Generations

I'm behind on my writing prompts, so I combined a couple this time. The first is the Tolkien quote, "Not all who wander are lost." The rest of this quote is often missed and is awesome.  You can check it out here, if you want. The second prompt was the photo below. Enjoy! (I hope.) :)

I grabbed Grandpa’s hand when we neared the stream. Coming up,there was an easy spot to cross.

“Look Grandpa! Water. You think there are fish?”

“Nah, too small,” he told me.  We walked over to look in the trickle that came down from the mountain. “I remember when we would fish in the stream behind our house.  I was about your age then.  I would make a fishing pole out of a stick and some string, and tie a hook made out of a paper clip on there.”

I was only 5 and barely came to Grandpa’s waist. So I let Grandpa use my head to steady himself as we crossed the stream. I tried not to soak my Sunday shoes.  Momma would yell if I mucked ‘em up.

“We could always find worms in the garden, but boy would your great-grandma holler at us if she caught us digging in there!  Hoo! She was the best singer in the church choir. And if you made her angry she could use those pipes to flay you right open!” Grandpa chuckled.

I picked up some rocks that were cold from the water. The almost leafless trees were good targets.

Whack.

Whack.

Pfft. I missed and it went tumbling through the dry yellow grasses that were almost as tall as me.

When we cleared the trees, we were by the fence. Lots of new houses were being built on our block and this fence ran down the back of the lot of ‘em, cutting us off from the woods.  Momma thought it was safer. And  she thought it was great I wouldn’t be gettin’ so dirty. But I knew how to get ‘round. Besides, Grandpa loved comin’ out here.

Grandpa stopped by the fence, peeking his eye through a hole. He scratched the thin, white hair on top of his head. “What’re we doin’ here, Jimmy?” he asked. He didn’t know where we were, but I did. I could hit our house with one of those rocks, if I had one left.

“Nothin’. We’re just wandering.”

I peeked my eye through another hole.  It was the sky blue house that Maureen Roberts just moved into. I screwed up my features. If anyone had cooties, it was her.

“Let’s keep going.” I grabbed Grandpa’s hand again. “There’s a empty bird’s nest in that tree up there.” I pointed.

He smiled, confidence returning to his features. “Did you know I taught a bird to fly once?” he asked.

I did know. He told me about it every time we came here. But Grandpa was the only one who would tell me stories.

I smiled and told him, “Nope. How’d you do that?”