I looked at Grandad with an amused smile on my face. Whenever Grandad had a story to tell, he would sit up straight in his chair, poise himself as if he was about to give an important speech to a room full of people. Even though it was usually only Mum and I in the room, we could feel the power in his words, which made us hang on to each and every one of them.
“Well go on then Grandad,” I urged him on. “Don’t let us wait.”
“You know your Grandad likes to build the suspense before every story,” Mum smiled, raising her eyebrows in Grandad’s direction.
“You can never rush a great storyteller,” Grandad stated defiantly before turning his head to let out a chorus of deep gruff coughs.
Mum and I persuaded him to drink more of his tea to help soothe his throat. We both knew there was nothing that would get in the way of Grandad sharing his story. When he needed to take a short rest between stories, we would all sit in silence and wait for Grandad to compose himself again, before continuing. Grandad was as stubborn as they come, like most old people I believe, so telling him to rest was never an option. He had to do it in his own way and time.
When his coughing subsided, Grandad looked at me and asked, “Do you remember when you were five years old and I took you out on your first solo foraging trip? It was the middle of Autumn, and you led the way in what we were going to take home with us.”
I nodded slowly, partly due to my brain trying to recall the details. I remember the day, but the details were a little foggy, probably because I was so young.
“Well, you went off holding your little basket in your gloved hands, running wild, as if some giant monster was chasing you. You’re lucky I was a little younger then, otherwise me old bones would never be able to catch you. At first, I think you forgot that the idea was to look for things to take back home with us. You were a little wild child, set free in the woods, being one with nature.”
I remember every time Grandad would take me into the woodlands that I would run as deep as possible inside. I thought that the deeper we go, the more valuable the things we would find. I was always super excited to bring them home to Granny and show off what Grandad and I had found together.
Grandad continued, “You eventually stopped at this big rock covered in moss. You told me that you wanted to take this one home. I kept my face serious, even though I was laughing inside. I said, sure Lia, do you think that will fit in your basket? You smiled and said, ‘Sure thing, Grandad!’”
I laughed, vaguely remembering that scenario. “I wanted to take it home to grow a garden on top of the moss, right?”
“Yes, you did. And instead of telling you outright no, I wanted you to figure out on your own why this wasn’t possible. So, I asked you how you were going to lift the rock into the basket, in where you replied, ‘With our big muscles!’ Then you tensed your arm and I sat down next to you and did the same.”
Mum laughed from the opposite seat. “Gosh, I can imagine you two baring your arms, plotting how to move this giant rock. If it were me, I would’ve used it as a seat and told Lia to run along and fetch me some flowers.”
“That is ‘cause you take after your mother, she was a little princess too,” Grandad smiled admiringly at the thought of his late wife, my Granny, who would never like to get her hands dirty.
We all took a moment to appreciate Granny’s warm smile and her even warmer embrace. She would always bake fresh biscuits when I was coming to stay, and when Grandad and I would go out exploring, she would be waiting with hot drinks upon our return.
“So, for the next, goodness, maybe 3 or 4 hours, we persisted moving this blasted rock. And let me tell you, it weren’t budging one wee bit! You had me pushing it from all angles, with me hands, me feet, I even had me poor body bent over the bally thing clutching it from both sides, willing to pull it upwards. You were there shouting words of encouragement, sometimes pushing me from behind for extra force, or even taking it upon yourself to dig with your hands around the rock to pry it up. I don’t think the dirt stains ever came out of those poor garden gloves of yours.
“You kept saying, ‘Just one bit more Grandad.’ I think that lost all meaning after the fourth or fifth time. Eventually, when you realised that we weren’t going to move it that way, you came back holding some smaller stones and started hitting into it. You said that maybe we can break it down to smaller bits.”
“Look where Lia gets her stubbornness and determination from,” Mum mused. “Getting served with a taste of your own medicine there, Dad.”
We all laughed, Grandad’s laugh soon turned into a coughing fit, its deep echo barked around the room, like a dog’s frustrated bark directed towards their owner to take them outside for a walk.
Mum and I waited patiently for Grandad, watching him sip on his tea, and grimace at the taste of the birch tree leaf. Grandad had always enjoyed tea, even to this day, despite it not always being in his favour with heaped teaspoons of sugar. Yet he liked what tea symbolised, bringing his family together. Taking a small part out of the day to enjoy one another’s company, and to revel in the memories they all shared together. It was these moments, right there, watching Grandad make face at his healthy tea, that we all cherished deeply.
Not to say we enjoy watching Grandad suffer. We all knew he was overplaying, as sharing a tea foraged by his granddaughter was a proud moment for him. All the knowledge Grandad had taught me over the years, all boiled down into a tea, made Grandad feel better in more ways than one.
When Grandad was ready, he continued with his story. “Thankfully it only took you a short time to realise the stone wasn’t going to break the big rock. Or maybe it was because I could hear your tummy growling, that you wanted to get back home to Granny. Yet I could see the disappointed look on your face as you looked down at your empty basket. I asked you, if you still thought the rock would fit inside. You shook your head from side to side, your lips forming a pout. I then asked you next time we go out if you had any ideas on what you would look for. You replied with, ‘Something much smaller Grandad, we need to get stronger before we try the rock again.’”
“We never did try the rock again, did we?” I asked Grandad.
“Your Grandad isn’t too shabby, you know,” Grandad grinned, his devilish boy grin. “I found a different area for us to forage within the woods from there on out. But do you remember what you found when we were walking back home from the large mossy rock?”
I shook my head no, the memories not coming to me.
“We were on our way back, your hand in mine, your head hanging low from the disappointment of the rock, and your eyes must’ve caught sight of a yellowing leaf laying on the ground right in front of you. I don’t know what was so special about this leaf, as there were countless of other leaves laying around, but you saw something in this one. You knelt down, picked it up, and held it up to your eyes to examine it. You then ran your hand over its jagged edges and turned to me and said, ‘This one looks like it has teeth, can we take it home?’ I should’ve known from that moment that you would make a fine forager. I nodded, and watched you put it inside your basket, an instant smile pasted on your face, a new skip in your step, as your basket was no longer empty. We got home to Granny, and you showed her what you found on your first solo led forage.”
“So I brought back a small, toothy leaf?” I laughed silently to myself at the irony of my ambitious feat. Unearthing a giant rock, to bringing home a tiny fallen leaf.
“Do you know what type of leaf it was?” An earnest expression occupied Grandad’s kind face.
I shook my head again.
“It was a birch tree leaf,” Grandad’s serious face cracked into a delirious laugh. “Of all things you could’ve found on your first ever forage, you bring back a blasted birch tree leaf!”
Grandad, Mum, and I couldn’t control our laughter. We stayed this way for a good few minutes, gasping for air every so often. When I finally managed to catch my breath, I asked Grandad, “Was it from that leaf where my journey of knowledge began?”
“I regretfully told you too much that night,” Grandad winked and leaned back in his chair, resting his eyes, and sighing contently.
