Mammaw's Garden

When I was very, very young, I remember visiting my paternal grandmother and grandfather in Memphis during the summer.  I always called her "Mammaw" and him "Papa."  Now that it's getting into summer, and as it does every year, it reminds me of going there to visit, even though it's not nearly as hot here as it is there.


They lived in what I remember being a duplex, made up of four apartments; two downstairs and two up, made of dark stone with concrete floored porches at the front of each.  A little ways down the street there was some sort of store, and the sign hanging outside had a happy, smiling pig on it, though I'm not sure why.  I think it had something to do with barbecue, as a lot of things in Memphis seem to do.


The thing I remember most, though, is the garden out in front of their apartment.  It was walled in, and right next to an alley that went down the side of the building.  I don't remember there being a gate to get in and out of there, but instead remember jumping down from the wall into the garden, where it seemed to be a lot cooler and always damp.  There were plants in the garden, but I don't know what type they were, just the smell of them; a kind of bitter, earthy smell that I haven't ever smelled since then, but remember to this day, and would remember now if I ever smelled it again.


I used to love to go into that garden and play by myself; it was my own special place when we visited there and like my own world, closed off from everything else by the wall that was higher than I was.


That building has long since been torn down, and the neighborhood has gone downhill since.  I don't think there's anything there that was there when I was a child.  But I still think of it fondly from time to time, when life was simple.