Featured Columnist
Rachelle Jeanette Johnson
Chel, You Up?
Nobody but Grandma could have prepared me for the life that I live each day in my two-room rustic cabin just outside of Panajachel, Guatemala. For the cabin, the acre of land it sits on, and the opportunity to live amongst nature, I wound up having to trade many modern conveniences. Yet, I am reminded of how much it is all worth it each time I look out of my kitchen window. I see luscious trees bearing bananas, oranges, lemons, and avocados. I see a budding garden of fresh vegetables. I see my children running celebrating their green space paradise. I also see Grandma standing out in the yard shaking her head and smiling back at me. The same way she did when I would wake up extra early and join her at the kitchen table.
Grandma woke up each morning at the crack of dawn. After preparing her infamous cup of morning coffee, she sat down and watched the sun come up on Northlawn Street out of the kitchen window of her northwest Detroit home. She seemed to be in a meditative state as the sun graced her caramel-colored face. The same sun she once watched rise over the countryside of Bolingbroke, Georgia.
Every so often I was able to wrestle myself out of bed to meet her. “Morning Grandma,” I’d say. “Chel, you up?” she’d ask surprised. She was always delighted to see me. Grandma was bit different at that time of day. She would talk with such calm and peace. Our conversations would take us many places. It was a very special time for me because I got to have her all to myself. I only had to share her with her cup of coffee, although I was always welcome to have a few sips. As soon as the sun made its presence, Grandma began her day by cooking breakfast.
Grits were a customary part of breakfast. Sometimes she made eggs, sausages, and hot water cornbread, but there were always grits. As soon as breakfast was done she immediately went to work on dinner. By noon the smell of boiling beans we had snapped, along with a side of salt pork filled the entire house. Dinner was always ready by three o’clock.
With dinner completed it was time to start on the household chores. This would take us outside to the backyard to hang up clothes on the line. I would help her as best I could. Some afternoons we would take a ride out to “the garden.” This was a plot of land my grandparents had about thirty miles outside the city where they grew vegetables. We would pick the ripe vegetables and return back to “the house” for Grandma to cook in the coming weeks.
At night she would put me in the bathtub where she’d go to work on me right away. “Chel, we gotta wash all the dirt off ya,” she’d say. She would grab the washcloth, lather it, and wash me. If I was running out of clean underwear, then that was the time to wash them too.
I usually outlasted Grandma. She was always in the bed by nine in the evening. I would stay up watching television promising her that I’d be able to get up the next day and join her for coffee. “Chel, you know you ain’t goin’ be able to get up wit me ‘less you go to bed right na,” she’d tell me. Despite my intentions, I would not make it because I stayed up watching Johnny Carson. These days I wake up every morning with Grandma.
Rachelle Johnson is a Detroit native. She is currently trying to find herself while exploring Central America.