Polly and Joe's grapevine (originally written 7/26/07)

I've spent this weekend at Jackie and the Colonel's place, working on tasks around the yard. It's been a while since I've done anything resembling yard work, and my muscles are screaming right now.

While I was raking leaves along the fence that separates our property from the neighbors, the Ayers, I saw Polly come out and amble towards me.

When my family first moved onto Leggett Mill Road, we were the first black family. Polly and Joe Ayers had lived in their house next door since Jesus was in high school, and were the stereotypically eccentric Southern neighbors. Once, when I was in high school, Joe climbed atop his roof to adjust his satellite and fell off. Keep in mind Joe was in his 70's at the time of his rooftop death climb. To this day, I don't know what's funnier: the fact that my 70-something year old neighbor fell off the roof, or the fact that he was back up there the next day with a rope anchoring his body to the chimney.

Polly, on the other hand, was always viewed as a bit of an annoyance. She was infamous for approaching the fence that separated our properties, and engaging whatever unfortunate soul was closeby in conversation. And it was never really a conversation of any importance. It was usually more of a dull recitation of her activities that day.

About ten years ago or so, Joe passed away, and Polly remained in their house alone. I've seen her occasionally out in her yard puttering around, but I reflexively avoided her. Today, I couldn't avoid her. I was raking leaves by the fenceline (damn that fenceline) when I looked up to see Polly approaching. I waved and went back to my raking, hoping she wasn't trying to conversate. She was. She propped her lean frame against the fence and said something neighborly about the weather. I was still hoping she'd move along, but I was fresh outta luck. She proceded to comment on the weather, Christmas, dogs (about that time, my parents' dog, Max ran up and tried to make friends with Polly), and grapes. It was as we discussed the grape vines that grew in both our backyards, that things took something of a turn.

In certain parts of Eastern NC, it's common to see grapevines growing in peoples' backyards. The grapes, I suppose, can be used for wine, but if most families are like mine they just pick them and eat them. I remember summer nights, mowing the lawn, and grabbing grapes off the vine as I walked past. As Polly commented on the sad condition of her grapevine, she said, "...yeah, I never cared much for grapes, Joe was the one what put that grapevine up...I shore do miss Joe...especially when the grapes are ripe..." As she said it, she gazed off into the distance, as if she was watching Joe pull his rusted pickup into their gravel driveway. She went on to say that some summers, she picked baskets full of grapes, thinking Joe would love them, only to give them away.

As I looked at her in the haze of an unseasonably warm day, I felt like I'd never seen her before. All of a sudden she wasn't the pesky, eccentric neighbor. She was a woman who'd lost her partner. She'd signed on for life, and she'd drawn the long straw. He might have died first, but she had to live without him, and it broke her heart. And every time those grapes hang full and heavy on the vine, she thinks of her Joe, the one what put the grapevine up in the first place.