Under the Oak Trees

Source: Carrie Spedding Photography

So if you have a minute, why don't we go talk about it somewhere only we know? This could be the end of everything, so why don't we go somewhere only we know? -Keane

Of course, Mama C's isn't a place only we know-- everyone knows about Mama C's.  For those who don't know, before I begin, I should tell you that Mama C was one of my husband's grandmothers, and she was a gentle spirit with a warm heart, with a home that I adored.

Coming off I-40W, you hang a left off the exit and turn by the gas station.  Passing the "World's Largest Frying Pan," you wander further down and turn by the chicken houses. You usually have to brake for the goats crossing the road, and sometimes it's chickens.  And just a little further up, you'll see it. The tree lined driveway that curves around to one of the most beautiful homes I've ever known.   It's best if you get out and walk from the end of the driveway under the oak trees to the house-- it's an experience that I took advantage of as often as I could. If you must drive, you'll pull up and see the pond behind the house, the pathway to it decorated by beautiful trees and flowers all around you.

It's magic here.  I feel myself exhale as I throw my keys in my bag, not bothering to lock the car.  Here, that's just not something you worry about as much.  More often than not, there are other cousins here waiting to greet you, or aunts or uncles, or friends who have become like family.  Sometimes it's just Mama C, or at least, it was until this past August.  There's usually sweet tea in the fridge and always a slower pace; to rush here would do this place dishonor.  My favorite spot is the back porch where you can just overlook the pond while drinking your sweet tea, listening to the sounds around you while feeling completely at peace.

When we'd stay at Mama C's for holidays, the boys would steal away while it was still dark out for early morning hunting, and I'd lay there for just a few minutes longer before sneaking outside to watch the sunrise. It was so beautiful there; there was always a fog hanging over the pond in the morning, clinging to it as if it were scared to let go.  As the sun would start to peek out while God painted the sky, the fog would start to lift; just about that time, the boys would pull back into the driveway from their hunt.  Everyone would start coming downstairs to the kitchen for coffee, a good country breakfast, and the best conversation.  I savored holidays at Mama C's; moving away from our "big family" at a young age, we never had big gatherings like that in my family. We'd have my grandparents come for holidays which was always a treat, but once my grandmother passed away, I really clung to holidays at Mama C's-- they were the closest thing to tradition that I'd find anymore.

Scott and I were married under the oak tree out front; we gathered all of our people on the most beautiful April day and committed our lives to one another under that tree overlooking the pond.  We put up a big tent and twinkly lights and celebrated on her front lawn with all of the people we loved.  By nightfall, we made our exit with sparklers decorating the sidewalk and drove away to begin the rest of our lives together, leaving Mama C's house behind as we glanced in the rearview.

But we always came back here.  Even living 13 hours away, we'd be sure to come back.  We would stop about 40 minutes outside of Wilmington on our drives home to sit with Mama C for a while in her living room or on her back porch.  We'd talk about all of the family-- updates on which of her grandchildren were pregnant now-- which great grandchildren she'd welcome before long.  We'd talk about Indiana and what our life was like there, so foreign to most of our family in NC. We'd listen to her play the piano, something I always treasured being able to enjoy with her. We'd talk about her church; when it caught on fire, we were devastated for her and couldn't figure out how you really move on and process something like that, when the church you've attended most of your life is just gone.

One of the things I cried over when Mama C died in August was that she would never meet our children.  Scott and I, though together for 14 years and married for 6, have not had children of our own yet; I remember talking to my sister in law about how silly I felt crying over children I didn't yet have, but I was so sad that they would never meet Mama C, or any of our other grandmothers who have also met Jesus. Now that Mama C's house will be passed along, too, I'm sad that my children will never get to play football on Mama C's front lawn at Thanksgiving or Christmas. I'm sad that they won't stand under the tree where we were married, experiencing all of the wonder of that beautiful place.  They won't sip sweet tea on the back porch or stand there looking at the boathouse for an early sunrise. They won't stand under the oak trees in her driveway gazing up in wonderment at such beautiful, mesmerizing trees.

But I'll tell them all about it. And I'll tell them all about the sweet Mama C who lived there. And maybe we'll drive by just so I can show them what it is that I loved about that place, about the magic that lives there.