Porter Gulch - 1949

The widow, Mrs. Hudson 🌿MEMOIR

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The old widow woman in Porter Gulch

puts chips of kindling in the cold wood stove,

strikes box matches on the black cast iron.

The scent of wintergreen is on her hands.

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She bends clean over to comb her long hair.

Arrow straight, faded grey, it hangs to the floor.

She knots it up with firm twists and tucks,

thin wire hairpins, cheap plastic combs.

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She watches, silent, from the kitchen window.

The Raleigh man's coming on his monthly rounds.

He’s tearing down the road in his '39 Ford,

a trail of dust behind, like a wizard’s trick.

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She buys witch hazel and epsom salts

and time to chat with a dear old friend.

Law, the price a corn – it's sa high! she complains.

Dries her hands on a feed-sack apron.

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She listens to music on the old Motorola,

Silver Threads Among the Gold.

Shh! she snaps, listen now, be still!

I'll take a willa switch to ya, don’t think I won’t.

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I sit cross-legged on the dusty rag carpet,

stringing wooden spools on a frayed shoe lace,

bones of miles and miles of quilting thread,

building a train to take me away from here.

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This evening I cut pictures from an old catalog,

making paper dolls, filling in the order blank,

pink sundress with a sweetheart collar.

We'll send for that one a these days, she says.

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The Farm Journal’s on her lap, rocking chair squeaks.

Those ditches want cleanin’ out by the road,

and the pipe from the spring’s near rusted through.

Better get ta bed afore nine. She sighs.

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She washes my feet in a chipped metal basin,

a crusty bar of soap floating in the water.

Gramma, I ask, do you believe in God an’ ever’ thing?

Oh, pshaw! she snaps, I believe in life and that's all.

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At five in the morning, in the drafty kitchen,

the green paint’s peeling and the kettle's on.

She blows on the fire, takes down the jar of oats,

humming Rock of Ages out of tune.

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Deeply buried in the feather-lump bed,

I pull worn patchwork over my ears.

Waiting for my world to warm up, I wonder

just how a person prays to life.

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Note: This “old widow woman” was Ms Hudson, our Katy’s mother-in-law who lived in Porter Gulch in Aptos, California for about fifty years.