Pampas Grass

After Grandpa D passed away the summer I was nine, Grandma lost interest in the city-lot garden that Grandpa had faithfully tended. Instead, she would keep a few tomatoes and peppers and the rhubarb, of course; her perennials would stay, and the rest would be planted with grass for Dad to mow. When she suggested a hedgerow along the front walk for privacy, Dad was, shall we say, upset.  And who the H*** is going to trim those! said he.

Grandma gave in, first time ever, I think, and planted pampas grass.

If you've never been introduced, perhaps it is time.  Also known as "cut grass", pampas has a sticky silver vein in the middle of each blade. Touching it, hiding in it, God forbid chewing on it like a hayseed (yes, one of my stupid boyfriends tried that) results in sharp paper-like cuts that don't just hurt, they sting.  All of us kids kept the Eckerd's Pharmacy in business with the sales of Mercurochrome and iodine,  Our orange-stained skin was testimony to the power of pampas.

The pampas migrated to gram's house on Twentieth Street and to ours next door.  From there, my aunt moved it to Parade Street.  I'm surprised the entire east side wasn't dressed in pampas grass.

I remember playing "jungle" in that grass, "hide and seek" and other childhood games.  Any kid from Twentieth Street will remember that row of grass.  I was never afraid to walk after dark down by that lot.  No one but us kids would ever  hide out in it.  We would fight over who had to retrieve the birdie from its depths, and no one wanted to run in that direction during a rousing game of "Red Rover".

The only good thing I can say is it had interesting golden-brown feathery fronds near the end of summer.  Even after I was married and left Twentieth Street forever, I still cut those fuzzy fronds from our house or Aunt Marje's and put them in wildflower bouquets.  I guess they reminded me of growing up.

When I cover my eyes and think of pampas grass, I see us as we were then, sitting behind those big bushes.  We were playing, eating Popsicles from White's Market--the kind you could break in half to share; we were drinking Kool Aid--red, with REAL sugar. We were whacking a croquet ball, or pretending we were soldiers. So many memories!

Memories like the pampas grass can be triggered by a chance remark, like when Michael reminded me of it.  Sometimes it is a smell--I always think of Linda's Mom when I smell Oreo cookies.  The old Perry Plaza brings back memories of youth, Walczak Park brings many more. I try to remember only the good parts and to keep the sad ones at bay.

I laid in bed last night after I wrote this first draft, wondering what will bring on the next barrage of memories.  Who'd have thought that this time it would be pampas grass?