to spend much more time with June… it’s been a span of years and I’m still learning more about its essence. In the midst of observing and building a relationship with the Cedar tree, I noticed similarities in its and Pop’s stature, disposition, and convenient + comforting presence [to my memory and sense of him as I aged]. I found that the cleansing properties of the essence doubled as comfort and protection; it was what I reached for for anything. As I put the pieces together, I began to reminisce on the experiences laid out above, and then some, and I knew whole-heartedly, Pop never left me. From the transitioning from Edgewood [edge of the woods –> the revival in the woods] to the school of [eastern] Cedar Park. From being enthralled by the heap of a tree, the giant June, to finding the comfort and medicine in its essence. Everything leads up to that one moment, and the smaller moments were always filled with the memories.

I’ve been sitting on this blog for a while, hence the date, and just recently has everything fallen perfectly for the release of this piece. I’ve been seeing Palm Sunday everywhere the past few days, — I’m not familiar with it, so if it’s a day coming up, then perfect timing — so I finally decided to visit Youtube to see what it revealed as to the meaning. Supercell. Updraft. Thunderstorm. Strong winds. Precipitation. Tornado. The video I chose revealed to me that in the year 1965 [location: America], there were 55 tornadoes in one day in the southeast + midwest. This reminded me of distilling spirits. And then, of the teaching I learned from a woman in my latest teen years… that true blacks change the weather and control the climate… and then, I remembered my revival via her potent teachings and relentless exposition.

To be continued <3

shayla

a strong wind.