Acorns
I've been walking to work the last several days, now that the weather is getting cooler and yes, now that the price of gas is up.
On the way home I kicked an acorn. It skittered in front of me, hit a big crack in the sidewalk and sailed off across the grass into the street. When I was little, probably eight or nine, I was fascinated with acorns. I would look at them for hours, lying in the grass and examining the bumpy caps, gazing into the grain of the shell. I thought they were nuggets of beautiful wood. I would steam them with my breath and polish them on my shirt, trying to get them to look as shiny as possible. Acorns.
I decided I wanted to collect acorns, and that if I had enough acorns I could make, well, I didn't know what I could make but I wanted to collect them. So, I took a box and began to fill it with acorns. I went to the yard two doors down where an oak tree stood over the home of the first old person I was ever afraid of. I don't remember her name, but I thought she was mean because she yelled at kids when they rode their bikes up her sidewalk. I started picking acorns out of her yard, and sure enough, the door creaked open and her crackly voice asked accusingly what I was doing in her yard. "Picking up acorns," I managed. For some reason I'll never know, this answer was acceptable to the mean old lady, and I collected my treasure without fear.
I had a cherry lug full of acorns by the time I was done. I was so proud! I brought them in the house, took them to our fruit cellar in the basement, and then dreamed of what I would do with all those acorns. I dreamed, and planned, and...
Before I knew it, spring had sprung and I had a lug of acorns that were sprouting roots. I was so disappointed, not just that my acorns were spoiled, but that I hadn't found a project worthy of their beauty. Now they had gone the way of all acorns. Except in a fruit cellar.
I still think acorns are beautiful. As I continued on my way home, I crunched one under my shoe. And then one came flying in front of me, bounced on the sidewalk and landed in the flatbed of a truck. I swear, that oak tree threw it at me.
On the way home I kicked an acorn. It skittered in front of me, hit a big crack in the sidewalk and sailed off across the grass into the street. When I was little, probably eight or nine, I was fascinated with acorns. I would look at them for hours, lying in the grass and examining the bumpy caps, gazing into the grain of the shell. I thought they were nuggets of beautiful wood. I would steam them with my breath and polish them on my shirt, trying to get them to look as shiny as possible. Acorns.
I decided I wanted to collect acorns, and that if I had enough acorns I could make, well, I didn't know what I could make but I wanted to collect them. So, I took a box and began to fill it with acorns. I went to the yard two doors down where an oak tree stood over the home of the first old person I was ever afraid of. I don't remember her name, but I thought she was mean because she yelled at kids when they rode their bikes up her sidewalk. I started picking acorns out of her yard, and sure enough, the door creaked open and her crackly voice asked accusingly what I was doing in her yard. "Picking up acorns," I managed. For some reason I'll never know, this answer was acceptable to the mean old lady, and I collected my treasure without fear.
I had a cherry lug full of acorns by the time I was done. I was so proud! I brought them in the house, took them to our fruit cellar in the basement, and then dreamed of what I would do with all those acorns. I dreamed, and planned, and...
Before I knew it, spring had sprung and I had a lug of acorns that were sprouting roots. I was so disappointed, not just that my acorns were spoiled, but that I hadn't found a project worthy of their beauty. Now they had gone the way of all acorns. Except in a fruit cellar.
I still think acorns are beautiful. As I continued on my way home, I crunched one under my shoe. And then one came flying in front of me, bounced on the sidewalk and landed in the flatbed of a truck. I swear, that oak tree threw it at me.
7 Comments:
I think acorns are beautiful too, I did do a craft that used the little caps....little fairies, with acorn caps!
I did that too. Except not in the cellar, I just hoarded them. For what, I didn't know. I liked how they smelled. And they looked cool. And I could use the cap for a whistle.
fun post, JP.
I have one of those little fairies in my study, Brenda. I love her!
And yes Wow - I loved the smell too. I didn't know you could whistle with them...
Love this post, Pat!! You have such a way with words. I never collected acorns, but I've always loved words. :)
I hate a corns - those nasty little things on your feet - ouch they hurt!
That's what SHOES are for, Headless!! :o)
heh.
For some reason, this Fall, my backyard is inundated with acorns. They are an inch thick ...all over. Sunday I spent quite a bit of time, pulling acorns that had started to sprout into little trees out of my flowerbed. Its suppose to be my shade flower bed, and has beautiful astilbe, hosta's, one lungwart, ferns and some other stuff. I was seriously thinking that maybe I should have left all the sprouting acorns and started a forest.
Tree climbing Dutch Girl
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